Not a single misgiving floated about her heart, dazed and dazzled into ebullience, beatific and grand. Each step was a sprig of joviality, emboldened and impassioned by the search for information, by the will to usher her friend’s contentment, and the gleeful merriment of having a companion so close by. Like a grandiose dance, she gave, ushered, granted strides laden with warmth, tenderness, generosity, floating upon air in honeysuckle splendor, in hummingbird radiance, in finessed birdsong unwinding around them. Her eyes kept to the whirlwind sights and sounds amongst their repose, their haven, the lavish forest set like a stage, posturing so many acts, so many parts, so many plants, that, had they the necessary intuition, the gallant passion, they’d be able to harness their powers, their delights, their potency and regality. Which proved to be deadly and toxic, tarnished and blotted, and which manifested to be more than just thorns or weeds, nestled into the artful strands of divinity and virtue? While she looked, while she scoured, while she discovered through careful endeavors, she listened to the quiet allure of Alysanne’s voice, the pique and efforts beyond it, the enticement and prowess of vegetation, while seemingly just mere berries or leaves, held far more than just glamour and ornaments, bells and whistles. The nymph smiled, cajoled again, into the whimsical airs of their peaceful search. “Extraordinary – you’ll have to take some home with you.” Imogen chirped and provided a point of her nose towards the correct direction, and sure enough, bearberries remained scattered amongst the lower brush of a nearby fir tree – not yet plucked or eaten by other animals. Thereafter she did a blithe, elated jig, garnered by Hemlock’s attention, poised to be the awe-inspiring kitsune and fox majesty; queen of the flora. Lena’s interest was piqued again, however, by the mention of Alysanne’s father; surely a knowledgeable creature, embarking wisdom and musings upon his daughter – and while she’d never had such a thing, a single snippet in time where family tossed her a lifeline and she could sail through into columns of sagacity, it sounded marvelous and wonderful. A small trinket of hope bloomed in her chest, in aspirations, in ambitions, that perhaps Alysanne could entreat her to such delicacies and song. She tilted her head, and couldn’t mask her curiosity, floating with fanciful delight amongst her sienna gaze. “Your father sounds delightful. What else do you remember?”