Before all had departed the Patron House on the night prior, Ava Winter had told Tamsin that she would be watching the Montaño Store at sunrise for Renata Montaño, who anticipated having several things to attend to. She asked that Tamsin meet her there, assuring her fellow herbalist that she would have breakfast there for them both.

When Tamsin enters the Montaño Store, she finds a plate filled with tortillas, beans, eggs, and salsa awaiting her. Winter, who is moving some sacks of dry goods, greets her warmly. ”You were very courageous last night,” Winter tells her, ”You and your friends are to be commended for bringing those little ones home safely.”

“Now, I know you’d mentioned collecting some things over at that accursed farmhouse. Let’s have a look at what you found.”

 “Thanks, but it was nothing,” Tamsin says with a shrug between bites, one hand for eating, the other to make a shoo gesture.. “What do I owe you?”, she says as she points at her breakfast.

When she finishes eating, Tamsin pulls out the jars she had collected the night before. “I grabbed everything I could fit.”

Winter studies the captured vines silently for several minutes. Sighing softly, she asks, ”Tamsin, tell me about what was there in the farmhouse. What was holding those children captive?”

“A scarecrow. Supposedly it was... no, is Old Man Blair. One of ‘em, at any rate. There was another, smaller one dead in a back room. And a ranch hand. Guess he got too close to the house.”

Tamsin pauses for a moment. He shouldn’t have died, but there was nothing she could have done about it. Strangulation was one of those things that was hard to come back from.

“They were made of vines. Hands ended in thorns made like claws, at least the small one. Pumpkins for heads.”

Winter folds her hands on the table. ”You may not know this, but some of the stories about Elliot Blair don’t paint him as a bad man. At least not in the beginning. He had ambitions of making the Rio Bonito Valley full of rich farmland, where all manner of crops grew easily. And he believed he could use folk magic, brought over from England and Ireland, to accomplish it.”

She shakes her head. ”Something went terribly wrong for him along the way. His ambitions took him down a dark path.”

“What I don’t understand is why he would help these outlaws kidnap innocent children. Even if he was a monster.”

She falls silent a moment. ”Although...Señora Montaño has told me that one of the first people that Mr. Blair reached out to for support when he settled here in the valley was L.G. Murphy.”

“I don’t doubt it. And that might explain some of what I found- someone was trying to combine plants.”

Tamsin glances around the store to make sure no one is around. “We were told that the children kidnapped were from families causin’ problems for Mr. Murphy. One of the men who works for him was ordered by Jesse Evans to take care of them.”

She paused for a moment, brow furrowing. “He also said that one of the only times he saw Old Man Blair was when Blair was watchin’ the children. Maybe he was watchin’ over ‘em.”

Scarecrows were supposed to scare things off, after all.

“Maybe there was something worse in store for them or him if he didn’t?”

”One thing I have always appreciated about you, Tamsin, is how you consistently try to find the good in others,” Winters says with a warm smile.

She scoops up her poncho from the chair beside her. ”One of Renata’s daughters should be along any minute now to watch the store. Would you object to taking a ride with me this morning? Just a little way north of town?”

“Very rarely have I seen someone with no good in ‘em,” Tamsin says, wiping her hands off on her skirt. “I would be happy to come along with you. What are we off to do?”

”Have a history lesson. Of sorts,” Winter says, rising from her seat, ”You’ve already seen some of the strange things this valley can produce. I think it’s a good time to acquaint you with a few more.”

“I’m going to step over to the boarding house in a moment, gather a few items to take along. If you wouldn’t mind, could you collect our horses from Mr. Ellis? I’ll be along momentarily.”

Lincoln’s Main Street is still largely empty, save for a few people loitering on the porch of Wilson’s Saloon, and shopkeepers opening their stores for the day’s business. Venturing across to the Ellis Store and Livery, Tamsin finds Ike Ellis carrying two pails of water over to the stables. He smiles and nods when he sees her. ”Morning, Miss River. What brings you over so early?”

“Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” Tamsin replies. “I’m here to grab Lydia as well as Miss Winters’ horse. Off for a ride,” she says with a gesture to the North, shrugging as she finishes with a single word, “Plants.”

Ellis leads Tamsin over to the stables, pulling open the door to allow her inside. ”You know, ma’am, what you and Miz Winter manage to do with those plants is nothin’ short of miraculous sometimes. I think the two of you manage to outdo Doc Wood, with all his book learnin’, on many an occasion.”

He opens Lydia’s stall. The horse nickers softly, recognizing Tamsin. ”Course, the Doc ain’t jealous. He’s told me we have to be open to anything that can help bring comfort and help to folks. You might not know this, ma’am, but he went and lived with some of the Navajo over in the Arizona territory some time back. Learned about some of their cures from one of their medicine men.”

Tamsin chuckles and shakes her head at the comparison to the doctor. “Sometimes you need a doctor. Sometimes you need a healer.”

She runs her hand down the horse’s neck as Ellis continues. “Did he really? Perhaps I should have a chat with him, then, too. He still lives by the McSweens, doesn’t he?”

”He does, indeed,” Ellis says as he assists Tamsin in saddling Lydia, ”You’ll find him right personable, ma’am. I think pretty highly of him, myself. One of the kindest souls to settle here in the valley in the last several years.”

