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Although Serenian mornings were not the same as Eowyn mornings. They were brighter, and came faster, crashing forth from the horizon as if it could not wait to begin. Or perhaps, Raemos sometimes fancied, as if celebrating a victory, as if some terrible battle kept the sun from shining in the night, against a foe that it always vanquished.

He wondered if that was so. It was certainly beautiful. He liked to be out on his walks to view it, whenever he could. It gave his walks a purpose that he felt made them worth something, instead of merely being his restless wanderings.

This morning, however, he had another purpose. He had read in some of his mother's books about a radiant herb that grew near the healing lakes of Serenia, and - being interested in the natural world - he wanted to take a look for himself. He had read that it was a plant greatly tied into Magesc's day-night cycle, best found in the light of dawn.

He had set out early and had been searching for several hours now, poking through the grasses and tangled bushes. He didn't know what the herb looked like - for some reason, illustrations had been lacking in the book he had found - so he was poking around blindly. He would have to rectify that and draw the herb himself.

He knew its description: Golden, glowing, with soft, petal-like leaves, accompanied by a 'warm, pleasant smell'. The color was of no use to him, and the scent described many things, such as fresh bread and woolen blankets and the smell of clean, dry Sheron (Dirty Sheron smelled terrible). But the fact that it had soft, petal-like leaves and glowed would do - he didn't see many plants around that fit that description.

Raemos was interested in herblore, but not as a proffession. He was a hobbyist, happy to pick and draw the plant, but not likely to cook it in anything. He thought he was likely to sell it or trade it to someone. Either way, he did want to find it.

He had arrived early, but had had no luck in the darkness before dawn. But as the bright light of a Serenian morning spilled out onto the brilliantly clear waters of the lake, he smelled it: a soft, warm smell. It was the fresh, pure scent of a peaceful meadow in the springtime, when the plants were just beginning to grow. It was a living, lovely smell. He breathed it in deeply and began to track it down, following his nose as best he could to a stand of reedy cattails.

He sniffed the cattails, lifting his goggles to get a better angle, before pushing the reeds aside. There, hidden, was a plant, softly glowing, in the ground. He knelt by it, gently lifting a leaf into his hands and inspecting it.

He was certain he had found it. He sketched the plant as carefully as he could before he picked it from the ground, tucking the specimen safely in his knapsack.