[Lance's initial comment gets a soft smile out of Carlisle, the sheepish sort that says he's embarrassed about what just happened, but grateful for the doctor's forgiveness and willingness to quickly move past it.]

There is something you could do, actually. If you don't mind.

[He motions for Lance to join him beside what is presumably a bloodwort: the shrub stands about chest-high, the vines weighed down by both the red, bulbous fruits they bear and the rain gathering on the leaves. Carlisle kneels beside the base of the plant, pulling his hands from his gloves and pushing his sleeves past his wrists.]

See how the roots are coming up? We need to rebury them, then cover them with some of the rocks I have in that satchel I was carrying.

[He gestures to his bag, which sits over by one of the trees.]

This dirt has gotten so displaced from this move. I'd hate to lose one of these. Plant from back home and whatnot.