Sun Mote Copse time's the revelator

it was lucky wraen liked to talk. she filled the gaps between arcturus' long pauses; she was the brilliant flush of spring-time between a long and stretched out winter.

he had never been to the sentinels, but he imagined the place all the same. his reckoning of wraen's birthplace was not so different than the reality, though in his imagination, particularly as she mentioned the forest had been razed by fire.

"i would like to visit." arcturus countered, wondering if he would find a connection with the place that had borne wraen, so long ago. she was important to him, and by proxy, the things she cared for mattered. he hoped that someday he would stand in the halls of her home, and close his eyes and imagine wraen as a puppy, yearling, adult -- running and laughing and playing before the hardships of life had worn her (and her forest) down.

as for her question, arcturus did not need to think. "i like the spring." he thought of the rushwater as it fled down the mountain, and a pang of pain filled his heart that he would not see such sights ever again. "it always seems to come around the corner when you need it most, reminding you that the world is not always cold and dreadful."

he paused, thinking of his next question. how his conscience burned to ask something a bit more intimate (who was your first crush? who is your crush now? are you seeing anyone? and perhaps most insecure of all will you see me?), to guide the topic to a matter very much weighing on his heart -- but he quickly navigated away from any such blunder. "what is your favorite thing to eat?"