Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

The World's Edge had room for many, and yet for all that the mist-veiled expanse was large, no gathering seemed to go unnoticed by any who wished to find them. Lately, Erthë felt like the only thing she had done was to exchange welcomes and greetings with strangers. By rights she should be growing tired of it - the stiff-legged tip-toeing around what was private and what was polite, of balancing along the razor sharp edge dividing reasonable familiarity and cheek. Not that she really cared what a stranger thought of her. It was just that hope of newcomers growing to be something more than that, of tying bonds and forging connections that went deeper than recognizing a name or face.

Like with Tembovu, for example. Mere chance had brought them together, during a time when she hadn't even been part of this herd. Now there was hardly a day passed when she hadn't seen his face, heard his voice or at least touched upon his memory in drifting thought. Without even trying the Elephantine king had nestled his way into her life until his visage was as familiar as, if not more than, her own father's. And it was with similarly familiar, effortless affection she arrived at the small gathering and nestled herself in by his side, knowing herself welcome without even asking.

"Welcome to the Edge. I'm Erthë - it's nice to meet you all" she said softly, simple words given depth by the warm sincerity that always seemed to emanate from the young fae. Small as she was, lanky and lithe and limping from old bone-breaks, there was intelligence in her pale eyes and a maturity that aged her beyond years. Somehow she managed to be graceful even as her gaze darted eagerly from Glasgow to Arah and over to the as of yet nameless stallion who appeared to be the reason they were all there. None but Tembovu were really familiar to her, though she did believe herself to have seen Arah's in passing, while she was still small and lived in the Basin up north.

"What's your name? Why do you carry the lantern?" Directing her questions to Tilney, the diminutive filly asked without a trace of embarrassment, with a directness that might embarrass some but which left herself with a pleasant feeling of progression. What, after all, was the point of go about life in wonderment when there were answers to find where you least expected it.