The next morning, Aspen brought Clover and Basil to a floriferous clearing in the woods.
Irregularly sized and shaped colonies of red and pink flowers brushed petals in the solar buffet.

“As a druid, it is your duty to end unnecessary suffering in the kingdom of nature,” the elf explained to unanimous nods of understanding.

“For instance, a live fish clumsily dropped by a predating bird – stranded on land – on a cold day it might lie there – dying – for hours depending on species.”

Basil swallowed dryly, fully engrossed in Aspen’s lesson.

“To bring the fish back to water is to set a starving precedent for all scavengers in the kingdom,” he explained.

“It is not our place to alter fate, only prune the least desirable moments,” Aspen said, looking at Clover in particular. “That is why neither the predator nor the prey has quarrel with druids.”

She nodded awkwardly.

After a moment of quiet consideration, Aspen held up his long elven arm and splayed out his fingers.
“A druid doesn’t work with steel or magic but with their authority over the kingdom.”

As his fingers tightened around a non-existent handle, the golden sickle gently shimmered to life.

The younger druids’ eyes were locked to the tool.
When Aspen released it from his grasp, it sublimated in a flash.

Basil surreptitiously groped the air in an attempt to conjure his blade.

“Clover,” Aspen said, getting her attention.
“Grasp your sickle,” he instructed.
“Remember, you’re not drawing a blade; you are taking a wrench.”

She nodded hesitantly.
“A wrench,” she thought, taking a deep, steadying breath.
“…used to disassemble living things…!” she grimaced silently.

The sun slid across the sky, dimming to a tropical spectrum of reds and pinks.

Basil was in a near-meditative state.
He was staring at his open hand, running through a checklist of absent qualia.
Just as he was about to pounce, a radiant yellow light appeared from the corner of his eye.

Clover was staring at the indistinct hilt lying contently where – and how - she envisioned it.
“I did it…!” she beamed and gave the sickle a few cautious swings.

She saw Aspen give her an approving nod and turned to see the fleeing tail of Basil’s disappointment followed by a flash flood of excited support.
“Nice job, Clover!”

The lingering visage of the fishman’s sorry expression lingered in the druid’s mind.
“Thanks, Basil,” she smiled sympathetically.
“I wasn’t making any progress until I… kind of… stopped acting like it had weight,” she explained uncertainly.

Basil nodded wordlessly, trying to internalise Clover’s words of advice.

Aspen gracefully rose to his feet from the smoothened stone he sat upon for most of the day.
“I think this is a good time to end your training for today,” she explained. “You have both made good progress.”

“Um,” Basil piped up coyly.
“I’ll stay here and practise a little longer, if that’s okay…?” He half said and half asked.

After just a moment of contemplation, the elf nodded.
“Of course.”

Seeing Clover open her mouth with an inspired glint in her eye, Aspen quickly – but calmly - shook his head.
“Not you,” he said with the tiniest tilt to the corner of his lips.

Clover’s shoulder sagged on the spot.

“If you progress much further ahead of him, it would be counterproductive to keep you two as training partners,” Aspen explained.

A sudden wave of panic washed over her.
Clover gave a desperately cooperative nod.
“Okay, I understand.”
“I didn’t think about any of that…” She added guiltily, “Sorry…” she said – primarily to Basil.

Aspen pinched some soil off the ground and sprinkled it around a couple strategic locations around the flower patch.
In a matter of seconds the indistinct grains sprouted capped stalks with bulging gills.
When they reached the size of a human head, their growth slowed, as their energy was redirected to kickstarting the bioluminescent reaction dimly illuminating the clearing.
They gave off the same warm light as some of the mushrooms back at the henge.

“Thank you, I didn’t really think about light.” Basil smiled shyly.

Aspen gave him a small smile and patted his shoulder reassuringly before turning to leave without a word.
He gestured for Clover to follow, which she did after throwing Basil a final parting wave.

In the morning, the forest was an entirely different world.
Droplets of dew occupied every inch of shade.
The sun attempted to look big and hot at a point in the day when it was only starting to stoke its flames.
There were far fewer insects than in the evening.

Clover anxiously followed the elf, worrying about what they would find in the flower field.
The two primary images haunting her mind were of the fishman either still hopelessly trying or having already given up.
There was, of course, the hope that he was successful and simply decided not to return to the henge.

One outcome Clover hadn’t considered was that they would find Basil fraternising with a stranger – a plague-seeker no less.

The darkly dressed, cloaked, and gloved figure only deviated from the colour scheme with the standard issue plague-seeker mask and her hair.
The ceramic mask was fitted with alchemically made lenses and two small respirators on either side.
Her silver hair was tied back neatly.

“…-and the alchemists insisted that soap was supposed to do that to their hands…!” She confided in the druid exasperatedly.
Then she noticed the newly arrived druids and stiffly got up off Aspen’s rock.
“Good morning,” she greeted them pleasantly. “My name is Chloe; I’m a plague-seeker from the continental capital,” she introduced herself diligently.

“Hey, I’m Clover,” she smiled inconspicuously.
This was new. In the past, Clover could never get past the first mention of alchemy without the plague-seekers discreetly detouring to every conceivable warning they could offer.
Now she was in the teacher’s lounge, brushing shoulders with plague-seekers.
Clover found it both exciting and stressful.

“My name is Aspen the tranquil of Azure Gley,” the elf introduced himself.
“Is there anything you need from the druids, plague-seeker Chloe?”

She nodded and rummaged around the black pouch slung around her shoulder.
Chloe produced a grey, waxy envelope sealed in black wax.
“We’re responding to a beast that went on a rampage inside Sheerhold,” she explained.
“So far the common consensus is that it was a karpodactyl.”

Aspen took the envelope and cracked the black wax.
“Was it killed?” he asked, skimming his correspondence.

“There’s no record of anybody killing or even injuring it severely.” Chloe shook her head.
“We found eight deceased…”

Aspen nodded.
“I will bring word to the henge at once.”

Clover and Basil looked lost as they awkwardly exchanged bewildered looks.

The elder druid turned to his two pupils.
“You two,” he began methodically, “escort our colleague back out of the forest.”
“Then, meet me back at the henge,” he instructed.

None of them could make out the look of quiet relief on Chloe’s face as her escape was assured.

Sensing a silence and realising that Aspen was waiting for their confirmation, Clover nodded, “Right, of course, no problem.”