It wasn't often that Kit found himself with free time. When he did, he often found himself here, a place where there were more types of plants than people that frequented it. It contrasted with the fields, one crop, many people, so perfectly. That was probably why he liked this place. Anything so opposite to something disliked logically was acceptable.

Supposedly, it was free time. In reality, someone somewhere probably thought it was stolen time. He had, however, actually been let off. The field he worked in was finished, and as a small reward, they were allowed an hour's break. It was an abnormality. Most decided to congregate. Occasionally, Kit would sit at the edge of such a crowd watching the others. Happiness, however, in the middle of a field of misery seemed inappropriate. Peace and contentment he could understand. Joy was a different matter. Besides, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to put a dampener on any excitement. Even if he were disinclined toward such, he saw no reason in not letting people do as they wished.

He, after all, could do as he liked elsewhere. Here. He had no idea what half these things were, but some of these plants smelled nice or had slightly funny colors. There were a variety of shapes, too. It wasn't the same leaf repeated over and over again down so many rows across so many fields. These were plants that had life.

Today, however, he was not alone with all the strange plants. He found himself looking at a foreigner. There had been a rumor about an Arab around, and he thought he might have seen her around, but for the most part, he had ignored it. Why would any Arab want to be here? Lawley fiefdom or anywhere near it was a horrible place to be. Must have been someone that looked like an Arab.

This stranger certainly looked the part. He gave her a strange look.

"What are you doing here?" The words were out before he had thought about them. "Here as in ... Lawley ..." He assumed she knew Lawley Fiefdom. She had been here long enough for rumors to start floating around, and the name Lawley had a habit of creeping into everything nearby whether or not it was welcome.

Lawley was not a bastion of plant life, but it was certainly better then some of the other places Maha had visited. Thyme grew like a weed here, as did sage. They weren’t her typical fare, but she was always willing to experiment. It was a nice afternoon; she had just enough time between selling and having to go tend to the idiot boy to collect a few things.

Now, if only the new strange boy would just stop staring at her. She didn’t think it was polite in Thiasa to stare, but the people seemed to make an exception for her. Maha tried to focus on collecting the thyme, but he was still staring at her every time she peeped up. He wouldn’t stop!

"What are you doing here? Here as in ... Lawley ..." Now she stared back at him. Did he think she was stupid? She could speak Scalian just fine, he didn’t need to say things with that tone.

Fine. If he thought her stupid, she would be stupid. She turned back to her work. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away. That would be much easier for her, anyway, to avoid any provocation.

When she stared at him, Kit stared right on back. He wasn't trying to challenge her. He simply expected an answer. Then she had turned around and went right back to picking at the plants. That, not her actually being here, was the problem. If she would just lie back and be content with the place, he would not have said another word, not have stared at her at all. He continued to watch her.

Now that he thought about it, it looked as if she were gathering them the same way he might have harvested. He had, when he was younger, picked a few of them and just kept them, but he soon realized they would shrivel up and die. They were prettier here, alive. Were she doing that, however, she would have only picked a few of each, not grabbed that much. Why would she ever need that much? They were so small, and there wasn't that much of it. Wouldn't planting an entire field to harvest such leaves be more proper?

That was a depressing thought. Maybe this place wasn't so different from the fields after all. Maybe it was the same thing with a different, unidentifiable crop on a smaller scale.

"Just, just don't pick those ones," he finally asked when he realized she was going to ignore him. Kit pointed at his favorite plant. It had thin leaves with deep cuts, leaves unlike most of the other ones here. He loved watched the wind blow through it, and when on occasion there was no wind (and no one around) he would blow on it just to see it move. It was so fine, so delicate compared to the plants he was used to handling.

Even as she ignored him, he continued to watch her. Maha was used to stares; if she hadn’t by now, then she would be in quite the state. But she had never been… observed while she was on the hunt. She wondered if he was doing this because he was used to getting stared at while he was working.

She tried to work as best as she could, anyway. Replenishing her supplies was more important then this one’s awkward stare.

Then he asked her not to touch a certain plant, and Maha’s eye lit up. Not because she wanted to aggravate him, but because of what plant he was pointing at. Angel Feet: a plant that was the prime example of the difference between a medicine and a poison. She leaned over, and using the end of her sleeve to cover her hand, plucked a sprig of the herb, holding it up to the boy’s face.

“This is Angel Feet; a very powerful cough suppressant. If you grind two or three leaves, mix it with a few other select ingredients, then apply the poultice to the chest, one’s cough can be relieved by the vapors released. However, if one were to use too many, or if he was to ingest the leaves directly, the lungs would be paralyzed, and one would die of suffocation.” With her other hand, she took a scrap of fabric she kept specifically to keep her more potent plants separate, and slipped it in her bag. “Thank you for showing me the herb’s location, but please do not interfere with my work.”

