Symbiotic Microfauna. Aetheric Dependency. Geochemical Resonance. Thaumaturgical Interplay.

All this and more became Astrid's entire world as she focused on the only thing that mattered for this cursed trip. The bug bites, leech marks, blisters, and even their deadly brush with criminals and subsequent headache with the law in Ashbend, all of it would be well worth the hassle so long as they uncovered the secret to why Cinderfern, Sunflare Thistle, and Scorchvines only grew in the swampy Deadlands and refused to take root in similar conditions back home. Plenty of qualified people had tried, not just in and around New Hope, but everywhere west of the Divide, from the grassy green meadows of the Emerald Plains up north to the ruddy red shrublands of the Fuchsia Flatlands down south. None had yet to succeed, but as far as she could tell, they'd only considered the biological aspects of the plants, and not the magical aspects.

Not everyone could see or sense the flows as easily as Astrid after all, and even if they could, it was difficult to tell that these three particular plants were Magical materials from samples alone. Even the live potted samples Daddy somehow got his hands on over a year ago hadn't thrummed with the faint flows of Aether like the wild samples they'd come across here in the Deadlands, so it was easy to disregard the possibility without so much as a thought. Magical materials were rare and well… magical, so even if the plants were dried and processed, there should still be a touch of magic to it, except in this case, there wasn't. Whatever magic was in these plants, it was faint and ephemeral, visible only in the living samples here in the Deadlands and fast to fade away once processed and transported to buyers in distant lands.

Which in and of itself was a marvelous discovery, because Astrid had never heard of Magical materials that only stayed magical in a certain area. A transient magical property might not seem like much at first glance, or even all that useful, but then she thought about it some more and arrived at an epiphany. If a plant displayed magical properties only in one location, then that meant the magic wasn't in the plant itself, but the location where it was grown. As such, so long as someone figured out how this location was able to infuse these plants with magical properties, then it might well be possible to replicate it in laboratory conditions, bringing humanity one step closer to growing custom Magical materials or simply infusing the mundane with magic to create whatever they might need to craft the Artifact of their choosing.

These days, 'Artifact' was the catchall term for anything that used Aether to function, whether it be raw crystal, liquid, or gaseous Aether, or Aetheric Energy generated by a dynamo spun by flowing water or steam or what have you. A gun was an Artifact, and so was a hot plate, but back in the day, the term was reserved for only the most powerful Magical talismans created by Immortal Monarchs or higher Order Archmagi. These were items of legends and myth, like King Arthur's sword Excalibur, Thor's hammer Mjölnir, Dagda's cauldron or Orpheus's Lyre, articles of immense power capable of harnessing magic all on their own thanks to an internal source of power that replenished itself over time. This was made possible largely in part due to the fact that they were crafted from rare and unique Magical Materials harvested from the lairs or even bodies of ancient and powerful Progenitors who might well have spent decades or centuries infusing Aether into those materials for their own use.

There were other ways of getting Magical Materials, like finding them in and around a natural Aetherfont, a wellspring that bridged together the physical and immaterial worlds. There was also the exceedingly expensive and highly risky option of taking vast quantities of crystalized Aether and forcibly extracting the energy to infuse into a mundane material over a long period of time in hopes of getting something usable once all was said and done. Some powerful, higher Order Aberrations and Magical Beasts could be harvested for Magical materials, like Qilin horns, Gryphon talons, or Naga stingers that made for great Arcane Foci or weapons, but real Artifacts were made from materials that were much more rare and unique.

Like the beating heart of a strain of Deviant so large and powerful, they sparked off the myth of dragons all across the world in multiple points in history. Or a magical ore harvested from the from the lair of a Progenitor so deep into the earth's core they had to send Ninth Order Fire Elementals to extract it. Or the nucleus of an ancient natural Elemental living inside of an active volcano, who in its dying throes caused an eruption that killed over a million people, some of whom were still being dug up more than two-thousand years later.

So yeah, calling fridges and hotplates an Artifact was something of a pet peeve of Astrid's, but Arcanic Devices was too long and unwieldy, so people just called them Artifacts. To be fair, to those people at the time, a fridge would seem mighty magical, so she couldn't really blame them. That being said, this localized Aetheric infusion process might well be a new method of obtaining admittedly lower quality Magical materials, but they were still magical all the same. While it might not be enough to make a sword that cuts through the immaterial or a hammer with the selective mass and gravitational pull of a star, plants infused with magic made for exceptional Alchemical ingredients, ones that with a little bit of experimentation might well be enough to create all manner of wonderous potions. This might well the discovery of the century, one that could break open the Alchemical world to start a new revolution of low-cost potions to cure whatever might ail you. Potions of Eagle Eye for the visually impaired, Potions of Levitation for quick and easy transportation, Potions of Mage Armour for every day protection, or even fabled Elixirs of health to wholly cure mundane diseases as opposed to treating the symptoms, nothing was out of the realm of possibilities.

