If Anastasia opened her mouth, she could generally get a better idea of where she was by the smells than she could by just using her eyes.

At first, it was overwhelming. She'd want to cry every time she opened her mouth. She couldn't eat very much, or talk, but a few days into-- existing, she started to get used to it. Now, she could tell what was around her from a quick lick of her lips; the tang of berries in the distance, the dusty feathers of carollers above.

It made foraging a lot easier. She was picking up mangos and stuffing them into a satchel she 'borrowed' from Attikias. In just half an hour she was padding back into camp with the bag and her arms full of yellow-orange fruit.

"Mom," she called as she wandered to her own sleeping spot. "Mooooooom."

She settled down on the blankets, crossing her legs into a basket and dropping the fruit into her lap (and partially onto the blankets, too, when she dumped the satchel out). The plan, really, was just to share some fruit with her mother.

As one does, really.