Apparently eager for a run at the open country, Lydia nudges Tamsin on the shoulder with her nose.

Ellis sets to work saddling up Winter’s paint mare as the herbalist appears in the door of the stable, a burlap sack tied on one shoulder. ”Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” she says cheerfully. ”If you have a spare shawl, you might want to keep it handy,” she tells Tamsin, ”It will probably be a touch cool where we’re headed.”

Once Winter’s mount is prepared, she climbs into the saddle, leading Tamsin and Lydia out of the back doors of the stable northward. The horses’ hooves splash as they cross a low point of the Rio Bonito, then Winter urges her mare to a steady gallop as the pair move toward the pine spotted foothills of the Capitan Mountains.

OOC: Tamsin, kindly give me a Notice roll.

03:37, Today: Tamsin River rolled 11,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max (((6+5)11,1)).

Tamsin Pats her horse’s nose, murmuring to her to be patient before turning back to Ellis.

“Good to hear. I’ll stop in with him when I come back, then. Thank you, Mr. Ellis, you have a good day now!”

She turns to look at Ava. “All right. Shall we?”

As the pair enter the foothills, a sense of unease settles over Tamsin, though at first, she cannot see any reason for her feelings. Daylight has overtaken the Rio Bonito Valley, the sky a bright blue, feathery clouds drifting across its expanse. A cool breeze drifts along with her and Ava Winter as they ride, prompting a whisper from the leaves of the nearby trees, the scent of pine and wildflowers lingering as it passes.

But then, looking about Tamsin notices it. The grass, despite having plenty of sunlight, is thin and stunted. The wild plants are few, and those that are present are not thriving. Only a small number of flowers bloom. The nearby pine trees show signs of ill health, their trunks thin, many of their needles brown.

The area is quiet. Too quiet. Only a handful of birds and insects can be heard in the vicinity. Where wildlife should be thriving, there are few living things present.

Winter slows her mare to a walk. Noticing Tamsin taking in her surroundings, the older herbalist asks, ”What is it? What do you see?”

A shiver goes down her spine, and it’s not from the cold. Something is wrong. Today, in the light of day, she can see everything clearly. ”It’s dying,” Tamsin says, gesturing to the land before them. ”You and I both know that this isn’t what it should look like this time of year. The grass is barely grown more than seedlings, things aren’t flowering that should, even the pine trees.”

”You’re absolutely right,” Winter replies, ”This valley...it never lacks for sun or rain. It’s not perfect ground for everything, but native herbs and grasses should have an easy time thriving here.”

“But they don’t. This struggle you’re seeing. It isn’t new. There are patches here and there in the mountains where everything does well. And on the other side of the range, it looks like Springtime most of the year. But when we go up further, you’ll see, more and more, sections where nothing grows at all. Not because it can’t. The soil’s fine. It just doesn’t. It hasn’t for decades.”

“Why?” Tamsin asks. “Well, I suppose that’s the history lesson you’re planning on today.”

Her brow furrows, trying to wrap her mind around it all.

Winter smiles and nods. ”It is, but I have to confess in advance that I’m woefully bereft of some answers. There is much about these mountains that we don’t know.”

She circles her mount, guiding the horse toward a clear path that leads further up the slope. ”Come along. Just a little further up. I don’t want us to go too far, but there’s a bit more that I want you to see. Then I can share with you all that I’ve heard over the years.”

OOC: Kindly provide me with another Notice roll.

03:39, Today: Tamsin River rolled 11,5 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,5.  Notice.

“I suppose someone will eventually figure it out,” Tamsin muses as she follows. What more is there to see?

The path leads up a slope that, in spots, becomes steep, often veering into deeply shadowed trails that wind among tall piñon and pine trees, their needled branches blocking all but the faintest of light from the morning sky above. River can hear faint bird calls in the vicinity, along with the rustle of wildlife, jackrabbits and squirrels, moving through the brush as they go about their errands. Here and there, an insect buzzes past.

As the two women continue to ascend, the warmth recedes, the cool mountain air giving way to a chill that is more akin to the feeling of winter. Tamsin feels the tingle of numbness make itself felt in her fingertips, the end of her nose, and her ears. Just as she has begun to steel herself to the shift in temperature, she realizes that all is silent. The air is unmoving, The insects, birds, and animals have all declined to follow she and Ava into the area they have ventured into.

River’s mare nickers nervously as she and Ava emerge into a partial clearing. Tamsin can see that they have reached a clear, if somewhat narrow, trail that appears to lead well into the heights of the mountain. But it is what surrounds the trail that seizes her attention.

All is dead. The tall trees continue to stand in their places, their trunks blackened by the absence of life, their branches skeletal and bare. The mountain grasses and flowers are present, but frozen in a state of ruin; gray, brittle, and lifeless, all hints of color drained from them. Even the sky above seems somehow muted, the warm reach of the sun limited somehow by the inertia of the place they find themselves in.

The air is dry, free of moisture. Lydia’s hooves bring puffs of dust with every step. Ava halts her mount. She remains silent, allowing Tamsin time to absorb what she is witnessing.