Type
herb grounds
Long, soft banks below the hut where the Moonroot grows thick enough to walk on. The Rootwife's mandrake beds sit at the far end behind a wattle fence with a sign that just says EARS.
Snails the size of a loaf with gardens growing on their shells. Slow, harmless and — according to Wren — very competitive.
Grey-brown hares with burrs in their fur, fat on stolen Moonroot. Marla pays a copper a tail.
Hollis Dunmore's bees, or their wild cousins. Fat, slow and fine unless someone touches the hive.
Wild pigs whose bristles have grown into stinging nettles. They root up whole herb beds overnight.
Golden motes that drift over the beds at dusk, puffing sleep-pollen at anything that breathes.
Shambling heaps of grey, rotted moss that climb out of the Rotblight patches. Where they walk, herbs die.
A pulled mandrake that didn't want to be. It grows little legs, runs, and screams loud enough to drop a grown warrior.
Marla's busy. Wren has a list, and she's handing half of it to you.
Thessaly needs her mandrake beds thinned, and she isn't going to do the pulling.
Grey, dead patches are spreading through the herb beds. Rook wants to know where they're coming from.