"This," Cicadabuzz murmurs, nose grazing the fuzzy leaves, "is borage." The word is spoken plainly, without ceremony, but there's a weight to it all the same—a reverence earned through seasons of use. Cicadabuzz sits back on their haunches and studies the herb for a moment, then picks it up. They set it down gently on a flat stone, nudging it toward their apprentice without a glance.
"It grows best in bright sunlight. It yearns for heat, for warmth. If not provided, it will not sprout properly." Their voice is quiet, but not soft. Measured, as if weighing every word before allowing it to slip free. "If you need to find it, use that knowledge to your advantage. Find somewhere with drier soil, where the sun rays reach the earth." With a flick of their tail, they lean forward and bite off a leaf with a quick nip of their sharp teeth, which they then give to Magpiepaw to examine. "The leaves are the best part to use. They are bitter in taste, but they are efficient." Another pause. Their eyes remain fixed on the plant as though it might withhold something if they don't pay it due attention.
"For nursing queens," they say next, gaze sharpening, "it helps keep the milk flowing if their bodies struggle to produce it at first. It helps to ensure kits will be able to nurse properly." They do not soften their tone for the mention of mothers or kits. They state it as they would the weather. Necessary. Unsentimental. "But it has other uses, as well." Cicadabuzz places the rest of the sprig of borage off to the side, safely tucked away back in their storage. "It cools fever. Useful in greenleaf, when sickness runs through the dens unbarred. Or leafbare, when cold settles too deep in the chest." A faint twitch of their whiskers as they glance towards the entrance of their den, then back. "Furthermore, it can ease stomachaches, and ease tightness in a cat's chest." They have always appreciated borage, with its many uses.
Cicadabuzz finally turns their gaze fully on Magpiepaw, head tilting slightly. The silence that follows is expectant, but not impatient, as they wait for the next question.
"It grows best in bright sunlight. It yearns for heat, for warmth. If not provided, it will not sprout properly." Their voice is quiet, but not soft. Measured, as if weighing every word before allowing it to slip free. "If you need to find it, use that knowledge to your advantage. Find somewhere with drier soil, where the sun rays reach the earth." With a flick of their tail, they lean forward and bite off a leaf with a quick nip of their sharp teeth, which they then give to Magpiepaw to examine. "The leaves are the best part to use. They are bitter in taste, but they are efficient." Another pause. Their eyes remain fixed on the plant as though it might withhold something if they don't pay it due attention.
"For nursing queens," they say next, gaze sharpening, "it helps keep the milk flowing if their bodies struggle to produce it at first. It helps to ensure kits will be able to nurse properly." They do not soften their tone for the mention of mothers or kits. They state it as they would the weather. Necessary. Unsentimental. "But it has other uses, as well." Cicadabuzz places the rest of the sprig of borage off to the side, safely tucked away back in their storage. "It cools fever. Useful in greenleaf, when sickness runs through the dens unbarred. Or leafbare, when cold settles too deep in the chest." A faint twitch of their whiskers as they glance towards the entrance of their den, then back. "Furthermore, it can ease stomachaches, and ease tightness in a cat's chest." They have always appreciated borage, with its many uses.
Cicadabuzz finally turns their gaze fully on Magpiepaw, head tilting slightly. The silence that follows is expectant, but not impatient, as they wait for the next question.
