The task is simple enough, the antlered girl had decided. To restore what was defiled into something whole again was an agreeable action. From life came death, and from death life. The flames which billowed and caressed her wings, which blessed her steps with a burning presence were a testament to that. Each gentle snorted breath peppered the air with ethereal embers, fire which had refused to die before it began and transcended into something more.

They would turn the marshes into something more, each bone picked and tree felled at a time.

Lilac eyes spotted a filly and her companion from her lofty perch, the large corvid cocked a curious glance in their direction. She had been lost in her reflections a breath too late, so the girl stayed silent and still upon her branch throne. Verro had never particularly liked being interrupted from her train of thought, much like how it disgusted her when someone opposed or got in the way of her plans. A joyous shriek pierced the spring air as the eagle seemingly spotted something of interest, and the girl almost wished she hadn't turned her gaze to follow where the bird had fluttered to.

A dead wolf. Her heart gave an unpleasant twist, she resonated with the creatures. She'd been named for them, Verro. Her mother had called her little wolf when she still stayed close to her breast, some of her family had even taken them as companions. She herself aspired to be just like them, in her own way. A snarling reflection from the other side, a wolf composed of spirit flame and snapping teeth. The white flame wolf who raced across desert sands unbound and free.

Still, from life came death. From death, life. The filly remained unmoved and instead focused on the owner of such a companion. Whatever happens next is a sequence of chance and reward. She'd fed a piece of still fresh meat and something within the dark painted girl twists. A metaphorical ear twisted back, the grimace evident on her feathered face. Magic appeared to be a fickle mistress, some soothed, others twisted and contorted those into something else - sometimes more. It's evident the girl is blessed with the latter part.

A wolf is in her place, and if she's not intrigued by the magic before, she is now. But before she can call out, there's another on the tail end of the girl's growled declaration to hunt in Kisamoa's name for the bones of the deceased. Her beak snapped shut with a huff, the pale lady speaks in an unusual sequence, but offers the girl her aid.

That's her moment, the Princess opens her large wings and drops from the gnarled tree toward the ground. The moment her pale claws touched the ground, her body obscured into a plume of white smoke as the magic shifted and reverted her into her normal form.

"M'ath." She greeted with a dip of her twice crowned head, the elegant crown of feathers dipped and swayed with the motion. Her mottle wings shuffled neatly at her sides as her lilted but silky voice filled the air. "Verro will also help gather bones." A beat. "You," her pale gaze shifted to look at the wolf-girl, "possess great magic." It's a compliment, though poorly articulated. But the wolven form has earned her respect, and she's quite interested in what such a motley gang could accomplish on behalf of Kisamoa.