Hushed Willows “my temper would perhaps be called resentful.”

The mild enrapture that the willows had engulfed him in shivered, the way a still, unassuming pond would with some stone from on high. He returned to himself slowly, and his body reacted where his mind still meditated; felt the words, edged with a smile, before he saw it. Cream jaw worked efficiently enough to tongue out an inflection of "Good morning," before clarity finally came to his gaze and he was able to add, "I am Sontés."

The female who'd offered herself as Lily was of a darker make than either he or the brighter female who appeared, then. There was something that limned his host's scent; not unlike the undertones of earth which heady wildflowers draped and nodded themselves over. "Forgive me. I was only admiring this grove, when I'd meant to be resting; for all I've lived, I've not come across many." It wasn't in him to presume her stature, however he condescended to allow a flickering curl of his lips in return.