Despite the raw beauty and sullen awe of Orangemoon, the Songbird hadn’t ventured too far out into its void. Perhaps the crisp, fallen leaves and the cold, chilling way in which nature decayed – elegant, but withering, refined, but wilting, wasn’t what she cared to witness. She stayed amongst the freshly fallen snow instead, wandering through their precious, laden crystals and fine powder, gathering bits and pieces of herbs still tucked beneath heavily-laden boughs or tangled moss. Months were soon approaching where there would be no access to any plants at all; when the tundra was locked in its eternal abyss, frozen in time, in space, and the plants nestled within their caverns would be the only stores available for mending. Her magic was strong, powerful, and righteous – but no one knew what the future held, no one knew what twisted, contorted designs and mechanisms the world had concocted, and she’d rather be prepared than face the immoral, heartless, licentious void alone. Sometimes a song, a tune, would not be enough, and could only become a dirge, a lament, a requiem.
 
They pressed amongst the stones and rubble, puttering along the winding caves, Imogen providing a guiding light with her gentle embers dancing along the edge of her tails. Lena peeked and searched, eyes roaming their vast stores, pieces of willow-bark or diamond-leaf, stems drying from the heat of fires and the dry nourishment of the earth. She smiled, gently, winking towards her bonded, lowering her maw to ensure proper scents and cleanliness of the plants, before wandering back, further and further – perhaps hoping to get lost in the endless array, the eternal diversions, sweeping away all the other thoughts, all the other sentiments, to the back of her mind. The nymph always strived to forget, but forever neglected the duty, tormenting herself despite her strong will, despite her convictions, despite all her resolution, determination, and everything she stood for. Her gaze went from stalk to stalk, stem to stem, formidable and enduring, as if she was old as the walls herself, having seen and done and remembered so many wondrous and horrible things.
 
She would’ve traversed deeper and deeper, maybe until she became truly, utterly strayed, frozen in place, another one of the statues amongst the granite, but a voice reverberated through the grand hall, familiar and bold, ensuring and snatching her attention from the melancholy oaths strung through her heart. The lithe sylph released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, watched it puff and flicker away in the darkness, and when Imogen chirped her back into life, she committed a small, tender grin, and followed her from whence they came – dignified, regal, and gentle, not allowing the world to see she was slowly falling apart.
 
Her eyes adjusted back into the light as the figure became framed in a silhouette of the gray, bitter sky outside her walls, blinking once or twice to rid herself of the reverie haunting her, developing one more beam when she drew nearer to the black figure of Mortuus Nox. While Imogen traced her way towards her side, the Mender greeted him with warmth and camaraderie, bowing her head against her chest, recalling the days from seasons before, when the man had seemed naught more than a beast, burdened by his own demons. Her voice, airy and light, traveled along the aperture, good and just and benevolent, appearing the same as always. “I am. How can I help you, Nox? I trust you’re doing well?” Her careful, scrutinizing stare caught the tender shoots and leaves of more herbs resting within his maw, and while curiosity dazzled, she said not a word about it, presuming he’d have some explanation without her prying or ferreting.

 
The Mender listened, and the smile conjured previously out of pretense, out of grandeur, became a real, tangible grin as the darker being offered and bestowed the plants he’d pulled and grasped from other lands. For the healers’ cave to be a recipient of such charity was a wholesome, beguiling, wondrous thing, and her spirit lifted at the notion that there were still kind souls out there, amongst the bulrushes and the barbs and the thorns. Through her delight, she obliged her mellifluous tones, gazing in wonder at the massive amount of stalk he’d managed to procure and collect. “Goodness – we’re very grateful for your efforts. I hope they weren’t too difficult to obtain?” She stepped aside, motioning him within the cavern threshold, marveling at the stems, stalks, and flora soon to be harbored in their cold moors. At his next query, her eyes softened all the more, and she laughed at his notion of helping and assisting; perhaps time had worn her down to presuming all the work would come from her or Enna, spending their days tending, mending, observing, and accumulating more and more wares – but she would gladly accept the offer of support. “You’ve been quite helpful already! I couldn't thank you enough!” She winked, encouraged and obliged, maneuvering through the hallowed, hollowed stones and the cold, stony floor, beckoning him to follow with a shift of her head and a gesture towards the inner corridors of the chambers. Imogen bounded ahead, a beacon, a light, all over again, curling embers and stoking coals to aid in their sight down the dusky halls. “But if you insist, perhaps you could put them over here?” Her maw dropped, softly nudging a smaller bundle of herbs from another day’s fruitful journey, and Imogen danced a sprig or two, chirping all the way as they placed plants in their respective sites. “We always have some older herbs to clean out,” she continued, wandering down lanes lit by kitsune fire and promise, turning her cranium, her crown, when they neared a specific spot for each plant, and she took away the dried, elderly concoctions from prior seasons, long since passed their use, wondering if perhaps even she was past her own.
 
