The first to heed his call is a strange creature; he has seen many odd things in his short lifespan, but none as half as strange or lovely as she. Lips curl upward dazedly as she arrives, although his eyes are intent on the willow tree sprouting from her back. Her words are clear and terse, and she wastes no time in assessing her latest patient. Jackal does not dare interrupt her; the certainty in her voice struck a chord in him, and he is silent under her careful eye. A slender red-furred animal peeks out from underneath the tree's graceful fronds upon her command, and their eyes meet before he scurries down her trunk and onto the lush spring grass. A strange thing happens then - something the King of Thieves will not be able to explain for quite a while; the stoat closes his eyes in concentration, and soon, a thin little tree is called into existence, its smell foreign and strong, although not entirely unpleasant. The tree-mare pulls a leafy green disc from her trunk, which he identifies as a lily-pad, and sets it by Ermine, who places the long, young leaves of the new tree onto it. Then, with a large, deft hoof, the Lignea begins to mash them expertly. His nostrils twitch as they inhale the increasingly pungent smell - it is new, and stings his passageways.
When she glances up from her work, he offers her a half-hearted smile. She introduces herself as a former Storyteller, and he raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Willow," he murmurs, listening to her words intently - they are wise, befitting of a mare of such a high rank. She speaks much more sense than most full-blooded equines he knows; perhaps the tree's knowledge flows through her veins (leaves? trunk?) and blesses her with reason. Willow comes forward, pouring the strong-smelling mixture onto his lame leg. It tingles at first, a strange feeling which reminds him of a sleeping limb; the feeling fades into coolness, however, and he heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, dipping his head in respect.

No sooner than his wounds begin to cool, rhythmic hoof-beats herald the arrival of a familiar face. Blue eyes, the color of sea-water, watch him fondly, and her heat against his body is a welcome feeling. Their muzzles brush together briefly, breath exchanged. He has missed his aunt tremendously - he has even worried after her. A broad smile graces his face, affection and respite in his pale, colorless eyes. Her voice ring sweet in his ears, like honey to a bear. The words surprise him; Jackal only knows of his grandsire (Kimber's sire) through brief mentions, although he knows the Unbroken to be a ruthless and brave ruler. The smile becomes rueful, "I only did what seemed right," he replies coyly, a tender muzzle tracing the scars on his already tattered hide. Pride swells through his chest; the cowardly colt turned King of Thieves has done his blood justice, he believes, hopes wishes, twisting his head to face her's and nudging her cheek gently before averting mercury gaze to the valley before them.
Gentle teeth graze his shoulder, and for a moment, the dun is beneath a black sky, body slick with relentless rain. With an inhale, he reminds himself that the day has cleared and the shade is gone, but bitterness clings to the back of his throat, and he watches Kimber greet Dei (who sleepily bumps her muzzle with his own), and dance away from them, strange water creatures in thrall.

Evers the Able had come long before, but Willow's attention and Kimber's reunion kept him from addressing the older stallion. Grey eyes scrutinize him carefully, tracing the claws on his neck, the placid look in his eye. The Able does not acknowledge him, and Jackal half wonders if it has something to do with his brother's dethroning. Surely, Evers is higher than that; a diplomat always keeps his duties before his heart, does he not? Mouth twists into a thoughtful line, but he turns his gaze toward the two other that have joined them, a handsome ruby colt, and a lean, amber-eyed pegasus. The boy, who can't be much younger than himself, offers the leaders kind words. Jackal glances at Evers once more, wondering if he is as suited for the position as the King of Thieves had originally thought. The pegasus seems more interested in Dei than the leaders, and Jackal cannot help but smile. Roused by the attention, wide jade eyes stare back at the dark stallion, a light purr rumbling at the back of his throat.

Hesitating, the dusty dun assesses the group before him. Sterling eyes are serious, resolute as they graze each face like a surgeon's scalpel. "Archibald is gone," he says bluntly, flicking an ear casually in Evers' direction, curious to his reaction. "The Foothills have passed through countless hands, but as long as the blood runs hot through my veins, I intend to bring it into an age of prosperity," a carefully calculated pause, a flick of the tail, "But I cannot do so without your help. We need every man, woman and child - we need warriors, apprentices," he frowns, turning his face to look at the tree-mare. "Willow, you will be our healer," the eyes soften on her face, although his mouth is set in an ever adamant line. "Our storyteller will be Paladin the Valiant," he pauses, searching the ranks for the familiar black dun. After a moment of silence, the appaloosa continues, "We will rise, and rise again. Help us build this home of ours; we will be proud to call it our own."