Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

gives u a 5am post anyway

The fairylight's step from her reserved Rest is weighted and she is, at the moment, far too impartial of hushing into some manner of sneakery; not as she unveils what vestiges of Undómiel lie upon hunched-thin shoulders and eventually comes to drape rawboned figure aft the terrible intimidation of him  —  whom as of yet has not a new, as-sworn monkier  —  with a riddled chin that finds reprieve upon two knobby wrists. Though she so evidently wilts at this excruciatingly early hour, Andraste will not allow her own efforts to be thwarted by cottony time;
yet, adamant in remaining so awake as she is, the cloudthick study of the frostfallen ruff, the backs of his faded ears is preformed with the cusps of the unseeing eye that has too soon welded itself shut. The other remains to stare with some stupor; and for now, the fée is content in with the quietude of his deep-dawn presence and of lying near water's edge. Until:
"How is Cuiviénen to your liking, Valitúrë?"
the enquiry drawn from the spathe of a waxen throat strained with rather recent somnolence; halfsights heavy-lashed and limned with the gloss of it.