Arrow Lake you should be admired by painters—copied by sculptors—exalted by poets!

Vonn himself hadn't been informed of Ketzia's trails and the cause of her ailment — either out of personal respect and privacy. Or he had been told, and the information had flit from one ear and out the other amongst the enshrouded labyrinth of his thoughts. Who knew? Should he improve either manner of her conditions, then the crow would preen at this first task. After his languishing at Lone Star, he sought to provide a good impression of his own word.

And there she was: veiled in ecru and ivory and a masque of listlessness... and chagrin, as she scowled after a buttery mariposa. The corners of his own lips quivered with more than a touch of amusement, which Vonn didn't hide as he approached her draped self. "Thriving, I hope?" A star-dusted eye speared along her earth-tousled form, both inspection and admiration, regardless of her wearied state. "Even death remains unprepared for your ferocity — wherever it tried to hold you captive."