[ Dragefjell is a long way from Songerein, she thinks, and as much as Zelda would love to go there, to actually see it with her own eyes, and to visit the hot springs, she is unable to. In her current state, it would be ill-advised at best. A sickness is claiming her physical form, beating her down into unwellness with shockingly harsh bouts of coughing fits and sniffles. Soup was not curing her, and so now, it was time for the old wives tales.

It is one such coughing fit that gets a gaggle of people to filter out of a shop— a little pottery shop that offers lessons. She thought— no, hoped— that she would be well enough to ask for it herself, to sit down and inquire for a lesson or two, and make something for her to burn the leaves in. But...

Zelda, too, leaves the shop. She loiters, then, determined to get what she wants— and when she finally thinks she's found someone who looks kind enough to help, she places her fate into the girl's hands. ]

Are you looking to shop?

[ It's a simple enough question. ] I could pay you to do something for me, if you need money... [ She, theoretically, should have enough for the burner, and to pay the girl for her help. But there's no hiding the illness that tucks itself into the corners of her delicate, rounded features: if only Hiyori knew she was jumping over a few steps in the whole old wives tale. ] I'm short on help at the moment.