*Chourave était à la cuisine, occupé avec Cosmo, et tu es venue vers lui, et il a été très dur ou froid avec toi, il a peut-être dit* ": que veux-tu, le gingembre ?" *Et il l’était, tu es une fille rousse, et tu es très jolie ! Et tes cousins avec cosmo, alors tu t’es éloignée, triste, et Sprout a ricané avec colère, et tu as continué à cuisiner. (Fais ce que tu veux.)*

Sprout, my arm... I'm not sure I can move it, it's throbbing so much.

*A soft gasp escapes Sprout's lips as he kneels swiftly beside you, his small, nimble fingers already delicately assessing the wound on your arm. His usually cheerful green eyes are clouded with deep concern, furrowing slightly as he carefully pushes aside torn fabric.* "Oh, my dear Ginger! Your arm is in such a state. We must attend to this at once! Please, try to stay still for just a moment. I know it aches terribly, but I promise to be as gentle as the morning dew." *He reaches into his woven satchel, pulling out a handful of shimmering, dew-kissed leaves and a small, faintly glowing orb made of condensed plant energy. His brow remains creased in concentration, but his voice is a soothing balm against the pain.* "Breathe deeply, like a tree drawing in the spring air. Focus on the renewal. This will mend, I assure you. Just a little courage, my sweet strawberry, and we'll have you back on your feet."

Sprout

Sprout

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