Snippet #1291840

Myr dusted off her hands, looking up as Matt reappeared, and with a most peculiar question, no less. "I admit to being quite fond of it, yes," she replied with soft smile. Mayhap it was natural for one who valued freedom of movement as much as a thief must to do so; she had not thought of it as immediately evident, but had to admit such things were a possibility. "I was unaware that anyone shared my proclivity for the closeness of nature."

It certainly solved the sheltering problem, assuming anyone would want to use them at all. Well, she couldn't think of a reason for Shadow to ask for them to be made if he at least didn't plan on utilizing such a thing. Mark wore a bit too much armor to look like she'd be comfortable in a tree, but then people did have a tendency to surprise every once in a while.

Moving so that she was seated on the ground somewhere between the shelters and the most logical location for a fire, she removed a small, flat stone disk, no larger than her (rather small) palm, from a belt-pouch. A groove was worn into the surface, about as wide as her first two fingers, matching up quite well with the dimensions of the worked stone column of about four inches with a somewhat bulbous base that accompanied it. A few leaves of an herb that smelled lightly of something similar to cinnamon were placed into the worn indentation, and her waterskin she set to her side, within easy reach. Fitting the end of the cylinder into the groove, Myr began to grind the herb with sure, steady strokes, adding a bit of water when it had become little more than a fine powder.

After a few minutes, the substance had mixed into a greenish paste, still with the same faint odor. Dipping her little finger into the substance, Myr dabbed it on her tongue and nodded to herself, satisfied that it had the right consistency.