Zarah and I went our separate ways, with her ntioning she was heading toward one of the watchtowers to keep an eye on things.
Before she left, she pointed toward Flogga’s new shed, and I waved her off before turning in that direction.
I could have warped there.
The seal I placed on Flogga would make it easy.
Instant, effortless, and convenient.
But I chose to walk.
Teleporting would have robbed of the chance to take in the view of the camp, to see how everything had grown and shifted since the last ti I slowed down enough to observe it. Besides, I didn’t even know where Flogga’s shed was located until Zarah pointed it out, so I thought to get used to my surroundings and walk.
It took only a few minutes before I reached it.
Flogga’s shed sat near the very edge of the camp, a squat stone hut tucked slightly away from the main path as if the clan deliberately gave her space... or distance... or both.
The walls were built from rough, uneven stone slabs stacked tightly together, patched with clay and mud where the gaps didn’t behave. It wasn’t pretty, but it was sturdy.
A patchwork roof of bark tiles and stretched hide covered the hut, held in place by fist-sized stones arranged along the edges. Thin grey smoke drifted lazily from a narrow chimney, carrying a sll so sharp it stung my nose even before I reached the doorway.
The mont I stepped inside, the air changed completely.
Heat wrapped around like a blanket.
The air was thick, almost soupy, heavy with the scent of boiling herbs and sothing bitter enough that I could taste it just by breathing. My tongue actually tingled.
The interior looked exactly the way I imagined anything belonging to Flogga would look—cramped, cluttered, chaotic, yet not truly disorganized. There was a strange internal logic to the ss, the kind only its creator could understand.
Stone shelves were carved directly into the hut walls, lined with jars stacked in uneven rows. So jars were filled with dried roots, others with moss or mushrooms I’d never seen before. A few held dark liquids that shifted when the light hit them, and one jar contained sothing small that definitely blinked at before going still again.
So of the jars glowed faintly with soft, unnatural light.
Others made a low rattling sound every few seconds—enough to make the hairs on my arm rise. I had no idea what lived or moved inside them, and honestly, I didn’t want to find out.
A flat stone table sat in the center of the room.
It was cracked, stained, and clearly battered from years of use. Mortars and pestles lay scattered across its surface alongside piles of crushed herbs, scraps of bark, and strange powders that looked like they ca from ingredients best left unnad.
Bundles of herbs hung low from the ceiling. Their dry leaves brushed the top of my head whenever I moved. So were earthy, others pungent, and a few gave off a sll sharp enough to make my eyes water.
In the far corner, a tal cauldron bubbled over a small fire pit. Steam rolled out of it in thick waves, carrying a sll that seed like a mixture of dicine, damp soil, and sothing sour enough to make my stomach churn. Whatever was cooking in there belonged in a potion—not in a al.
And there was Flogga—scowling into the cauldron as she stirred.
Her expression alone could curdle milk.
But she wasn’t alone.
Soone else was moving silently through the shed, sorting herbs with quick, practiced hands. A small figure, working efficiently, head slightly bowed.
"Oh, Chief," she said when she finally noticed . She stood up imdiately and bowed politely.
I gave a small nod in acknowledgent and, curious, activated [Analyze] to view her profile.
For her to be here working beside Flogga, I already suspected she wasn’t ordinary—and my suspicion was right.
Mira (F) – Level 7 Worker
Skill: Herbseer
Herbseer?
Even without a description, the na told enough.
Anything with "seer" in it hinted at insight, sensing, or identifying. Combined with "herb," it was clear she had a natural affinity for recognizing, sorting, or understanding plant-based ingredients—sothing Flogga relied on heavily for her potions.
Of course Flogga had chosen her.
The old goblin had an eye for talent sharper than most Chosen.
"Young totem, you ca to see ?" Flogga rasped without turning away from her cauldron, her voice rough and edged with heat from the steam.
Her tone told it was important enough to keep stirring whatever was inside that bubbling soup of chaos. If she didn’t rise to greet , it wasn’t disrespect—it ant whatever she was brewing demanded constant attention.
So I approached her instead, stepping around hanging herbs and jars, while Mira quietly returned to her sorting.
"Yes," I said, stopping beside her. "I ca to see how you’re doing."
"Ehh, you didn’t need to," Flogga muttered, still stirring, her tone rough but not unfriendly.
I lowered myself onto the small stone stool beside her and let out a long, quiet sigh.
There was sothing about being near her that I could never fully explain.
Whenever I stood beside Flogga, I felt... settled.
Grounded.
Like my mind finally stopped running ahead of itself.
Around everyone else, I was the Chief.
The leader.
The one who had to stay sharp, decisive, unshakable.
But around her?
I felt like a child sitting beside an elder, free to let the weight on my shoulders fade for a mont. I could vent my worries, my fears, even my doubts, and she wouldn’t judge . She’d scold , yes—but not judge .
It was a strange feeling... but a comforting one.
A smile tugged at my lips before I even realized.
"I see you’ve gotten a new worker," I said, glancing toward Mira.
"Yes," Flogga replied. "She has talent."
"I noticed," I said. "She has a skill called Herbseer."
"That fits," Flogga said with a short nod, her eyes never leaving the bubbling mixture as she continued to stir with slow, steady strokes. "She says her skill lets her...
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