Dragoncrest Cliffs might as well ask what makes a star

Though she did not voice it, and though it might seem insensitive to the cliffs, the skayona was gladdened that there might be another such as herself — who understood, at least in some part, what Heda had meant to everyone, but simply couldn’t drudge up a personal sorrow. And understand other kru as they might, but for the two females who had constant acquaintances with death (herbs and all, of course), comforting wasn’t something that easily came. To her part, Aure had tried to listen, to harken as she could; it wore her down, but what worth was she otherwise? 

A herald of her name, seasoned and burnished, had her wading from her thoughts and looking for whomever it was. ”Rose,” she hummed in return, her lips curling into a soft smile, countenance relaxed and bespoke once-sleep. ”I hope your days are healing.” Curving her course, she treaded back the way she came until she leveled with the russet healer (well, sort of, shortness and all.)

Aure’s own tail feathered warmly at her hocks, looking the opkepa over, ”Vanishing for a chance to breathe too, are you?” Her words were wry, but empathetic.