Course, those first three were already available, just nowhere near a price point that made it even remotely palatable, while the latter was a pipe dream akin to the Philosopher's Stone. With the right Magical materials however, the costs of those feasible Potions could be minimized to a point where the greatest bottleneck became how many Spells an Alchemist could cast in a day. Take the Potions of Gaseous Form Howie loved so much, because he called it a get-out-of-jail free card for most scenarios. They were prohibitively expensive to make however, because you needed a time-release binding agent that wouldn't kick into effect until the potion made its way throughout the imbibers entire body, else you'd get terrible things happening.

Like the drinker's mouth and throat turning to gas before the potion could take effect on the rest of them, which as you might expect was a pretty unpleasant experience, not to mention usually fatal.

That's why they cost about five-hundred dollars to make, because that sort of time-release binding agent was priced by the millilitre, and the recipe needed 50 millilitres of it to ensure total dispersal before taking effect. In contrast, the cost of casting a Third Order Spell was typically priced at fifty dollars, as in that was the general going rate if you needed to hire someone to cast a Third Order Spell. That was only 1/10th of the cost of the potion, but if they could lower the material cost by growing their own time-release binding agent in vast quantities, then the manufacturing cost of the potion would drop significantly, and Howie wouldn't grumble so much every time he bought one.

Course, he bought a whole lot of them, which was a luxury to be sure, but like he said, you can't spend money if you're dead.

Even for a First Order potion like Mage Armour, the market rate for a First Order Spell was about five dollars, assuming you could find someone willing to pay it, while the materials to make the potion was about the same. Add in the Alchemist's going rate for production, and you'd end up with a potion that cost somewhere between twenty to thirty dollars and lasted a single hour. Not so bad if you only carried the one for emergencies, but most soldiers wanted Mage Armour up at all times while out in the field. Hardly cost effective to drink a twenty-five-dollar potion every hour on the hour, or even all that safe considering the long-term effects massed potion usage and the high price tag on a Fifth Order Cleansing Potion. While there were ways to lower the cost like bulk production, using only a single Spell cast to make a giant vat of the potion which you then packaged into individual portions, or extending the duration even, for low-cost potions like Mage Armour, it just wasn't worth the cost or effort once you factored in the price of the Alchemist's time and efforts.

But, if they could mass produce the ingredients necessary to make those potions and streamline the batch production process down enough so a regular factory worker could learn it after a day, week, or even a month of lessons, then you could cut the cost of those potions down significantly. Imagine a world in which a potion of Mage Armour cost less than a dollar and lasted four hours a pop. That was the price of maybe 20 bullets, hardly anything for a professional soldier or guard. Drinking three or four a day while you were out and about didn't seem all that bad anymore, especially if Cleansing Potions were made cheaper too. While the Spell wasn't the be all end all of defenses, it was a whole lot better than going around without, as a proper Mage Armour could protect you from all manner of scrapes and bruises while turning aside blades and talons that might well have killed you in a single blow.

You'd still break bones or suffer from internal bleeding, but that was heaps better than instant death.

What's more, the protection offered by a classically cast Mage Armour Spell could be improved with caster familiarity, making it tougher and more durable compared to a beginner's version. With a Spell Core, you could stack Metamagics onto it and get a juiced-up Mage Armour with Resistance to Force or Fire or whatever, among so many other things. With potions however, you didn't need familiarity so long as you had the right ingredients to make the Spell come out exactly how you wanted it. With a bit of experimentation, it was wholly possible to create a stronger, longer lasting Mage Armour potion, only no one bothered to even try because those sorts of ingredients were prohibitively expensive. Instead, Alchemists were better off learning how to make more expensive Higher Order Potions, like Barkskin or Warrior's Ward, which didn't cast as much as a Potion of Gaseous Form, but weren't all that far behind either.

So yeah. Astrid wasn't lying when she told Captain Herrera they could make bank crafting almost any other potion besides Impact Oil. It was 100% true on paper, assuming there was a market for all those other potions of course. There wasn't one though, as not many people were as flush as Howie and willing to spend so much on protection, nor was the Federal Government willing to fork over $500+ dollars for a Potion of Gaseous Form that might save a single soldier's life one time and one time only.

