Crafting must have been a wonderful, remarkable occupation, creating objects from reeds, from cotton, from matter sprung from the air, fashioning, wielding, bending until they became something else altogether, necessities and items used to make their lives easier. Everyone served a purpose within their world, but Lena had never cultivated the opportunity to delve into a weaver’s mind, their exploits, their pursuits, what spurned and urged them on. Farenjer appeared proud of his profession, of his abilities and capability, harnessing and harpooning power into otherworldly articles and objects, honing temptation into corporeal roots and components, ingredients for better lives. Her smile remained an ever-abundant force, enjoying the sharing of knowledge and information, and despite not being able to assist him in his tasks, still embodying ebullience at the melding of kindred spirits. Curiosity continued to swell into harmonious balances, stoked and fueled by the constant queries surfacing throughout her noble mind, persevering through the chill, the frosted rime, the merciless mountain peaks. She didn’t display her disappointment in supporting upon his newest endeavor, the cheeky grin still in place, the luminescent glow still readily apparent, undimmed, undeterred. Another harmonious blend of chords flowed from her mouth, a tilt of her head, endless inquiry, dulcet and calm. “Blankets! What other things can you make?” Imogen sprung up ahead, another creature enjoying the notion of comfortable layers to fold over one’s body, press warmth into hides and pelts as the reign of Frostfall loomed closer. The fairy, however, became further fixated on his forbearance of healing – incapable of the press of blood, the rivulets of ichor, the wounds, murky and plaguing. Since he offered his own information, she continued in the same stead, bestowing the development of her talent. “I heal by song.” Another bright grin, as if the world was one bird’s delight, whimsical and fanciful, despite all the hardships she’d seen, labored, drew across her lips, assuaged and soothed by croons, murmurs, and lullabies, the plumes of laments and requiems. A slight frown marred her mouth, a furrowing of her brow, when she had to admit the depths of her mending ended there, and the press of other ventures should have taken place ages ago. “I don’t have the full knowledge of herbs yet.” A pause, a breath, then the stoking of amending these failings. “I hope to alleviate this soon, though. A nurse should always have many options.” Laughter followed, pleasantries restored, honeyed eyes regaled once more.