Hideaway Strath you were never meant to be a tragedy

it's all good!

The soft clacking of his bone ornamentations alerted the once-druid to his presence, papillion auds cupping in the sounds' direction curiously as she straightened and turned towards it. Wide moonstones lifted to another gaze of goldcoin but this one did not belong to Donav. This man was larger even than his doppelganger, the warmaid they called Nyra, with his snow pelt dirtied and rusted in streaks of old blood. 

For a moment, it was all Aerin could do to stare at him with unabashed fascination -- starshine orbs taking in the giant and his morbid saddlebags. Her lips parted just so, as if perhaps she wished to ask him a question -- or several -- but could not settle on the right words. 

Then her eyes moved to the tiny sprig of white, a whisper of a smile present on her lips as she stretched to take it from the achromatic behemoth's jaws gingerly. She placed the offering at her paws before looking up to him once more -- dwarfed by nearly 150 pounds. "Thank ye," she lilts gratefully, though she feels a bit odd to be addressed by the title -- one she associated with her past of servitude. 

"Vhat is it?" the healer inquires of the Otherworldly spiritualist, paw moving to brush tenderly over the pale blooms with admiration, certain she's seen the herb at least once. The sweep of their petals was pleasant against her pinkpads as she waited for the icebear to answer.