The little cleric with the wild hair and the mossy tutu glances from face to face of the people surrounding her, all of them busily turning plants into healing remedies. She nods at some comment with a grin, then stands and wanders away from the bonfire to gaze up at the darkening sky.

She tugs at the sleeves of her new winter coat and wiggles her toes happily in her heavy boots. Her nose was still pink, but her fingers were warm in mittens and her neck covered by a woolen scarf. She was cozy as she could be on top of a ruined Tower in a blizzard in winter. Which means it was time to give thanks and offer devotion, her way. But first...

Nawain plucks a silvery-gold tenra blossom from her hair, and admires the whispers of gold that shimmer across the prayerful petals. Tekhelet had placed it there when he'd brought her some winter wear, and she pours her love for her mate from that moment into the flower, and offers it to missing friends. She crouches and places the subtly shimmering blossom upon a very particular stone, and speaks quietly, as if to someone in the same room. "Navesi, Dantia, Ayrell, Miskton, Mazrian.... We're holding on here. You're heard. We'll bring you home. Happy Shosandu."