-- genius of camping in this new era. blastia's coddle gone, mana bringing balance, folk started culling and taming those untrodden frontiers between. hence... the hunt!

-- maybe the meek moon had something to do with that middling wildlife activity. day would wake them.

-- -- roads are generally okay, but the beaten path would have been a lot testier elsewhere in time.

-- a trained swordarm or keen eye was adequate enough to conquer most of the wild's fiesty inhabitants, so long as some of its greater threats remained in their hidden hovels. most natives were just not as versed as they in combat.

-- "basic 'barrier'." unpleasent smell to monsters, unperceptible to humans, krityan... and elves, apparently. they were not at such risk as raven implied.

-- halure generally sees fresh knights. hence the low profile!

-- bees. humungo, needle stinger, blade-like pincers... strays roaming the fields, favoring stray flowers. none in swarms willing to trouble them. stars help them considdering their size.

-- even creatures simple as birds were brawny in a primordial way, calling attention to the world's bounty.

-- the daytime, one could make out the jagged spires of countless mountains well past halure.

-- homes, storefronts, walkways were made by hollowing the monumental roots and trunk center of halure.

--



What too grew stronger in his absence was that blot of curiosity laying heavily on her mind; promises to remain devoid of questions until the moment came—his elf required a distraction.  And thus she clung to the line, ‘wear what you want’, and mind’s drift to how little she had in way of non-work related attire.  A standard assortment of blouses to go with those sparse sets of trousers, form fit; then her Mikado grade hunting gear, and what outer wear she continued to possess from guard of Ferelden’s unforgiving seasons of late fall and into winter, sometimes the mountain passes in that regard… but the point made here—was to fit in more in lands not her own, she needed to fix that.

A trip of her own in order, though it shouldn’t in theory take too long—left to her own devices, it seemed like a good idea as any to remedy it. As was Zilyana’s want. However, unusual, daresay uncommon it was for the little resort executive, rowdy in her make to be absent; it was not done so completely without word.  Not when suspected gents, whimsical in their own projections may come a’knocking at any moment. Word left within the safe holdings of their joint quarters; aviary’s of love’s nest, with tokens additionally.
Trade learned, adopted perchance for reasonable accuracy: a note card, essence of the ebony-haired absentee rubbed off via wrists with her more patient variety of penmanship. It still could not hold candle to the delightful flourish of his own written word, but legible it was, and that by far the more important part was it not?  Beside this parchment remained two vials, a red feather protruding one, and blue another—significant of the color choices since their meeting and exclusivity; the newest line of panaceas, for while she was away. Encircling them, a bound lock of darkened ringlets, no doubt hers; unmistakably so.


| Raven, my star:
While I ruminate over the conditions of our future getaway, to wear what I want and come with you. I want to fit in where we might go and—I can’t with what I own presently. It should be no more than a day’s time, but while I cannot see you with mine own eyes or me with yours; know that I’ll be with you as you are with me and I will be impatient as ever to return.
I leave these tokens to make it so. Soon enough, I’ll be home in your arms again.  I love you.
									My heart ever yours,
									                  ~Zilyana