In the hours before the gathering, Feyawen organized the crates of seed cups they had received from Steepmaster Kunbo. She set them beside the barrels of moonberry juice in a copse of pines near the hidden inlet, where the folk could rest and relax in the aftermath of the memorial service. She smiled to herself and felt the hot sting of tears as she read over the Steepmaster’s letter. There was a rustle beside her as the other hosts arrived to check on her progress.
“Our old friend, Master Kunbo and the Quilen and Cloud Teahouse have sent us seed cups. Made from seeds they gathered in Darnassus, during their visits,” Feyawen explained as she dashed the water from her cheek. “I will distribute them after the memorial, so the participants may sow new life here in Darkshore.”