Oh how they rise like the tide, rise like the sun, rise like the moon; the people of Denocte, are a united being, a single entity writhing under the morning light. They pull at the bit, they tug at her heart. Moira knows how to read a person's body than she will ever know how to read their emotions. She can gauge her words and their effect on the tension in their spines, the color of their eyes, the tightness of their words.

@Katniss steps forward, boldly taking the lead to take the helm. Protection is heavy on another's shoulders, and Moira feels the weight of it, but this will not be the straw to break a camel's back. Gold clashes with red, meets in an understanding, and at last the phoenix lowers her head in acceptance, a grateful nod. The thundering in her veins slows, quiets, it lets the voices of Denocte, of her people, wash over her as a cleansing rain. How much love Isra has sewn between these people makes her want to cry at the injustices of the world, makes her want to rage and storm and destroy everything she could touch, but that is not her job. She is the thread to bring the jagged edges close, the mouthpiece to look to when there is nowhere else to look.

Moira Tonnerre is the flame that will never die so that her people may live on and on and on.

@Michael is softer than the warrior woman who wears scars as stories upon her skin, stories Isra would spin for them into great feats and tales of wonder. No, the man of moonlight hair and golden skin is a dream given flesh, a heart meant for the skies and seas and all of the wonderful adventures that are not meant for today. Oh, but how he rises just as the rest, head bowed and humble, a sweetness she hopes will never be lost. They speak, they fill her heart. @Noctiilucent follows quickly after, horns gleaming as a blade to strike down any enemies seeking to devour them in the shadows.

So few know how comfortable the Night Court is in those shadows, how they grin their barbaric grins when darkness rises and take like wild things to the night.

But it is fear blossoming, young and frail, when the tricorn woman's words ring with hatred, with a promise of death. It is there on the wind, like the once-corpse of their friend, their brother, their comrade. Not even Isra's flowers can mask the sweet stink of decay. She cannot let it swallow their hearts and rip the dreams from them all. But she nods as only she can, letting them find their voice one by one.

@Metaphor keeps fast to Katniss' side, and in the devastation of their loss is a comfort as unending as the night skies. Love blooms here, a tie much stronger than any hatred or any war will ever be. Will it be strong enough to hold warring hearts together when all they try to do is break apart? She smiles that sun-bright smile, a spark growing brighter at finally, finally learning of another healer.

At last the mermaid boy steps forward, as taught as a bowstring, quivering like a leaf in the wind. He stands tall despite his fear, despite the sorrow growing in all of them. He stands tall as a flag for them all to look to, to cherish and hold close, and he pulls from it a map of wonder. Dotted across the land are names and places, so, so many that she cannot take it all in. But to talk now would be to unleash a tidal wave, to let loose a wildfire ready to sweep over them all again, and so she goes to his side, brushes comfortingly along @Pan 's shoulder and picks the map up off the ground. Dirt does not dare to sully such a prized possession, and those that dare are quickly banished back to the grounds from whence they came.

@Anzhelo follows then, piping up on Katniss' other side. She has not seen him often in the court, but the phoenix knows this will be amended soon. How she nods toward the trio, wondering how such talent and heart could be gathered all in one place. It is @Morrighan that draws a chuckle that crackles as a storm, a fierce lightning grin that is much more brave than the healer has ever been.

But her court makes her brave, and they make her bold, and they make her stronger than she ever knew she could be.

@Ianthe is less than thrilled, standing away from the masses, and Moira makes a note that she must meet with the other winged woman, soon. Hers is a face newer to the court, but she is just as ready to rise to a challenge. A winged woman grounded, the phoenix cannot imagine how awful that must feel. When she's never tasted the skies, she's never known that loss. @Lysander and @Florentine do not speak to the crowd, only stare at one another as Metaphor and Katniss do: with love. No words or pledges or vows will be forced from their lips, and she does not mind more faces in the crowd.

The Pegasus' brows raise when they meet the demanding glare from a demon itself, a boy that is dark and battle-ready, a boy whom holds monsters in those eyes. But Moira does not shy from @Erasmus. Like water, she flows from Pan to the boy's side, looking at him as she had so many patients. What future promises does he hold? What pain will he cause? But what would happen were he to go into the mountains and snarl in the face of murderers? How is she to send a boy to war?

Brows are drawn heavily over her eyes as she withdraws from him, the promise of a future conversation at the corner of her mouth, at the wrinkling of luminous honeyed gaze.

And at last the entertainer sings, cries, and whispers as though she almost does not wish to be heard. Moira finds her way there, too, and kisses the girls' cheek. How she seems to grow and grow and grow before the heart of her people, and how she once more turns to them all.

"When I look to you all, do you know what I see?" Her voice rings out as a dark siren call, irresistible and otherworldly as she steps forward. Gone is their healer, their secret-keeper, their diary; before them is a raging fire, a burning woman, a leader ready to do as only they can: to lead. "You are a sea of stars, each one guiding us home. You are a cauldron of wealth and warmth and love. You are a conflagration of hope that cannot be denied. You are my beating heart and my living dreams - each of you a piece of this court that is just as invaluable as the next. Were Isra here, I know she would be far more poetic, but she would tell you the same. And our queen is proud of you all, no matter where she's been taken. There is no doubt in my heart that we will bring her home, my friends." She pauses, swallowing before moving toward the doors behind them all, moving toward the Palace that would keep them safe and keep prying ears from hearing too much.

"Denocte was not built in a day, and like those before us we must plan. Runaveig, Metaphor, as our healers you hold our lives in your hooves. I know you will not fail us when we need you most, but I pray to our ancestors that we will not have need of your talents when all is said and done." She smiles to them each, undimmed faith and hope glimmering in her eyes, shooting down her spine until she nearly floats up the steps without ever lifting a feather. "Katniss, Noctii please bring our many brave lion-hearted warriors and Pan to a chamber where we can assess the damages and go over any information we have. Anzhelo, Erasmus, Ianthe, we will have great need of you in these times should you choose to accept. But first," the doors are thrown open, a great foyer welcoming them. "Let us find a warm room and refreshments so that we may weather this storm just as we did the last."

So she turns, wings sweeping wide, recovered from the thunderbirds after many long months, and as a living flame she leads them into a world of war.

"Speaking."