Hushed Willows sávvato

This place reminded him of the Lion's Den, and of the days he had spent inside, engraving the bones of long dead pretty with the rough etchings of prophets and priests,  and with the history of their people. He had left them at Sweetharbour; perhaps he might return and bring them here.

A noise cleared his thoughts of all that took them, asked he turned to find a stranger in his steps.

She was stark and fire-like. Where the Mederios had been the gold of sun fire, the girl who neared him - polite, yet seemingly careful - resembled the flames that had followed both he and Reverie through life's every turn. Yet he welcomed her fire. A friend of Reverie's was no one to fear.

Hello, he returned, voice lifting softly over the still air. A slight smile, I do know, he did not carry the pack scent yet, so of course she would wonder. It's almost like Eden, and he let his gaze linger about the land again, still struck by what beauty Reverie had found, my sister has chosen well.