She picked it. Kit's face fell. "I can't believe you did that!" he cried indignantly. He should have known better than to have mentioned it. Pointing drew attention; that was a fact of life. He sighed, resigned. There was no one in life who would actually pay heed to what he said. That was also a fact of life.

And when she tried to explain it, all he could understand was that the plant had a nice name. He, still stuck on the fact she had picked it, only vaguely understood the meaning of her words. The meaning was this: 'Angel Feet' apparently had a purpose other than just sitting there, waiting for him to arrive. She was ruining the meaning of these leaves. Not only that, but she put it away with all the other ones and went straight back to destroying this place.

"You're not welcome," he mumbled darkly, still staring. "They're not supposed to be picked, you know," he added louder. "They're not meant to be." He was being slightly childish -- who was he to say she couldn't pick them? -- but he felt she was simply going about it too methodically. Why was she picking them, anyways?

Her explanation quite clearly went over his head. She should not have tried to explain; no Thiasan outside of a few herbalists had ever had an interest in the art. He was no different from the rest of them

He was an irritating boy. Demanding that she quit picking herbs now. What right did he have to demand that? She snorted, than said, “To my knowledge, there are no rules against gathering herbs in this area. If I were hunting, then perhaps, but I am doing no harm here.

“Besides,” she continued, “if God had not meant for these plants to be picked, then he would not have given them stems that could be broken, nor would he have given them their special properties. Even someone such as you can appreciate their unique qualities when applied correctly.” She turned away, meaning to continue her work.

“I don’t interfere with your work, so again, please do not interfere with my own.”

Not appreciating? She was the one not appreciating. How could she pull those plants and say she was appreciating them? He had done so much before, and it had came to disastrous results. "You take them -- they dry and crumble and fade. How's that good?" he mumbled, half to himself, but with words clearly directed at her. What he had been doing -- resting, admiring, smelling, looking -- that was fine.

He wanted to take her bag and scatter the contents upon the ground, but he knew that would do no good. In the fields, once something was cut, it had to be bound, dried and stored. Leaving any plant out was no better than picking it. He also wanted to just lie on the ground on top of his favorites. It'd stop her from taking them. On the other hand, that would crush them, and the result would be the same -- a fast end for the plants.

She was impossible, he thought, sitting, glaring, but now quieted. He let his fingers run over the leaves of a nearby plant, touching it gently. It was another one of his favorites. He had seen it other places, it wasn't like the Angel Feet in that sense, but in this particular area it was a rarity. He wasn't about to call her attention to this one, though, not after last time.

She frowned. “Well, yes, they only stay fresh for a very limited time. They are much easier to take care of dried. I’m an herbalist—I don’t use these because they’re pretty.” Unless they were in aesthetic gardens, herbs were to be picked and used. Not like they had gardens here, not like the ones in Damask. Maha’s mother had a beautiful flower garden in the courtyard of the house, and there were frequently gardens in the public parks. These people, they were too focused on the ugliness of war to focus on beauty of cultivation.

Was the boy simple? He had not struck her as a simpleton at first, but he acted much too childishly to be an adult. Perhaps that was why he was so petulant; he may not know any better. If he was truly simple, then Allah’s blessing be upon him, for there was little to nothing anyone could do about it. But even in Arabia, most families kept mentally unfortunate under close observation, either locked away in a basement or in an institution of some sort. If he was roaming about on his own, then he had either escaped his bindings, or he was not simple. If he escaped, then there would likely be more people looking for him. It was unlikely, then that he was a simpleton.

“You do not dress like a lord does,” Maha said, “So you are not likely to own this land, and therefore do not have much to loose from my gathering herbs here. So then why are you so protective?” Maha’s grinned wickedly. She had heard of some Thiasan superstitions about a group of djinn-like creatures who haunted the little pockets and corners of the woods. “Perhaps, if you are not a lord, then you are not a serf, either. Maybe you are so vigilant because you are one of the Little Ones.” Maybe that would spook him, and she would be left in peace.

And yet, they were the prettiest plants around that he ever saw. The most diverse, at the very least. Maybe there were prettier plants she had seen and thought these to just be regular items. It was possible. Kit knew lords and serfs differed in clothing, house, demeanor, and that the lords claimed to be more graceful. There were, perhaps, multiple ranks of plants. He certainly saw these as 'above' the wheat. She looked different, and though Kit couldn't really rank her against the lords or the serfs, by the quality of the cloth, he could guess she knew better days than he.

