UNTIL THE MORNING COMES AROUND — poison

[SÉAMUS]

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☠ | Séamus Ó Faoláin

Battered and bruised by his initial arrival, the Irishman had yet to stray far from the Palm Glades camp.  He spent the first few hours among the clan offering him shelter by asking questions and listening, content to learn about his surroundings -- until he finally decided to wander into the woods.  In no shape to hunt yet, the faerie gathered a small amount of plants instead.

Known as the shadow prince among his people for a reason, Séamus began with some nightshade.  Carefully he began to grind the poisonous plant into a poultice and filled a small glass vial, humming a sea shanty as he worked.  "Heave a pawl, o heave away.  Way, hay, roll an' go."

And that's good, he mused, eyeing the vial thoughtfully.  It would be more than enough to lace a small knife with., which was part of the reason he enjoyed knowing his poisons in the first place.  I should wash my paws off.