god knows i like archaic kinds of fun - anyone, diplomats

[Librette]

As a child you would wait, and watch from far away. But you always knew you'd be the one to work while they all play. Librette is not a bear. Nor is she in the habit of eating horses. There are some within the Valley who can't say the same. There is at least one who does in fact eat other horses. And Eight could turn into a bear if he wished. But Librette is neither of these things. She is simply the Valley's loyal servant, which in this case means peripatetic border guard. She roams ceaselessly, tracing the border multiple times per day and noticing every stick that's moved since her last lap. Eight may have the place enclosed in a gentle curtain of magic, but she feels it's her obligation nonetheless. But in all her laps around the Valley, in all the tracing she's done, she has never quite seen this. A stranger stands just inside the border, appearing thoroughly unconcerned with his surroundings. She can see that he's not entirely asleep – she is a trained warrior, taught to pick up on subtle things like the shifting of ears, the half-closed eyes – but she admires the balls he has to come here and effectively nap. Before she even moves toward him she's decided she likes him. She is an interesting contrast to the grizzled stallion. She is no beautiful mare, merely a plain chestnut thing. Nothing about her is distinctive: not her muscles (present, neither scant or bulky) nor her color (ruddy and brown, neither ugly nor beautiful), nor her eyes (brown, a thoroughly normal brown). She has only two distinctive features: her hawk's wings, which arch up from her back in a splash of beautiful brown-red-gold, and the white scar that slashes across her chest just above her heart. Her wings are tucked at her sides as she approaches the stallion. She is not moving stealthily; she has no desire to surprise him, and indeed she'd rather he be alerted. She has assumed by now that he's more than likely a diplomat (she vaguely recognizes the scent of the Falls) and doesn't want to unintentionally cause an incident. "Librette, of the Valley." her voice is gravelly, husky and rough and as thoroughly unremarkable as the rest of her. "Can I, uh, help you?" Don't weep for me LIBRETTE Because this will be the labor of my love. Image copyright FFFiiiAA