[RQ] wild, magical things

Lena

and sweetest in the gale is heard
and sore must be the storm

Lena would never quite know how to fixate on her opinions with the hand-mines – eternally taught that they were necessary, but somehow doubting the discrepancy for most of her teenage and adult life. Indoctrinated to simply nod her head along with the notions, it wasn’t until after the war that they were finally beginning to open to the rest of the world around them – and she hoped that this was exactly what Stormbreak would need. A rejuvenation. A reformation.

With Celestine duties done for the moment, snagging at her basket, and inviting Mittens along, she intended to meet the others with ensuring the holes left behind were filled with flora. It would be nice to have the absence of those measured things barely noticed; just filled with blooms and blossoms instead. Her own carrier held a wide variety of flowers from the Celestine’s gardens, and those she’d tended to in her own small, measured field.

Spying the rest of her party ahead, she waved as she encountered them lingering nearby, catching up. “Hello! What did you all end up bringing?”

that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm

Although Noe had initially balked at the idea of helping with this whole regional quest thing - call it her vendetta against Sohalia for breaking Koa's heart - in the end, her loyalty to her region had won out. So here she was, ready to do her bit to open Stormbreak to the Abandoned. Despite her disdain for their illustrious leader, she had to admit that this was a good cause, and one that, emotions aside, she was happy to support.

Noe carried a basket looped over her arm and braced against her hip, various flora tucked carefully into it for transport to their new homes.  Although she didn't know Lena, Noe knew of her, and that was enough for the girl to greet the Celestine's caretaker like a friend. "Oh, Lena, right?" she said as the woman approached, a sunny smile on her face and a cheerful lilt in her voice. "I'm Noe," she added by way of introduction. "I've just got some flowers. I'm sure Mateo will bring something fancy." And she laughed fondly. "Wonder where he is, anyway?"

Noe

Mateo

Late.

Mateo is late.

He's always late, but this time it's not even fashionable, even though he is when he appears. In a billowing white shirt and a ruddy waistcoat cinching in all the right places, he appears like some displaced sky pilot, a bag over his shoulder as he hurries out through the gates. "Hallo!" he calls, smiling brightly and drawing to a halt before the two women.

"Dispiace," he says in the travelling tongue. "I was waylaid." Or just laid - who is to tell, really?

Regardless, he's already kneeling down to open his bag of holding, carefull lifting out pots and trays and other flora; he's got snow moss and peppermint bark saplings, a variety of climbing roses and even some herbs (lavender, thyme and mint to name a few). "I did not want the blink hares to go without," he explains with a bashful, dimpled smile. "Where shall we start?"

i've told you time and time again
i'm not as think as you drunk i am