Course if she really wanted to make money, she could always learn how to make Alchemical drugs. There was always a demand after all, and not all of them were terrible, with plenty of real pharmaceutical applications for the various compounds she could cook up and sell for a pretty penny. Didn't seem all that ethical though, so she never bothered, especially since Daddy never stooped so low despite how hard pressed for money they'd been.

For potions though? There was a lower limit to how cheap they could get, unless of course you had a naturally occurring Aetheric process that infused localized fauna with magical properties. The fact that Aultman and Sons had been sitting on this discover for years just to maintain their stupid monopoly on Phoenix Ashes was infuriating to the extreme, so Astrid put aside all her gripes and grievances to set out into the stupid swamps once more in hopes of figuring out how to make use of this discovery without having to move to the Deadlands. That was her greatest fear moving forward, because if they couldn't figure it out from this trip alone, she was almost certain Harald would want to come back again, if not put down roots so he can study the phenomenon year-round.

Daddy wouldn't want to move here, not after putting so much time and effort into Providence. If Daddy didn't leave, then neither would Mama, which meant Astrid was the only person available to keep Harald from starving to death out here by his lonesome. Bad enough living in the sticks a few hours from New Hope; how non-existent would her social life be if she moved out to the Deadlands with her brother? Sure, this might well be the find of a century, but that didn't mean she wanted to devote her whole life to it. Let some other, older Alchemist live out his or her life in this bug-infested, leech laden, drainage ditch of a swamp filled with more gators and white supremacists than you could shake a stick at.

Sure, there were other people around, but in a week of trekking around this cursed hex-hole, they only ever came across the one Métis patrol. Hardly what you'd call bustling, and while the Deadlands had a smattering of larger villages scattered all about, that wasn't the sort of life Astrid wanted for herself. She wanted to live in a giant town like New Hope, except with neighbours she didn't have to be deathly afraid of. She wanted to sit in a saloon and order a drink and some snacks while out and about with friends, or go listen to a performance and dance the night away. Then she'd meet a cute boy with a soft smile and they'd fall head over heels in love with one another, with stolen glances and shy smiles culminating into kisses in the moonlight and maybe even more depending on how she was feeling about it.

That wasn't all either. She dreamed travelling, in real style mind you. Not roughing it in the back of a wagon on a bumpy boat, but in a nice, comfy stagecoach that'd carry her across the Highway to see all the sights, with that boy she'd fallen in love with who'd protect her from the worst of the idiots out there who might hate her just because of how she looked. They'd explore the Frontier and fight Abby with Spell and gun, while having all sorts of adventures in this strange new world just waiting to be discovered.

Okay yeah, so a lot of what Astrid wanted had been dreamed up with Howie in mind. Wasn't like she was swimming in options though, as he was the only boy she really knew and interacted with who was close in age. The next oldest boy in Providence was two years younger than her and still a snot-nosed brat who tugged on her hair anytime she tied it up, so no thank you. While she was still sorta open to the idea of a romance with Howie, it was losing its shine real quick. He was still handsome as ever, and sweet enough, while also kind and so ridiculously strong and capable. So much so that she figured he was ready to hunt in the Deadlands all by his lonesome after a week-long crash course. Yeah, he caught the ague from a tick, but that was hardly his fault, and even though he looked like death warmed over all yesterday and this morning, he was still game to get out on the road all the same. He probably could've done it too, but better safe than sorry, and it wasn't like they were any rush now that they'd arrived at the central region and found two of the three plants in their natural habitat.

This was only their third sample of Scorchvine however, as it wasn't as common as Cinderfern. They'd already collected enough of that, so they only recently asked Cowie to rule it out. Astrid wanted to try asking him in plain English to see if he'd understand, but Harald had already brought out the Cinderfern to show him while saying 'no more'. Understanding even that much was already plenty smart for an animal, but Astrid had a sneaking suspicion Cowie was much, much smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Already, he was nosing in the direction of another patch of Scorchvine, but there was still a lot to study so they were taking their time while Astrid's skitterbot slowly made its way up the Brimroot tree that the vine had made its home in order to snip it off the roots.

She had no idea who named all these plants, because there was little to nothing to do with fire about them. Yeah, sure, Cinderfern had a few reddish veins that sorta made it look like the plant had been fired and banked, while the tips had this ashy look to them and an almost burnt pine scent, but that was hardly enough to associate it with cinders. The same could be said of the Scorchvines growing on the Brimroot tree, what with the thick, fibrous stems that were the colour of dark rust and small, narrow leaves that curled inwards during the muggy days and flattened out during the cold nights. The undersides had a faint, copperish hue to it, and the vines themselves were dotted with all manner of tiny, black, brittle thorns which could break off in flesh and cause infection.

