The swamp is thick with a misty fog as Poppymilk makes her way carefully through the trees. It's early, still, the sun having just begun to peek over the horizon. She's not always up so early, but there'd been a refreshing chill in the air when the sound of an owlcat yowling in the distance had woken her up. Besides -- her stocks are low, and a little morning walk never did her any harm.
The mushrooms are the most difficult, as she's yet to set up an environment in which they'll cultivate and thrive -- though she's tried. She's confident she'll figure something out eventually, but for now she scavenges.
It's times like this when she wishes she'd invest in getting herself a pet. She knows there are other kin that breed and raise them, and even train them... Perhaps one of her customers would be willing to trade for one...?