The Sunspire sweaty palms as i walk down this empty road

Pungency of bristling basil;
bundled into mouth between shorn lips; earthwarm and budding upon mute tongue. For plague, against some poision; the fairylight now wended her from the southerlying Lair, having believed her trek would bring some manner of wellness to her wintering faithfuls in these coming weeks. A restlessness, too, had roosted down within the wisp's bones; knew that the Court's declaration o'er their misted dwelling was so close at hand. It is what has drawn the featherlight tail above hocks and gaunt hips; brandishing with a delicate delight—

—and it is what makes her come to eventual halt, and set softsilver sights upon the grey and fell male, hunched beneath the shadow of Sunspire. Hearthold—!
—it is not him—
—but as the stricken is not one, now, to leave another ailing and behind, she hushes the hesitancy tittering away within breast and instead trills to the dingy wanderer; basil or no, she means to be heard.