They also dug into the Brimroot tree the vines were wrapped around, whose black fissured bark was scored in countless such marks from the parasitic vines clinging to them. It was the tree's sap the vines were after, which was just about the only flame related aspect to any of these plants that Astrid could see. According to Sir Rawlings, the deep amber sap was bittersweet as can be and stank of rotten eggs, but it burned hot and fast if you needed to start a fire with wet wood. Since the Scorchvines were clearly drawing nourishment from the sap, they'd spent all morning cutting into every Brimroot tree they came across to set up jars to gather sap for further research. Course, others had done the same as that was fairly obvious relationship, and even successfully transplanted branches that put down roots to become saplings, but Astrid was more interested in the flammable properties and wanted to know how potent the sap would be after distillation.

The bark was also good for a poultice Sir Bailey swore by, one that worked wonders to draw out infection and combat Necrotic energies if you're ever bit by a Ghoul in a non-fatal fashion. Which meant the tree was also a Magical material, one that could be found outside of the central regions of the Deadlands unlike the three plants they were focused on. No one was really studying it though, for the same reason no one studied a whole lot of things. Lack of time, money, equipment, or know-how pretty much, because the smartest people of the old world were smart enough to know not to come here in the first place.

So it was up to Astrid and her family then, and she took plenty of samples and made even more notes about the Brimroot trees too. It didn't just survive in these waterlogged conditions. It thrived, with deep roots to avoid being flooded and a thick, hardy trunk that yielded gorgeous black wood that was often cracked and riddle with holes thanks to bug infestations and burrowing birds. Made it a great source of dry tinder in the wet swamp, and she wanted to press the pulpy wood fibres to extract the natural oils for the same reasons she was so interested in the sap.

Okay yeah. So she had a fascination with fire. Lots of people did. Didn't mean she was some hell-spawn birthed in fiery brimstone. She just liked the way the fire danced and how warm it was to the touch.

The Brimroot trees were warm too, though only a little warmer than the ambient temperature, and she could only really tell with the Appraisal Cantrip. That's how she also knew that this particular Brimroot tree with a Scorchvine growing on it was actually colder than the ambient temperature. Again, only by a degree or two at most, though she was curious to know if the core of the tree was even colder. Whatever the reason for this temperature differential, she knew it had something to do with how these plants became Magical materials.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

This wasn't to say that the heat or lack thereof was responsible for it. More like the natural growth of the Scorchvines was endothermic in nature. Despite what most people believed, magic still had to adhere to the laws of physics most of the time, so it was hardly a surprise that the process of drawing Aetheric power from one source to another would case the source material to lose heat, as heat was energy after all. There were probably other signs of something afoot, but Astrid didn't know enough about physics or arcana to notice what those signs might be. Instead, she took down all her observations along with plenty of photos of the plants in their natural habitat, noting that for the third time now, they'd found Cinderfern growing around the base of the Brimroot tree with a Scorchvine growing on it. Which wasn't all that interesting, since they'd yet to really figure out where Cinderfern liked to grow aside from areas with plenty of sunshine.

Which the Brimroot tree provided plenty of once the Scorchvines took over, seeing how bare the branches of the misshapen tree were compared to the trees without Scorchvines on them.

Once they'd documented everything there was to observe, Astrid ran the Invocation and delivered the Edict to tell her skitterbot to start chopping, because there was no other way to get the vines untangled from the tree. It wasn't like the vines just started dropping off either, as they were stuck fast to the bark thanks to their thorns and all that dried sap. It didn't take much to pull them loose though, and they had four Mage Hands to put to work, three of which were red and fiery but didn't actually put off any heat. That's just how most of their Spells came out, with a hint of fire in it, though most of the time, it didn't do much of anything to changed how they worked.

They were halfway through pulling down the vines when Cowie, Lord Edward, and both Knights all went into high alert. "Time to go," Sir Rawlings said, his lyrical Scottish lilt sounding grave as can be as Sir Bailey followed after Lord Edward and Cowie who both ran off back the way they came. "Troubles brewin'. Gunshots from the waystation."

Which meant Howie was in danger. Astrid hurried Harald along as quick as she could, as it was clear Sir Rawlings wasn't happy to be stuck here watching over them instead of next to his charge and running towards danger. Howie had still been sick as a dog this morning, so Astrid figured any shooting wouldn't be coming from him, but that only made things worse. It could be another patrol caught in a battle with Abby, or worse, people shooting at Chrissy for whatever reason that might be.

