Northstar Vale Wandering Child

She cannot help but remember the words of Eros;
that fate is a figment of mere nonexistence; that their initial meet was entirely coincidental. The stricken still cannot say if she favors either one of those ideas — though she has been one prone to think that there are some things that happen for a reason, as much as she thinks also that free will should not be ensnared to some unending force. But she listens to the pilgrim's words all the same; and wonders already what post she might hold within this realm ... should its lone star allow her passage.

"We offer purpose through ze strength of ze mind,"  the silver intones, argents roving the stardusted figure as, perhaps, a painter assessing how they might first daub brush to canvas.  "And with winter now come, we must offer protection through ze brawn of our own band. Pray tell, then: what is it that you are looking for? Longing to become?"

Judging by that which the cocoa presented next, Undómiel would take her very thoughts into Consideration. For now, though, she remains quieted once more; patient, the chill aside.