...The herbalist trimmed cloth to line her drying racks, pale green to blend with the hanging herbs and avoid staining them. She'd requested this specific dye from the master craftsperson two towns over. Nobody else made it right. It had to be gentle, had to respect the plants being dried, had to echo their colors. She understood the philosophy. The dye wasn't separate from the work. It was part of the care.

In a noble's country estate, the gardener wore pale green as a kind of uniform. The young lord had remarked on it once, surprised she'd chosen something so fine for work in the soil. She'd explained simply that the plants recognize it. The color puts them at ease. They grow better when surrounded by harmony. He'd laughed, but he never questioned her choice again. By season's end, his gardens were the talk of the province, and half the visitors assumed the gardener's pale green dress was the secret.