Drabble: Druid staff.

Mookimook felt only confusion. In the group, there was a barrier—she sensed it. She was out of step. She crumbled the leaves, the chlorophyllatic paste of healing. Out of balance. Perhaps it was the cloudy day in summer. A cheat. Another druid groused. And then said, and this was unexpected: he noticed she didn’t have the patience for complaining. How did he know that, though she didn’t say a word? Druids. Newly minted souls bound to ancient cells. Odd mix. The wood on the bedpost felt as smooth as the oils of a thousand hands. Time to sleep now.