Sunlight filters through trees like rain on her skin, dappling greens and yellows in places they'd never been before. And under great branches and dancing leaves, the phoenix meanders half awake, half asleep. Even in such a state, amber eyes seem sharp, upon the ground in search for supplies. Shelves don't stock themselves, she thinks with a yawn, and so Moira Tonnerre finds herself out among the edges of Denocte where shrubs and mushrooms grow.

Light steps carry her forward, for it is not as though the sparrow-boned woman weighs enough to do much (if any) lasting harm to that which she treads upon.

When the phoenix woman set out this morning, she did not expect to find others. A peaceful day away from the market stalls she was slowly creeping into more and more, a quiet repose from the hustle and bustle of the city that held the infirmary and the library and the rooms full of supplies that Moira endlessly organizes so things were tidy and accessible. Clutter is not her forte, a messy space leads to a messy mind, and she would be useless if that were to happen. So alas, when amber eyes land upon a nose in a mass of pale feathers upon the ground, Moira Tonnerre nearly screams.

But any Tonnerre worth their weight would not utter a cry of devastation lest it were a part of their job. This, she knows, most definitely is not a part of the description of 'healer'. While the wings were rather awful, she's seen enough to withhold the shudder that longs to ripple down her spine like a cat unfurling its claws. Instead, worry gnaws at the corners of her consciousness. Why was this woman? man? person out among the foliage and forests alone, and lying on the ground? Brows furrow, a small crease dropping down around the edges of her lips, and a soft puff of breath the only show of her displeasure. Don't they know the world is a dangerous place? Over and over her family told her so - 'You mustn't stray too far Moira, we keep you within the walls to keep you safe. Our family will protect one another, and that includes you my little firefly.' From the very beginning it has been drilled into her head that she should be awake and aware whenever she leaves her home.

Unsure whether to wake Aethelind, but unwilling to leave her defenseless, Moira opts on waiting. Settling down near enough that she could brush Athel's side with her own if she reaches out just so, the woman rolls her eyes at last and lowers her head.

Boredom comes quickly, daydreams kept at bay with her nerves on edge and wings everywhere. And from that boredom Moira begins to sing. A soft humming at first, the gentle waves of the sea lapping at your skin, the first flickering lights of fireflies in the field coming into being. Her voice is soft, but the gentle vibrato and easy crescendos show she is trained for all occasions and manners of artistry. "Lavender blue dilly dilly, lavender green. When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen." And so she continues the melody, an ever watchful guardian over this unknown person until they are aware enough to be on their own once more in the wilds of Denocte.

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@Aethelind sorry this took so long ;o;