She comes, slowly, a pace common for a creature like her. The aborun lignea are not prized for their speed, though they can be motivated to quicken, Willow remembers with a faint smile how she bested the others in a race when she had the chill of the Steppe nipping her flanks.
The great hulk of her tree rises and falls with each stride like some bizarre ship rolling on the sea of a horse. With every hoof-fall a shudder rankles up her limbs and causes her leaves to quiver. In the tops of the boughs Ermine has hoisted himself up, unable to rest with all this travel. He doesn't mind however, and chatters happily whenever he spies something of delight to him. Willow laughs delicately with each excited squeal from the small mammal, relishing his happiness.
"We're here," she announces to him, though she speaks loudly with the intentions of anyone else overhearing her. She has stopped at the borders of the World's Edge, or so she believes. She knows little of Helovia yet, and is guided more by memory of word than first-hoof experience. She gives her chocolate body a rough shake to settle herself in for a good conversation, cocking a hip casually in the hopes to appear less disarming. The fog swirls around this place and makes it hard to see, so she is forced to squint her green eyes to stab them through the din.
"World's Edge," she calls out kindly, little authority to her voice. She knows they are on good terms with the intel Jackal gave her, but she will be cautious at behaving too comfortable.
"I am Willow, Earth Medic of the Windtossed Foothills, come to seek council with your healer."
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