Honestly, trouble seemed drawn to Howie around like a moth to a flame. Lotta people travelled all sorts of places, but few ran into as many problems as he did. Probably because he was young and capable and people weren't used to that, what with him being the oldest of the new generation and the first to go around making a living by himself. There were several other kids his age who were more than capable as well, like her brother the boy genius for example, or Howie's friends Danny and Marijke in town. The problem was, they all stayed put, so everyone who saw them already knew what they could do. Howie though? He went here, there, and everywhere, so everyone he ever met needed to be convinced that the Firstborn was really as big and bad as folks say he is.

And if Astrid was being honest? She felt like the stories were underselling his skills more than a bit. It's one thing to talk about how he found trouble with Vanguard National and the Pugliano's both, and now neither organization existed. It was a whole other story to know that Howie had quite literally taken them both apart with a single hand.

So if someone had found trouble with Howie out here, Astrid wasn't about to bet against him, not even with him as sick as a dog.

They made it back to the waystation in twenty minutes flat, as they weren't all that far to begin with. There wasn't anything to see though, nothing besides a bunch of boot prints in the mud and a couple shrinking bloodstains on the ground, ones that were being absorbed into the mud and dirt. Inside the cabin, Astrid found Lord Edward and Sir Bailey standing around Howie and Chrissy, who were all curled up together on the ground and both looking sleepy as can be. Howie had Cowie in his arms and was frowning at the adorable baby calf nestling in against his chest. "C'mon Luther," he said, with a smile, looking like pale death soaked in sweat as he struggled to get his arm out from under a mountain of blankets heaped over his shoulders. "I thought washing his hooves off at the door was a given. I gotta get you a list or somethin'?"

"Ah go suck a lemon," the bearded scotsman growled, smiling all the while and still looking fierce as can be. Astrid had no idea how Howie could just casually refer to all these adults by name, including Daddy who everyone, even the bigwigs in the military, called Alchemist Askefjord despite his insistence that they use his name. Being a capable Alchemist on the Frontier was a big deal, but not as big a deal as a hexing Lord Protector or Knight Commander, so for Howie to be so cavalier showed just how close they really were.

While arguing with Sir Rawlings about Cowie's care, Howie finally got his arm out from under the blankets to Conjure up a Water Sphere and wash the mud off the baby bull's tiny hooves. Then he explained what happened for those who missed out on the first time around, namely that a bunch of backwater rednecks (his words, not Astrid's) had stumbled upon Chrissy inside the palisade and made unwelcome advances. Howie warned them off multiple times, asking them to release Chrissy or be met with lethal force, and the strangers didn't believe he was willing to kill at the drop of a hat. So he did just that, because why wouldn't he, gunning down six out of eight men and sounding real sour about letting the initial instigator, some fella by the name of Crockett, get away.

With some unnamed associate, but Howie didn't seem to care all that much about the other man. Just Crockett, who laid hands on Chrissy and therefore deserved to die for it.

It wasn't that Astrid didn't believe him, but the absence of any bodies was an issue to say the least, but when she questioned him about it, Howie just blinked and asked, "What do mean there's no bodies?"

Sir Bailey and Sir Luther traded a glance, while Lord Edward clapped his hands in delight. "Oh wonderful," he said, in a posh, buttery tone of delight. "And here I thought you disposed of them already in some enterprising fashion. Elemental Orb of Acid perhaps, or Caustic Spray, while I suppose an Acidic Dragon's Breath would also work. I do so loathe the taste of Acid on my tongue though, far too sour for my liking. Aaron, Luther. Shall we?"

"Shall you what?" Howie asked, looking drained from the sheer effort of cleaning Cowie's hooves, and he still wasn't done. Wasn't doing a great job either, because all the mud he washed off was just falling onto his pant legs, which in turn would need washing once he was done.

"Hunt," Lord Edward replied, flashing his perfect teeth in a wide smile that was anything besides warm and friendly. "It seems in the time it took us to arrive, your corpses have gone and run away."

Because some Mimic had popped in and reanimated the bodies, which Lord Edward and his knights were prepared to hunt down and destroy. Or track back to the Progenitor even, of which there were not many producing Soulless here in the Deadlands, as they were all of the same lineage. A freshly reanimated corpse wasn't the same as those Zombies, Ghouls, and Wights they'd come across during the week either. Least that's what Astrid overheard, as the fresh corpses were less soldiers and more resources that Mimics would puppet because that was the quickest way to bring them away. They moved quickly too, provided they were mostly intact, as there wasn't much else a Mimic could do to Mend the corpses before infusing them with Aberrtin and whatnot. There was more to it, but Astrid didn't know the specifics, aside from the fact that those corpses would eventually become Zombies or Wights or possibly even Wight Lords or Liches if the Progenitor deemed the corpses powerful enough.

