Everything counts, and there are uses beyond the conventional. Merrill pats her little satchel of herbs again on a forward rock, squaring her feet. "Oh, they have uses even if I accidentally leave them in my pocket and they dry out, too."

And the same could be said for old Wardens, if those dark thoughts ever fill your head, Hercules.

Following him down, stride a bit more like a playful, trotting halla than the stride of a searching wildcat, Merrill kicks up some of the snow at the edge of the open area. Definitely a fantastic spot, and she bends to scoop snow with him, sighing happily.

"Sitting, perhaps? Or lying down, or curled up around a nest of eggs, or..."

You may want to interject, Herc.