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?”