The sun had just risen when Sorcha first heard the thunder of horses that rode through the forest. Her lack in curiosity over political matters stopped her from bothering to peek out from behind the tree which she sat before. She was gathering herbs, early morning was a perfect time and this time of year especially as all the young herbs which had sprouted in the spring were now grown enough to pluck from. Sliding her sickle in a fluid motion she released the stems of mint from its stalk. Sorcha loved mint, she loved how wonderful it smelt, how it felt between her fingers and how the tea tasted as she drank by her fire on a late winters eve.
Sitting back on the balls of her feet she whispered thanks to the plant for its sacrifice and stood. Breathing in she smelt the fresh day before her. The dew still dripping to the ground, the sound of birds beginning to increase as each awoke to greet the morning. Stepping carefully along the uncharted forest floor Sorcha wandered about searching f