(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Chapter 17
A citizen or two glanced at me as I walked past, one arm ensnared in a
twisting cage of thorns. Most of the Hive Dwellers, however, passed me by
with a jaded nonchalance from years of seeing every oddity the Planes spat
into the city.
I held my arm gingerly as I entered the hut. Upon hearing me approach,
Mebbeth turned as I entered and gave me a skeptical eye. The corners of
her lips quirked in a whisper of a smile. "Yer path brings ye back here, does
it, child...?"
I lifted my arm, "I returned with those herbs you wanted... now maybe you
can get this damned bramble-patch off my wrist."
"Is that so?" Mebbeth glanced at the barbs that surrounded my wrist. "If so,
think it off, then."
I did so, willing the mass to unravel. Again, I did so thinking gently, urging
with will but soft on force.
Creaking and snapping, the black-barbed branches unraveled themselves
from and formed into a tangled ball of brush and twigs; it looked like a nest
of dead black snakes. Mebbeth snorted. "Think it into a picture frame or
somesuch, somethin' with more structure and less angles."
I nodded, and focused again. The branched ball creaked, the twigs bending
and twisting until the branches had bent themselves into a small picture
frame, two handspans on a side. Almost unconsciously, I imagine-shaped
the barbs to the back of the frame so it could be hung from the wall easily...
and, as an afterthought, I moved the remaining barbs to the inside of the
frame so it could be picked up by the edges.
I looked up and grinned, surprised and pleased with myself, "How's that?"
Mebbeth stared at the frame for a moment, then cackled. "Ha! Square
enough, it is! Good work, child, good work." She picked up the frame and
scrutinized it. "This'll do nicely."
"Is that all you wanted it for?" I had thought she would be making a potion
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