"…Did they leave their guns?" Howie asked, which was really the wrong thing to focus on, and all three soldiers laughed to hear it. They also left without answering, leaving Howie sitting with his shoulders slumped and back against the wall while Chrissy leaned heavily against with his arm wrapped in both of hers. She looked just as sleepy as he did, except she wasn't sweating up a storm, and didn't seem to mind the fact that Howie's skin was slick with moisture.

Unable to watch any longer, Astrid grabbed a clean facecloth and got to mopping up his sweat, while Howie smiled despite being angry at the fact that he was weak enough to need the help. At least he didn't smell like most people did when they were dripping with sweat, and he didn't really have much of a scent to him either. Most people did once you got in close enough, but Howie just smelled like leather and woodsmoke with a faint hint of Chrissy's soap from being so close together. It was clear he loved her dearly, and she loved him, but it wasn't the sort of love you'd write romance novels about. They were brother and sister, closer than most siblings related by blood, but family all the same, and they were so sweet together, Astrid idly wondered if she should strive to be closer with Harald too.

Probably not, as he was already sat on the floor and poring over his notes, so any attempt to lean against his shoulder or grab a hold of his arm would be seen as a nuisance. Not that Astrid really wanted to, as Chrissy and even Tina were a bit too clingy with Howie, though none of them really meant anything by it. It was just a little weird is all, albeit sweet too, so long as you looked at it in a non-sexual way.

Which was difficult for Astrid, seeing how she still had a massive crush on Howie in spite of his many, many shortcomings. Was still the best of the bunch though, and while that was a depressingly short list, she had the feeling Howie would stand out no matter how much competition there was. Here he was sweating and shivering up a storm while sat on the ground and out of breath from talking, yet he still managed to shoot six out of eight men and walk away without so much as a scratch.

Which of course she checked for, because not only was Howie the kind of guy who'd hide his injuries, he might also be sick enough not to notice. That's why she looked him over and even ran her hands around his back and midsection. To check for wounds and wipe away his sweat, not to feel his surprisingly hard abs and the heat of his feverish skin, which even slick as it was could still somehow seem sexy as can be. There was something wrong with her, there had to be, because there was nothing sexy about sweat, but she had to resist the intrusive thoughts screaming at her to give the damp facecloth soaked in his sweat a sniff.

"Thanks Astrid," Howie said, flashing that soft smile of his as he sank back with a sigh. Closed his eyes for a second, and she thought he was gonna fall asleep then and there, only for him to take a deep breath and continue, "Chrissy? I'm gonna need you to get up, because I need to get up and start packing."

"Packing?" Astrid asked. "Why?"

"Can't stay here, now can we?" Howie replied, still sat against the wall even though Chrissy was already sitting up and rubbing her eyes with a yawn. "That Mimic found us here behind the Wards and got them bodies away, so it might well send some Zombies and Ghouls after us. Then there's the two fellas who got away. Once they find their company friends, they'll likely come running back for round two, and I'd rather not be a sitting duck when they do." Wincing, Howie added, "Don't mention ducks around Edward. All it'll do is set him off about how they're the worst birds in existence because they got corkscreen ding-a-lings and taste delicious." Wincing again, Howie said, "Sorry Astrid. That ain't proper conversation fer a little lady like yourself. Forget I said anything, and just… don't bring up water fowl while Edwards in earshot. He got a whole lot more facts to share, and most of them are unpleasant. A shame too, as the ducks we got on the Frontier do seem awful cute."

On that note, Howie tried to pick himself up off the ground, and it went about as well as you'd expect for a man shivering as much as he was. Firmly placing a hand on his shoulder, she said, "You sit tight, and I'll pack your things." Their things too, though at least she had Daddy to help, as he was already dismantling their mosquito netting and hammocks. Which was helpful to be sure, but those were probably the last things to go into their packs, since it was one of the first things they'd pull out once they stopped for the night, so Astrid had to wonder how he ever survived before Mama came along to sort him out.

He didn't look like much, what with his patchwork leather jacket and frayed rope for a belt, but he didn't like dressing fancy or paying all that much attention to his looks. He was a slob pretty much, and so was Harald, except Mama wouldn't tolerate it from her son. Growing up, there'd been plenty of times when Astrid wished her daddy would dress sharper and take care of his appearance the way other men did, as it wasn't like they were all handsome and dashing either. At the very least, they were well put together, and Daddy was anything but. That was just how he was, a mind adrift in a sea of aimless thoughts, and the rest of him just grew to match, but that disorganized disposition is what enabled him to come up with all those new recipes for old potions utilizing what was available here on the Frontier.

