There wasn't a song on her lips this morning, there were too many thoughts flitting in and out of the newly crowned Lady's head for her to be able to sting more that one lyrical line together. Figuring out how to lead on the fly was commanding the whole of her attention and her worry, that it had yet escaped Aisling's notice how much her companion was enjoying he idea of "Lady Aisling"  The gregarious little dragon was always thrilled when Aisling stood still enough to let her braid the mare's long mane, but Sorcha was outdoing herself this time. As Aisling stands on a rise of the mountainside looking our over the Basin and cataloging her plans, the little feathered dragon works the white tresses onto her own idea of a rather queenly style, all the while stealing from the abundant stash of blue-grey flowers that the pair had collected that morning. 

”Sorcha, we had a purpose for those, ye ken?” Aisling admonishes when she catches sight of the half-depleted pile. The Green halts, one little paw still outstretched in the motion of taking another flower and looks sheepishly up. The emerald eyes widen as the gaze up at Aisling, gleaming with nothing short of "puppy dog" pleading and the mare has no choice but to give in. "Fine, ye wee beastie, but only because we picked so many. Finish up and the rest ing the bag now, we should be off." The little dragon flashes a delighted toothy grin and snatches the last flower to finish the checkerboard-like weave. She ties off the ends with a length of green ribbon and, as instructed scampers the gather the res of the picked flowers into a bunch and stows them safely in the leather bag that hangs at Aisling's shoulder. Sorcha also happens to store herself in the leather satchel and the mare lets herself laugh. She gives the bottom of the bag a nudge with her nose and from the depths of the pouch comes a contended little purr; satisfied, she starts to pick her way down the mountain.

The Fae finds her quarry near the Greenhouse, though she hesitates at the sight of the patched Scourge (a title she's not overly fond of, she wonders of Tiamat would object to rechristening the position). Despite the Time God's appointment, Aisling was still working on the confidence that her new position called for. She'd always been sociable, but it seems to her quite different approaching as a Leader instead of approaching as a friend, still she tries for both. "Good morrow!" She calls merrily, sticking to her strain of determined good cheer. Just because some reformed demon god and his bone monster threaten Helovia doesn't mean there's any call for being a grump. "You're name is Tangere, is it not?"