Misha snorted, running a hand idly through her hair. "What are you, 12? 13? I could practically be your mom." She gave a bit of a distant glance as he began pawing at the tree. The leaves he collected certainly looked like [i]something[/i], but she was a stranger to the myriad of stalks and fronds and roots that constituted the boy's practice. Her days in a bustling city, popping ibuprofen and hoping for the best, had lent more to her knowledge than her experience in holistic matters. She narrowed her eyes at the small collection he pocketed, hoping to absorb some secret knowledge.