But at his next vocals, she shifted her entire attention to the beast – marveling at the entire change in his demeanor. She remembered him as an alarming cretin, disheveled, tormented, bending to forms of decay, to power, to demons he thought commanding and controlling him. But now, now he seemed brighter, bolder, lending and bending to some other higher virtue, to sentiments not worn and tethered by sin, but perhaps by refinement. Her smile enveloped over her features again, all whimsy, all heart, all benevolence and warmth, regarding his alterations and aspirations. Melodies, harmonies, and benedictions conjured, sagacious and controlled, admiring his hankerings and desires, but hoping they were in the right place – she didn’t want him to waste his hours in a fledgling role, in a mending regard, if it wasn’t what he truly craved. “Have you found your purpose? Is healing where you yearn to grow?”

 
He was an altogether different figure now – she studied, scrutinized, and examined with silent cordiality. The sylph was grateful to the hours Ashamin had spent with him, guiding him along paths and trails beneath the bright, blinking stars and constellations, for the sway he’d lent and mastered. She was content for the great, big beast who’d dabbled in distortion to finally found something he craved and yearned for – beyond the scope of chaos and collapse, for they truly had enough of those beings around – something embodying spirit and healing instead of wretched animosity. He chuckled instead of withered, he laughed instead of stared with heartless entropy. She was glad, somehow, someway, not everyone within the icy realm became tethered to the cold, became tied and shackled and lacquered with nonchalance and chilling, endless reticence. Not everyone dwindled. Not everyone scorched and blazed, then died out, fizzled into soot and ash. Not everyone disappeared into the great beyond.
 
While Imogen chirped and batted at several leaf fronds, the Mender listened to Nox’s words, his passion, his sentiments, all the things he desired and all the notions laid between the cave and snow. She smiled again, radiant and determined, beheld by his resolution and intentions – who knew where they’d lead him, how far he’d go, but with the right amount of boldness, the penchant for ambition, the craving for aspiration, she couldn’t see anything but grandness and distinction. However, not all roads were easy, and she wanted to ensure his seriousness, his caliber, his strength and potency in a field of medicine and tending. Could he do all the things he claimed? Could he snag and clench and grasp all the things he craved? “Thank you,” she responded to his compliments, laughing a little because she wasn’t always so light-hearted, she wasn’t always so kind, but it was nice to be seen that way. The mellifluous vocals continued, rapturous stare segmenting on his features, brow arching in a regal, dignified manner. “I’ll give you a task, if you’re up to it, to determine if you are fit for the Medic position.” The angelic smile spun, wider and broader, just as determined, just as fortified, one more column of ice and stone, speculative and wondering, guileful and wry. “You must find three herbs within the wild lands. If possible, I’d like them to be from different terrain. Take your time and examine them, discover what they can do, how they can nurture our herd.” She winked once more, ignited and sparked, kindling the old, whimsical nature, the fairy, fey essence she used to curl from blossoms and petals, from soft, dulcet croons and beatific melodies. “Return here when you find them. Show me what you’ve found and learned.”
 
[Mortuus Nox has been given an expedition! No time limit – he must find three different herbs from three different wild lands. Try to figure out how they can help the herd. ^_^]