Northstar Vale the tones of your flesh i tempered with pandyssian chalk

though beneath the sweet, sugared moonbeams and blackberry ink sky splattered with gleaming and glistening starlight he should be taking rest ...the tundrian instead policies the borders. they are quiet, a serenity broken only by the call of an owl overhead or the shuffle snow under foot of a nocturnal creature. though, he thinks, being nestled conveniently in the protective womb of the sunspire mountains no doubt keeps the worst offenders away. still, he is vigil.

feeling satisfaction with the quiet upon the borders, however, he wraps them up though as he makes his way to whichever place he shall came for his bed that night he does not feel the plague of exhaustion upon him. he is not even remotely sleepy. restless in a way that he cannot explain; and decides with a impulsive shift in path to attempt to burn it off further. there are still places within courtfall's vale that has yet gone unexplored by the tundrian.

the crownseat is admittedly what catches his attention first, glacial gaze studying the petrified hollow painted with azure opal. of it's kind, he's never seen before; and though it might've been enough to enchant him he is enchanted by the only other living presence in this clearing. she appears distracted and he calls out to her from the other end, tentative; ready to venture elsewhere should she chase him off.