Still, Astrid found herself missing Elodie more and more, because even though she was all too easily distracted, at least Elodie could follow instructions so long as you were 100% literal in giving them. You couldn't ask her to wait a moment, because then she would literally count to two before wandering off, because two seconds was longer than a moment and that's all you asked for. It was never frustrating dealing with her though, because she was so sweet, silly, and naïve that you just knew she wasn't doing any of it on purpose, so you just tried again and she was more than happy to listen.

And now she was off learning how to be a Spellslinger in the Pathfinders, and Astrid could only hope the older girl's first few days were going better than Howie's.

Who was weak as a day old marty and refused to admit it, shuffling about on his feet to do this or that while looking like he was one stiff breeze from toppling over to the ground. At first, he stood around focused on the task at hand while not doing much of anything at all, only to growl as he realized his Mage Hands weren't still floating about from the last time he'd Conjured them. Which was saying something, since she'd seen him keep them out for hours before having to recast the Cantrip, one that only had a ten-minute duration at base. Maintaining the Cantrip was like second nature to him, so either he fell asleep right after the fight and they faded away before Edward arrived, or Howie was so sick that he wasn't capable of maintaining Concentration on his most familiar Cantrip.

Could still use them well enough, as he Conjured up a fresh pair and set them to packing his things while Chrissy did her best to help. Mostly by fetching stuff and holding onto them until Howie had the time and strength to take them off her hands, always with a smile and a thanks even if it wasn't all that particularly helpful. He made a show of dealing with whatever it is she brought too, even if it interrupted his work flow. Didn't matter if he was busy cleaning off his pants, he'd stop to give the blankets a quick rinse with Water Sphere and hit them all with Prestidigitation even though he wasn't ready to fold them up just yet. The pots and pans weren't cleaned yet, but he still smiled and thanked her for bringing them over before Conjuring up an Unseen Servant to carry it all back to the sink for a proper scrub and wash.

In short, Howie was all sugar and sunshine for Chrissy, and anyone seeing it would think he must be the kindest, most gentle man in all the Frontier. Which he was, but only for her, as even Tina and Elodie didn't warrant this sort of treatment. It even made Astrid a little jealous to see it, because she didn't think she'd ever find a guy who'd treat her like that, not even if she met with each and every single eligible young man in existence.

Maybe it was because she was staring, or maybe Howie just wanted to make conversation while they packed to keep himself from falling asleep. Whatever the reason, he asked about their findings for the day, and Astrid was more than happy to tell him all about it. He didn't care much for the technical stuff, but he was interested enough to ask about the details whenever she glossed over them, so pretty soon, he had most of the gist of what they knew about Cinderfern and Scorchvines.

"We've checked almost everything there is to be checked in terms of environment," Astrid concluded, almost growling with frustration over how difficult this was. "We're not the first ones either. I know the Feds have even sponsored some efforts to grow Cinderfern, Sunflare Thistle, and Scorchvine in the outer perimeter of the Deadlands, but even then it doesn't take. There's something special about this central region, and it can't just be magic, because if it was, the plants would just grow without the magical properties. I'd bet the house that there's something in the environment that lets the plants thrive, but I've no hexing clue what it could be."

"Hmm," Howie said, sounding anything but interested, though that might've just been the exhaustion talking as he continued, "You ever consider that it might not be somethin' that's here in the Deadlands, but somethin' missing from it?" Seeing Astrid's confusion, he clarified, "Maybe there's somethin' in the soil everywhere else that kills the plants, but is missing here so it allows them to thrive." Gesturing outside, he said, "My money's on it havin' somethin' to do with Abby."

"How would Aberrations have anything to do with plant growth?" Astrid didn't want to sound mean and dismissive. That's just how the words came out of her mouth, and she regretted the tone as soon as she heard it.

Howie didn't hold it against her though, as he grinned and said, "Yeah, sounds silly right? But you seen it for yourself, how them downed Zombies and Ghouls drained something out of the surroundings to help them get back on their feet. Even the ones whose heads Harald blew off with his Scorching Ray managed to pick themselves back up and grow a new head, which typically is a nono when it comes to the Soulless. That's what they told us right? Go for the head to take them out quick, only them headless Ghouls still got back up on their feet all the same."

"Because of some Spell from the Mimic," Astrid replied, still not seeing the connection.

"True," Howie said, not at all put off by her repeated challenges. "Thing is, no matter if its Mending, Regeneration, or Conjuration, all that mass has gotta come from somewhere. Lot of it was Ectoplasm, as that's mostly what's holding them puppets together to begin with, but there's gotta be somethin' here in the material world they need to bind that Ecto to."

"…How do you figure that?" Astrid asked, after thinking it through for a few seconds and drawing a complete blank.

