Gara wasn't wrong, Fian was experienced. But it wasn't because of time spent with his kin. Ever since he could remember, he had been made to work and work, under the commands of humans.
He had done more kinds of labor than most could name.
While waiting, Gara let his gaze wander. The air was colder here, the altitude high enough to sharpen every breath.
Everywhere he looked, the forest's deep green was broken only by the glint of the clear river. But upon closer inspection, other colors peeked through—the wild plants that climbed trees or spread along the ground.
"I'll gather some wild plants from around here."
Without waiting for Fian's reply, Gara walked off.
The elf watched him go, noting that he didn't wander far, only foraging along the riverbank.
There were many wild plants Gara didn't recognize, and he had no intention of picking them blindly. He gathered only the ones he knew well, including Thimvine—the cheapest and most accessible ingredient for his anesthetic.
