Eleanor had put together a few things for Arden. Nothing too complicated or involved, just a lot of the most simple, rudimentary combination of plants and herbs to aid in recovery, in potions and tinctures and teas, salves for soothing muscles and better breathing, little bundles meant to go under pillows for better sleeping. She didn't know if much of it would work; she felt that this kind of magic was mostly just a little bit of basic homeopathy and a whole lot of willful, wishful thinking, but this was her first big step toward following in Persephone's footsteps. This was what her grandmother had done, mixing together concoctions and bringing them to the villagers, to ease their pains or worries or heal their wounds both spiritual and physical, to bridge the gap. To keep the pitchforks at bay. To maintain the peace between them and the monsters on the hill.

Granted, she didn't exactly imagine she had to pacify Arden, she was just doing it as a friend, but as she gathered the things into a basket--as well as a few other things, too: a small book of poetry, a fancy little journal with a nice pen, a book of crossword puzzles, and a small box of candy--she couldn't help feeling like maybe she'd finally started working toward the things her grandmother would have been teaching her to do if it weren't for her untimely death at the shock of reading Eleanor's future.

But that was neither here nor there, as Eleanor started her way toward Midnight to visit Arden and give her her little care basket. Of course she'd taken the way along the beach, and a good thing, too, because there she spotted the exact person she was looking for.

"Hi, Arden," she said, coming up to her with a small smile and shifting the basket a little. "How are you feeling?"