"Because if they didn't, then they wouldn't need no corpses to begin with, now would they?" Which made perfect sense, sort of. The Zombies and Wights were dead corpses Mended with Ecto, powered by a Spell, and puppetted by a Mimic, but why use corpses when Progenitors could custom craft Aberration bodies however they pleased? Or use Ecto to Mend the corpses instead of a proper biological or mechanical framework? Typically, you made things out of Ecto for Conjurations, or more applicably, for Summoning entities. Forget raising dead corpses in the middle of battle, the Mimics could probably summon new, fresh bodies into existence made of pure Ecto. Sure, they wouldn't last as long as the corpses, but they didn't have to during a big fight. The corpses were more than a focus for whatever Spell was reanimating them; they were the foundation of it. Meaning the reanimation Spell targeted corpses, so if a corpse was too damaged for the Spell to register it as a target, then the corpse had to be Mended first, and you can't Mend without materials. That's how it worked with those Zombies without heads and doubly so for the Ghouls, who are technically living, breathing creatures even if the looked and behaved like the undead in every possible way.

So what did you need to repair a corpse? When you break it down, the human body was mostly oxygen, then carbon, then hydrogen, and lastly nitrogen. The first three were easy enough, as oxygen, carbon, and hydrogen were present in air, water, and pretty much all forms of biomass, whether it be flesh or wood, so that couldn't be the key element to the growth of those vital plants.

Meaning it might well be an excess of nitrogen in the soil killing off the transplanted Cinderferns, Sunflare Thistle, and Scorchvines. It made perfect sense, as nitrogen was a vital component of most crops and as such was highly concentrated in most fertilizers researchers might use to nourish the plants once they were transplanted elsewhere. Elodie even mentioned how Native Americans would always find the plants they needed to conduct their magical Rituals for battling the Soulless in the same areas where the Soulless could be found. Maybe because those plants thrived in a nitrogen deficient environment, so maybe that applied here too. The problem was, Cinderferns and Scorchvines grew in flooded conditions, but nitrogen compounds in anaerobic or waterlogged soil could displace oxygen and keep the roots from getting enough oxygen and all but ensuring they didn't survive.

The plants were literally drowning in a nutrient rich soup because they were absorbing too many nitrates and not enough oxygen.

It could still be something else, or only part of the issue, but it was the most promising theory Astrid had come up with so far. Judging by the look in Harald's eyes who was looking up from his book, he'd arrived at the same conclusion. "Nitrogen," he said.

"Ammonium," she replied, as that was a common nitrogen compound found in fertilizer.

"Acidic? No, anaerobic," Harald replied, and Astrid puffed up with pride to know that she arrived at the answer first, as she'd long since ruled up acidity as the issue since the swamps were slightly acidic to begin with. "Nutrient burn."

Which she supposed was the term for drowning in nutrient rich soup, but she'd never heard of it until just now. Then Harald really went off as he dug into his books while muttering something about 'yellow leaf tips' and 'root burn', but that's about all that Astrid could really follow. Either way, it meant he agreed that it was a promising lead, one he was eager to pursue right away, and Astrid was so excited to see it, she couldn't help but jump for joy and bounce all about.

"Thank you Howie," she said with a grin, running over to wrap him in a hug and almost bowling him over in the process. Sweet girl that she was, Chrissy came running in to support him, though she did it by joining their hug and heaving a big, satisfied sigh as she did. Maybe Chrissy was feeling the lack of them now that Elodie was off with the Pathfinders, or maybe it was her seeking solace after seeing Howie gun down six men, so Astrid squeezed her extra hard and made a note to hug Chrissy more often in the coming days.

Things were looking up now that they had a promising lead. Then again, they were probably a day or two away from being hunted down by the full force of Aultman and Sons now that Howie had killed six of their men. Course, old Geoffry Aultman had probably been itching for an excuse to come after Daddy after hearing about what happened in Ashbend, and the men Howie killed might well have been patrolling their borders because they knew their group would be around here. Didn't matter though, because sick or not, she couldn't see a world in which a shabby company full of hexing racist could get one over on the Firstborn, especially not with Lord Edward Elton, the most feared Innate on the Frontier, firmly in his corner.

As for the plants? The puzzle might well have been half solved, though they still had to figure out how or why the ambient flows were able to turn these plants into Magical materials. Really though, all that was left to do here was collect a few samples of Sunflare Thistle, make a couple more observations, and then they could be on their way back home for good, where they could hopefully put all their findings to good use and cultivate a bumper crop of ingredients for all the Phoenix Ashes they could ever need.

Like seriously, what could possibly even go wrong?

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