Arrow Lake you should be admired by painters—copied by sculptors—exalted by poets!

Dating Task I for 4/4! ’Bring something to @Ketzia that will improve her health or spirit.’
I’ll bug someone to cameo as Vonn’s superviser later huhu

As per the basilisk’s order, Aurëwen’s twin had set out to make well on Stigmata’s wishes and his own word. His impartial voyage from the cliffs hadn’t been quite as dreary as the Dragedans’d been — and how could he be so? Those lovely Luks now remained merry company, and with the arrival of his sobrina y sobrino, Vonn could feel nothing but prideful euphoria in the days since.

So when Stigmata had asked after him, Vonnaruil had obeisanced his way over in answer without hesitation — ever the “angel” that he’d never known the commander had gussied him up to be. Tend to Ketzia, had been the gist of it; regardless of never meeting a Ketzia, the mere manner in which her name pranced on the tongue? It was enough to make Vonn wonder why he’d never met her before.

Surely, then, the strider would be improvement enough to this gypsy’s ailing? With this in mind, the scarred Rhaesuian hummed a languorous, anticipated path to wherever he’d been told this tenant resided. Argent eyes flared with a sprightly gleam that never seemed to leave, all the while as he sought her out.

The sylph had secluded herself from the majority of the pack since her return. She had settled to a small den, overlooked by various members of Diaspora as she lingered in and out of consciousness—her bodies demands of sleep leaving no room for argument as she gave in to her dreams, allowing her flesh and soul to mend. The latter certainly seemed to be taking its time, though.

The spring day found her just outside of the den she had shadowed within, her slender form stretched languorously across the deepening emerald of the grass, as if her mind enraptured only thoughts of a whimsical nature then the darker moments that bore heavily upon her spirit.

An ear flickered idly, the silence of the moment taken in with the slight cant of her exotic muzzle. Green apple eyes shifted to study the flutter of a yellow butterfly—it’s wings an impressive expanse of beauty and hidden power. It pivoted closer, as if barely able to control itself among the breeze, and as it neared her muzzle, the she-wolf felt the quiver of her lip as she snapped at the creature, appropriately missing, but nonetheless revealing the bitter temper that stormed within her chest.

Vonn himself hadn't been informed of Ketzia's trails and the cause of her ailment — either out of personal respect and privacy. Or he had been told, and the information had flit from one ear and out the other amongst the enshrouded labyrinth of his thoughts. Who knew? Should he improve either manner of her conditions, then the crow would preen at this first task. After his languishing at Lone Star, he sought to provide a good impression of his own word.

And there she was: veiled in ecru and ivory and a masque of listlessness... and chagrin, as she scowled after a buttery mariposa. The corners of his own lips quivered with more than a touch of amusement, which Vonn didn't hide as he approached her draped self. "Thriving, I hope?" A star-dusted eye speared along her earth-tousled form, both inspection and admiration, regardless of her wearied state. "Even death remains unprepared for your ferocity — wherever it tried to hold you captive."