Harth moved over to her, standing then crouching beside her. He took a piece of the hay and examined it. Still plenty for a small offering. For a small spell. Good idea.

In another language, one he used deliberately, he seemed to recite a short little poem over her, turning his hand upwards as the hay dissolved in his hand. With what was left, he sprinkled the dust over Toph. A very simple sleeping spell.

"Very ew." He concurred, retreating from her and moving around.

"It's not too bad. Just dry old strings of hay and straw. We don't even have any thing close to this in haddyn."