Wapun Meadow i. a vagrant you shall become

Enshrouded halfwise in night the star-spangled vagrant was, and so Aure remained ignorant of the desecration of her masque; whereas the moonlight brought out her own in stark, unforgiving contrast. The dull gleam of the one eye still glimmered some, though, to hear such a formal greeting — and such praise.

The herbalist felt blood pique at her marred cheekbones, and she gave a vague gesture of a rabbitsoft paw. ”Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo,” for further, docile effect, before surrending a sheepish curl of lips. ”Good twilight, yes. I mean, ah, thank you, doamna. It is ze language of my birthland.”

She wavered where she was for a moment, incrementally feeling a bit ridiculous. How long had it been since she’d spoken with (faltering) elegance? She was a Rhaesuian heiress no longer— “I am Aurëwen,” she pipped, and balked when her foreign tongue cracked on her own name. “Ah, Aure, if you’d like.”