An ancient squat tower stood over a field. The Moors of Sleep had plenty of bones but here there were few. The bones that lay here were of different creatures clad in what must have been leather armor, but the leather had been picked away and decayed leaving just scraps of what it used to be behind. The skeletons help long curved staves of wood. Perhaps they had been wizards once but they magic hadn't been enough to save them. A miserable and unimportant thought, their deaths would have happened long before Cyhyraeth had been created and would be here long after they perished.

"Is this where you need to be?" Crispin asked looking to Cyhyraeth for confirmation. Cyhyraeth dipped their head inspecting the grass around the tower until they found a small bud of a plant.

"Oh yes, this one will find what it needs here," Cyhyraeth confirmed and began to pluck to bud. A few more of these buds circled around the tower. Crispin was not entirely sure what they were for but he didn't bother to ask, he had learned that Cyhyraeth was not one to speak much on the past. With the buds plucked they deposited it in their bag.

"Would it be alright if this one lingered?"

"Take your time, there's no rush."

"This one thanks you," Cyhyraeth lowered themselves to the ground and opened their pack once again and slowly began to pull out a few things. A mortar and pestle, the buds they just plucked and a fully bloomed plant. Cyhyraeth held one of the buds over the mortar and began to grind their teeth. The grinding loosened seeds from the bud that dropped into the mortar, they then dropped the used bud in and took the pestle into their maw and began to grind the foliage down further. The mixture was a dull red. "Hm, this needs more..." The dropped the bloomed blossom into the mixture and ground that down too. A fine mess of bright red powder. "This is almost complete, but will require more delicate working than this one can provide." Cyhyraeth made a noise, something caught between a rasp and whistle.

A white owl swooped down on soft muffled wings, it made no noise as it looked at Cyhyraeth expectantly. "The vial, if you would?" The owl hopped onto the bag and lifted the flap and dipped its head inside. Moments later it hopped in front Cyhyraeth holding a vial with what appeared to be water inside. The owl gripped the stopper with its talons and tugged it off. "Please put it in the bowl," the owl obediently tipped the vial into the mortar filling it. The red, earthy mixture sat in water as Cyhyraeth stirred it, mixing it into a strange reddish liquid. "Prepare," Cyhyraeth commanded and the owl held the vial near the lip of the bowl as Cyhyraeth very carefully tipped it, letting the liquid fill the vial, once full the owl corked the vial and put it into the bag and stole a small morsel of meat as a treat.

"This one thanks you for your patience," Cyhyraeth bowed their head to Crispin. "A pair of coursers sought my assistance. This one's mentor, long have they perished, taught this one what they knew. They're alchemy lives on in this one, it is only right that this one helps the coursers with their needs."

"I didn't know that you had a mentor, but I am sorry for your loss." 

"The loss was long ago, but this one still feels the pang of grief, they had given this one life," Cyhyraeth explained, "Here in the dark this one learned the craft."