[attr="class","uthsim"]What beauty Uther has stumbled into. Once upon a time he had thought only the serenity of his birthlands would ever truly capture his heart, but these new lands - he'd never seen half of the splendor that Solui had to share before, in all of his eight long years of life. The man treads slowly, leisurely through the scrublands, watching a pair of small birds flit between the spindly branches above his head. Idly he thinks back to his youth, when the world was bright and new and wondrous.
Uther pushes through a wall of tough trees and comes to a stop, somewhat stunned, at the clearing he's found himself in. Encircled by a ring of trees, it seems as though the past winter was little more than an afterthought here. Already flowers are blooming across the soft grass, vivid colours like he'd strolled into the heart of spring. The air is minty with the fresh growth of herbs, and Uther feels his healing wounds ache as though in reminder. Yes, perhaps he can find something here to speed his recovery. "One could get used to these lands." He muses, lowering his head to begin his search.
The slopes were definitely a change of scenery to the lush forests he'd been exploring for the past few days. The land looked scorched, despite the evidence of disappearing ice, and the trees seemed to leer at the striped man. It was for that reason that Silvain kept his steps quick, padding through the dormant landscape with half a mind to never step foot here again.
That was, until he almost stumbled into the grassy hollow. Silvain had been too busy eyeing the charcoal trees. As his paw suddenly didn't meet flat ground, he jerked forward and managed to save his balance with a quick side-step, eyes wide. The pungent scent of herbs and flowers flooded up to meet him, making him wrinkle his nose. He'd never really been into such things.
Focusing on the low crater, the pale man began to pick his way downwards. It was sure a change from the withered trees and uneven rocks he'd been traversing just seconds prior. It made his whiskers twitch, wondering if this was perhaps some spiritual place. Not that he beleived in those sorts of things.
Trying to not breathe in the herby smells, he was suprised to realise he had company. A grizzled, striped lion, padding through the unexpected greenery. What're you up to, old man? Silvain uttered in a conversational chuff, drawing a little closer so they could converse.
[attr="class","uthsim"]The scent of greenery was so thick, especially with his nose to the ground, that Uther hadn't noticed the arrival of another until a casual lilting voice falls upon his ears. Uther lifts his head, turns it to behold a pale young man crossing the green towards him, and offers a friendly dip of his head.
"Good day, Sir," Uther greets, gesturing to the excess of flora blooming about them with a sweep of his tail. "I am in search of right herbs, for to tend some hurt that has yet to rightly mend. Though, soothly, I thought any such flower would still be laid beneath the frost." With a note of humour the grizzled knight adds, almost nostalgic, "Mayhaps we have wandered into the land of Fae?"
The ashy man before him seemed distracted by the plant life around them, and to that Silvain could somewhat relate. It was rather pungent. But it was when the old geezer lifted his head and began to spout some unusually formal mess of words... did Silvain somewhat regret approaching.
Er- he muttered, Rightly mend? Land of Fae? he raised a brow at Uther, halting mid-step. Old man, I'm not too sure what you're on about. had he been... breathing in too much of these herbs? It made him immediately suspicious, being sure to breath shallowly in careful effort not to addle his brain with their obvious fumes.
The young man looks puzzled almost as soon as Uther opens his mouth. He'd known from brief conversations with other families, in his youth, that some people had difficulty interpreting how those born into the Draighen Order spoke, but it hadn't posed too much of an issue before now. "Ah," The knight hums, flicking an ear in thought. "'Tis an issue with dialect. Allow me to rephrase; I've wounds, boy, that have not quite healed. I wish to hasten the process with the proper herbs, should fortune smile upon me and offer that which I seek." Hopefully he'd been a bit clearer that time. "The land of Fae I spake of - well, just the ramblings of an old man, I suppose."
With a friendly flick of his tail the grizzled man adds, "And what, if I may be so bold, are you 'up to' on this fine day?"