Saralin looked to the fallen Lilly Giant and knew that it would provide meat to this village for many months. Its meat had been nourished by mana, nearly becoming that of a forest spirit, it definitely wouldn't rot anytime soon.

She looked around for the stout young demon; wondering all the while how he had survived the forest. She had planted it as a farm many years ago. When she had gone through a phase of deep interest in botany. Back then, she spent one hundred years to collect medicinal plants, at first. The forest had since naturally diversified, as she became less selective, in what she grew in it. Over time, creatures like this Lilly Giant moved in or were born, in the essence filled habitat. 

Fever grass swayed as she looked for him, they made it hard to spot his movements. She gave up and returned home. The body, of the creature, would be cleaned by the villagers and they would get their meat in the morning.

The house, like many others, in many other out-of-the-way villages, was owned personally by her. She rubbed her shoulders, with thoughts of the harnesses that would dig into them, on the journey back by this week's end.

She had gotten old, somehow. Old enough that she would hear the spirits call out to her, as she slept. She would ignore them, of course. Her work had to be done, more precisely, finished. And, that she was getting older meant she was doing a very fine job of it. But this was a double-edged sword; it made the job harder to complete. What she needed now was an apprentice. She sighed and went about gathering her wares, to clean in the river in the morning.

.......................

Damian sat in the field. Where he had found the most safety since entering this world. In the quiet forest, he had met the monster; and in the village, it had been killed... by an old lady. Night had arrived. What would move about now, in that quiet place? He was certain of one thing... he wouldn't find out. He fell asleep in the field.

`.......................

Saralin, like most people her age, didn't get enough sleep. She woke up just before the sun. When the candlelight, in the window, could be mistaken as light on the horizon. This would happen just before she would blink the mistake away and sit up in bed.

Her wares were separated into two bags on the table; one for glass objects, the other, filled with pots and pans. She rubbed her shoulders, again, remembering the time that had passed.

She got up and walked to the door. Expectantly, she met a steaming bath of water. She dragged it into the bedroom, and moments later, came out in a purple dress. Saralin had made a point not to stoop to time, though she still felt its burden pushing her down. She looked around and remembered the place, sighed, and left.

She carried the netted sack of glass east, to the river; these were needed first. She could trust the villagers with her bath, but these wares were needed, and she wouldn't trust the hillbillies not to break anything.

The fever grass swayed as she lined them along the bank, in three rows of fifteen. She looked at the river and squinted hard.

She raised her hands, like the rest of her body, they were grey, she concentrated ahead. She specialised in fire and wood, but, if she focused hard enough, she could control other essences. This was a recent accomplishment.

She held her hands up and felt the natural essence gathering a few feet above her head. Soon enough, mist rose from the river. In places that would seem most natural, if it weren't for the amount. From the white rapids further up the river, where the water met stone impediments, and sprayed into a mist, around fallen tree limbs, and places hard for anyone to see. 

It all became a cloud, a little one, and when she squeezed both hands, into tight fists, it became five balls of water, just as large as they were. She held her hands towards the jars, and they made rotations, within the jars; cleaning them swiftly. She repeated the process, washing them all in groups of fives.

When she had finished, and the sun was up properly, she wiped away the sweat from her brows. Feeling that it had taken more than she would've liked.

'Agarith wouldn't have found it straining.' She sighed to herself, straightening up, as a sharp look came to her. Then she snorted and spun around.

.............

Damian woke up earlier than he would've liked. It was worse that he woke up in a field, cold and wet. Torches had been lit in the village, after the creatures death. They were big and bright and showed the place well. They sent their smoke up the field to him. And he knew why he woke up, now. He smelt like firewood. 

Perhaps something in the smoke had dazed him, as he felt a little slow. He adjusted the loincloth, as it stuck to his groin and made him uncomfortable. He sat there until he saw the old lady. He didn't have a reason, other than being groggy and dazed, and also wanting to see more magic, he followed from afar.

The lemongrass, he realised, as more of his brain worked, swayed in thick patches; it made it hard to move without impeding their sways or making a ruckus.

He stayed silent, watching her. He thought perhaps he'd wasted his time. She had only gone to the river to clean glass instruments. This was until he saw the old woman spread her arms overhead, forming clouds. She folded her fist, and rain, their sizes, formed.

It ended with him dazed.

Suddenly she spun towards him, said something, in gibberish, and he was being dragged towards her.

"You're blue!" Saralin spat. "How is ya gonna try to hide in grass?"

Her ashy grey face looked fierce. And he felt the vines tighten. He yanked away with the vines and fell. They consumed him, only leaving a hole around his mouth to breath. He did, and he also screamed, periodically.

He was dragged towards her.