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 Page 12
The plants liked to grow at the very edge of the water, so it was almost impossible to get to the largest and juiciest of the berries from the bank. One had to wade in. Saure relished the coolness of the creek in contrast to the hot, bearing summer sunlight. There were thousands of berries to be had. Several streamflies and butterflies helped themselves to the bountiful blackberry blossoms as she filled her deep basket.
Unseen, a great beast watched from the shadows. He paused to lick at his wounded side, and thirsted for the cool water... but he would have to wait. He knew man and knew what man was capable of. He felt a power in the girl. She was a fireblood. He had once witnessed the power of a fireblood. It was the reason for his current unfortunate situation.
He was desperately hungry, though... and that old horse the mannchild had come with smelled delicious. But he would not strike, not without knowing. He had at least those wits about him.
With a full basket and freshly donned garments, Saure rode home at a gallop. Nag was eager to be rid of the place; it smelled of danger to her. She could have sworn she had smelled freshly spilled blood, as well. She didn't tell Saure because the girl was hardheaded and adolescent. She would have just called her names again and ignored her anyway, had she spoken up.
Saure had a good dinner of preserved meats and fresh berries, with some fresh herbs to nibble on the side. She had supped in her loft, over a good book about big cats. She loved cats, and had always wanted to see a lion or a tiger in her lifetime. Nag had simply shuffled dejectedly to her stable shed and closed the door behind her with her chin. Hay was fine with her, after all.
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 Page 13
Saure woke in the dim dawnlight with a start. She had heard the beast cry again in her dream, and realized there were cold tears drying on her face. She wiped at her reddened cheeks, then raked her fingers through her long hair. The dream was still very fresh in her mind, and her heart ached with empathy. She couldn't stand thinking of that poor beast, alone and wounded somewhere out there in the dark. You see, with her gift of beast-speak, she also lost quite a bit of fear and suspicion that her parents and fellow kinfolk felt about certain animals. She had conversed with poisonous snakes and wolverines, and found them greatly misunderstood. And while the great wounded beast may be dangerous, she felt it might see her good intentions, if she were to approach it and explain herself.
She pushed aside her warm fur-lined comforter and went in search of her greaves. She had "borrowed" a pair from the Mags' clothesline, just in case she needed them. You see, as with most older cultures, it was not proper for a lady to wear trousers or greaves, so she was never able to ask for or buy any for herself. She pulled these on, and found one of her father's green shirts that was too large for her. She then found some of her mother's thick linens, and a clay jug full of water.
Saure sneaked out the door with her bundle, and crept to the greenshed. Here, she gathered aloe and clove and masterwort clippings into a mortar, and ground a paste which she wrapped in several Aum leaves. Saure had a store of potions she had dabbled with hidden beneath the backmost grow-benches. She gathered strength, pain killing and healing draughts, and poured a bit of each into three different glass bottles- aptly colored for the specific potions within. She stopped them with bits of spongy wood (as one does when they don't have time to go through the proper sealing process). These items she put into a big basket-bag, and covered them with the linen bundle.
She slung her woven bag over a shoulder, tightened her boot straps, and set off for the forest.
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