"Without a wise steward, even the greatest gift will wither in time, and then none may enjoy it." He tipped his head upward as if he could study the cinnamon tree, though in truth he ((felt)) the orchard around them and how lovingly it was kept. A gift from Sodder, the first of those he's witnessed directly, after hearing so much about the girl whose dying had shaped the Waking World.

This was a holy place.

He turned his attention back toward her as she approached, eyes not focused on her form but somewhere beyond. Even so, he returned a courtly bow for the curtsy, one hand pressed to his chest.

"Your world is also having elves?" A note of pleasant surprise suffused the question. "For, yes, I am one, even if my people no longer much resemble our cousins."

A little wistfully, he continued, "So I do not suppose your elves are having feathers...?"