[AW] with a diamond mind.

[Vysanthe]

Distracted as she was by the promise of sweet fruit and what portents it might hold, Vysanthe didn’t hear the approach of a stranger until the last moment. Excessive watchfulness wasn’t precisely in her nature; while observant and rather astute, she was not of the nervous disposition that fostered the intrinsic wariness that seemed common in others. Perhaps she ought to try being more cautious, if nowhere else than when she ventured further from the safety of the Court. Physical strength was just as foreign to the Entertainer as nerves, and even at the age of seven, Vy could claim to have never found herself in a physical altercation. Why would she? Her fights – if they could even be called such – were fought in word and cleverness, blows parried with shows of skill and wit rather than strength or speed or ferocity.

After all, words could cleave proverbial flesh from bone just as quickly as any blade.

The soft, unfamiliar voice of the stranger cued Vy’s head to rise in a swift arc, scattering a handful of loose petals from the dried wreaths. An expression of surprise lasted a mere blink before she schooled her face into a bemused half-smile. ”What a romantic concept,” she replied with a curious tilt of her head. ”I shall have to remember that – for a story or a song.”

Before her stood a tall, long-limbed girlchild – for despite her height, there was youth in all her looks. The marbling of gold that rippled across her shining russet coat caught Vysanthe’s attention for a long moment before her blue eyes flicked up to meet the liquid golden gaze of her unexpected companion. ”But how rude of me – please, call me Vysanthe –“ she lowered her horned head in an artless bow, ”- I will gladly share these blackberries with you, even if in my upbringing they were merely fruit, rather than a token of devotion.”

One eyebrow raised in soft humor, she chuckled once more to herself before bending to cautiously extract a berry-laden stem from the bush with a soft, clean snip of her teeth. A coarse vine snagged the satin surface of her ear as she rose, but failed to draw blood as she shook loose to offer the stem toward the young mare. ”Do you have business in the Forest, or are you and I the same in that we simply seek to bask in the melancholy gasps of a dying season?”