(no subject)

[pisum_sativum]

There is a certain herb, deep in the wood, with leaves so dark and glossy that the dew forms on them the first of all the forest's greenery, and of such virtue that if the dew be collected therefrom and drunk or bathed in, it is wondrously refreshing to the heart and spirit.

Collecting the dew is a painstaking task: it must be done after midnight and before dawn, drop by drop, and stored in acorn cups until ready to use.

The Queen has people to do such things.

Comments

[and_i]

"'Tis a bright place," comes a soft voice from the branches over Hellebore's head. "And no great trial to find, through the woods."

[midsummer_npcs]

Hellebore lets the rope run through him fingers, a little too smooth and quick for any ordinary rope, and smiles slowly at the sound of the quiet little voice overhead.

"Just so. Magic burns strong there, and with our Lady's will to guide you all I have no doubt you shall find it."

[pisum_sativum]

Peaseblossom schools his face to show no sign of startlement at that voice from overhead. Has she been there all -- ?

-- of course she's been there all along.

"Ah, there she speaks at last," he says pleasantly. "Give you good even, Moth."

[and_i]

Moth gives them a little waggle of her fingers.

"Send us on, sirrah. We'll find him for the Queen."

[pisum_sativum]

He exchanges a swift glance with Cobweb, and another with Mustardseed.

If Moth knows where they're going already ... well.

This may be a merry night after all.