It's funny how some memories just show up uninvited, without warning. As Hemlock plucked wildflowers to use their stems in teas and their petals in candles for later that night, the smell of a dandelion suddenly brought sweeping back the memories of his first days training as a new recruit at the Agency, of having his feet swept out from under him by his sparring mate, and the perspective shift of being face-down in the grass, with a dandelion looming uncharacteristically tall in his peripheral. That dandelion became a symbol for Hemlock; the resistance of the one wild thing in a sea of carefully-trimmed conformity. He thought of it often, how it seemed so small on the ground below him, but for an ant in the grass, it would be impossible to even see the top of the flower.

His lips formed a chagrined grimace at the memory, still mourning the fact that he had ever allowed himself to be put in that position; when all along the herb magic had been there, calling to him. How he had ever let that other kind of magic flow through him, the kind that he could only create with— no. He wouldn’t even think her name, because even thinking it would let in a flood of other sour memories, ones he didn’t know if he could handle. He turned his attention once more to the ground, and tried to search through the flowers for primroses— he could use them in an oil tincture and rub a small drop on each of his wrists to bring a sense of optimism, and to move past his youthful grudges.

Finishing his harvesting, he wrapped his collected goods in a leather sheet, tied it up with a leather rope, and swung it over his shoulders to rest comfortably in the center of his back. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, filtering golden rays through the gently swaying grass. Hemlock took a moment to breathe in the beauty.

This was why he was doing this, he reminded himself. He wasn’t running from his past, he was running towards his future. He couldn’t regret the ones he left behind, it would only hold him back. He knew he couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back, but while he was far away from the Agency, he was free to redirect his focus to the things he loved doing; the places he loved to wander.

He adjusted the strap on his sack and turned to walk up the hill back towards the place he had been staying, to go prepare his candles and dry his herbs for the night ahead. Without the twin he didn’t even dare to think of, he had no ability to cast an artificial light spell or conjure any supplies from thin air, and was reliant on his charmed candles to guide him through the night.

He was planning to charge tonight’s candles with Daisies to make the flame impervious to the rain and wind. He had forecast in his tea leaves that morning that the day would be clear, but the sunset would bring torrential downpour. With his candles and the threads of water-resistant sweetgrass woven through his clothing, the rain never stopped him from exploring, and this evening was planned to be an evening of traveling through the vast hills like any other.