He was irked by the fact her words implied the lord owned everything. While it was fundamentally true, Kit had felt Lord Lawley and his men were nowhere as near to the land as they were. He knew, by law, the lands were under the name Lawley, but there were certain patches he felt did not belong to the lord. This was one of them. Well, that wasn't to say he felt he had ownership, but he still didn't think she ought to pick the plants.

And what oh what was a 'Little One'? A sprite? Kit knew he couldn't be one, sprite or not. Maybe she was one. That almost made logical sense. She was trying to confuse him and wreck havoc amongst this area. The only problem was that she was human-sized, not tiny. Maybe Arab sprites were larger. She had to be an evil one, though, if she were one. Good ones didn't go around killing plants.

On the other hand -- maybe she was being somewhat truthful. She had said something about Angel Feet stopping the cough, right? Such an item would be useful for his father. The lord had promised protection, and at first, Kit had assumed that meant from sickness, too, but he now knew it meant from nothing. His father had suffered for that lie. They all had. Not just his family, but the other serfs as well.

"Teach me, then," he said after a moment of quiet. "To make the cough go away."

Maha pouted inwardly. He hadn’t taken her gambit. If Maha were to think about it,that was for the best, but she hadn’t had fun like that in some time. She couldn’t be blamed for her occasional streak of mischief now, could she?

She was stunned momentarily by his request. Teach him? He hadn’t even seen the effects of the medicine. She doubted he had any training in any relevant skills, not even cooking. Most men had mothers or wives to do that for them. He didn’t seem to be ill himself, so it was likely for a family member.

“No. I will not teach you how—it took me years to master my skills, and Angel Feet is a dangerous plant.” Maha shook her head. Giving the recipe to the boy, then letting him make it himself? Whoever took the medicine would be dead by nightfall. “I will however, see whoever is ill and do what I can from there.”

Kit waited impatiently for an answer, both pessimistically knowing she would say no and optimistically hoping she would say yes. It wasn't that hard of a question, was it? It shouldn't involve that much thought. There were only two options.

She said no. No surprises there. She had gone on picking plants after he had told her to stop, hadn't she? Had he said please? Maybe that was what was missing.

"It's just one plant. I can learn it. Please?" In all actuality, he probably couldn't. Kit knew how to whack, shovel, cut. They were large actions with a lot of back thrown into it. In terms of finer actions, he could scoop goop into a bowl and spoon the same goop into his mouth when there was food to be had.

Maha shook her head. Was he not listening? “No, it is not as simple as that. Think about it like this—you work the fields, correct? You have worked them for many years, and know what you are doing very well, yes? But I have never done such fieldwork in my life. Look.” Maha held up her hand. “Look at my hand—it is too soft to do such labor. If I were to try, I would only make a mess. It would be the same if you were to try my line of work; you do not know how to grind the plants properly, you do not know the proportions to use. Do you know how to cook? Medicine can be very similar to cooking, but it is a much more precise work.

“Angel Feet is too advanced for any beginner to use; but if you want, I may be able to teach you a much simpler remedy. But you must help me find a willow tree, first.”

But the fact was she could work the fields. Anyone could. Anyone would knowing what would happen if they didn't. At first, she might be slower, more uneven than the rest, but that didn't mean she couldn't do the work. Well, that was probably it. He knew there wasn't much of the Angel Feet around and perhaps an uneven would be worth nothing. Bad farming was, after all, not as effective.

The cooking he could relate to. Almost. He knew how to cook what he could get his hands on, and that wasn't much. He also knew there had to be much better food than what he ate. The complications of cooking never crossed his mind. He just assumed it happened sometimes. Kit reluctantly accepted the reality of 'more advanced' things. It wasn't his fault he got stuck in the fields most days.

"What? A tree now? You want a [i]tree[i]? Why would I help you get a tree?" That had been an automatic reaction to her request. A moment's thought made him realize she probably only wanted the leaves as a tree wasn't gifted by God with easily snapped trucks.

He seemed to understand why she wouldn’t teach him the remedy of Angel Feet. Good. She wouldn’t have the guilt of indirectly killing someone because of some boy’s stupidity. Nor would she have the suspicion of the locals.

She didn’t have enough time to properly make a willow bark infusion-- it would take an entire day to do it right. Medicine was half belief, anyway, or so Maha had once heard. Either way, she would do what she had to do for now. Tomorrow she’d have a proper infusion.

“Yes, a tree, do not give me such a look.” Maha caught herself before she rolled her eyes in exasperation. What did that boy think she was intending to do? Haul the tree off over her shoulder? Or even better, for him to haul it!

“I need a willow tree so I can collect the bark.” She explained, hoping her impatience was not showing as strongly as she felt.