Qeya River The gentle ones can't handle me, the rough ones despise me

he laughed. "absolutely!"
as usual, the surface of the river was frigid, ice flowing down from the palace of white called duskfire. lestan lapped happily at it, then poked around with wet muzzle for those flowers.
"smell these," he playfully ordered sadey, pointing to a patch of indigo blossoms, "then these," to a spot of orange ones.