Sunspire Mountains i hope your dreams dry like raisins in the baking sun

As far as living went, each day was an incremental improvement from the one before it. Though her gait still had a hitch to it that came with her new impairment, the quail’d been a woefully lucky, albeit simple catch; the fat of it swung to and fro at her breast, and Aurëwen readjusted her fang’s grip within its neck.

Perhaps, if balaur would tell her of his adventure up here, the Pionier’d line his nests with these feathers for the night.

“Have an adventure,” Kiomaralis would say, “and return to reap your rewards, my children.” The Altáriel would smile, then, and further teach: “Remember, some of our greatest tales come from the most unlikely of places. Now — what are you waiting for?”

Coddling could only be done so much, and the silver wished not to smother them with it; but she was a mother all the same, and remained immune to the frettings that came with it. A pink nose still piqued at her faring son’s scent here— let her children roam as they were wont, they still needed to be watched at such an early age.

A pair of eyes to accompany her in such would be rather welcome; there were several sets to select from, as far as Diaspora went. The Kapitën’s cheerless mauve? Kazimir’s engulfing amber? There was the sea-glass of her wanlinda, and the drachma’s glint of Ingram. The piercing, shivered blues of Takiyok and Sadiq were also choice ...but ones of silvered-sea were what the herbalist longed for the most. Those that cradled the starslight of her still-seeking one.

In time, however, the argent had to settle for eyes of a deep-rooted pine; who belonged to a sturdy, somber-cloaked male, approaching the path that would lead her past him. Aure wasn’t ever one to greet those in passing — unless they were put out by injury — but for this moment she let a muffled chirrup arc between them.

The heavy quail only seemed to further dwarf her wispy figure, but the she-wolf only continued walking; studying stones underpad as she went.