Rain pattered methodically against leaves-- a consistent little plit-plit-plit-plit that soothed her ears. The ceiling was overcast with thick, grey clouds that blotted out the lights above, but it was still bright enough for Vivilene to see where she was going. The cervitaur wove around thick tree-trunks with a basket tied to her back (the horizontal one), snuffling quietly between the ferns.
It must have been an hour or so, now, since the rain had started. Her thick hair had flattened until it was straight and stuck to her face and shoulders, and her shawl shared a similar fate-- soaked through and sheer and somehow sticky. If she didn't have it tied around her torso, Vivilene was certain it could have stuck in place to it anyway with the water. It was uncomfortable. It was cold, and she was soggy, but rain was the best weather for sniffing out herbs.
Petrichor brought out the smells. It was easy to find tough little stems she called 'warmroot' (chewing them into a paste and applying them to wounds left a heated, sort of numb feeling) and stuff them away into the basket. She needed them for Hunter's shoulder, if he would have them. They grew densely by the trees, under the foliage, and were rough to pull down.
Vivilene could have brought Attikias's hunting knife. It would have made the job easier.
Alas...
Hooves twisted in the mud when Vivilene found a particularly large specimen-- thick and tough and buried under all that dirt and foliage. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled right back against it, until she could hear the streeetch of roots leaving soil and
A slip, and Vivilene came crashing onto her side, legs flailing in the air and basket of herbs spilling all over the forest floor, lost out of sight.
A pause.
It was... too green, too muddy, to see where the stems had gone.
@Anglea