Rose from the River has been very much like a tree. Which is to say, she looms, and in looming offers shade on the road; her voice is like the rustle of leaves as the wind kisses them, one by one, and she has offered up wordless walking-songs and quiet, straight-faced jokes and has made many an appreciative noise listening to Chen and Cyanis and Yue talk; she has been a quiet strength, though never too far away from Cyanis, who is still (eventually) headed to Cutie Fox Jail.

And perhaps someone remembers getting up in the middle of the night, because there’s nothing like sleeping under the stars for making you need to go after just a few hours of sleep, and hearing that low, husky laugh, and peering in through the dingy glass windshield of the helm to see Rose curled up in a chair, legs crossed, chin on her palm and elbow on her knee, bottle of the local special resting in the hollow of her body, hunched over the Go board. She was playing black, they might remember. Did they stay to watch her consider her next play, finger running circles around the mouth of the bottle, the low lamplight playing on her beech-smooth skin? Rose didn’t seem to see them, if they did; or did she simply not acknowledge them? It’s hard to tell with her, after all. The creak of his voice, the rich vibration of hers, sound without coherence, all mingled together with the lap of water on the side of the boat (a reminder of why they woke up in the first place, come to think of it) and the whine of the mosquitoes all about.

And yet she remains as mild and pleasant as ever the next day, despite how little sleep she may have had. The danger of her is a deep-hidden thing on the road, only visible in the way her muscles work under her skin as she walks, slow and slithering, lightly coated in sweat by the time the temple is reached. And there, oh, her swordplay! That was a chance for Chen to watch what Rose is like when she is simply playing for time, effortless, not even drawing her sword from its staff-form. Her opponent attacks, and she simply envelops the move as if she had been in charge of the stage-directions. Her staff hooks ankles and pins wrists and lays the priestess out right on her rear end and lifts her chin up so playfully, so carelessly, to that low and seemingly careless smile. And then perhaps Yue was glad not to see Hyra fight her, then!

Rose has been very much a tree, and so it was perhaps, not surprising when the horses shied away from her, and knickered their concern, and Rose ruefully chuckled and told them that she could keep up with horses if she pleased, but that was before the big teal-blue horse with the shaggy fetlocks approached her, the one with a shoulder as tall as Yue. Then Rose reached out and touched its cheek, and a moment passed between them, and Rose bowed her head until her forehead rested on his, and she thanked him for his service. She rides side-saddle, with her staff over one shoulder and her hand on his flank, effortless in how she shifts her balance to avoid being thrown.

And now we are in the now, and her companions are delighted by the sight of the balloons, and perhaps no one is looking at Rose from the River (which is to be expected, when there are such wonderful things to look at just above their heads), but that would be a shame, because her smile is a sudden flash of white and her eyes shine as she looks up and sees the balloons and the dragon, and she does not look away from the lightning-strike, she drinks it in and watches as the balloons soar. And only then does she breathe out. “Ah,” she says, in gratitude. The world has given something to her again. It has given her a dragon today, and a hundred balloons, and, yes, a chocolate egg, for (and perhaps someone who glances back might read this in her smile and the way she watches so intently) Rose from the River has never had the good fortune to attend the carnival of balloons, descended all the way from the Sky Castle.

And when Yue asks if she can without explaining what she means, because it’s clear as dawn what she means, and charges off without waiting, Rose meets Hyra’s eye for a moment, and a moment of acknowledgement between guardians passes between them. Then she nods, and pats her equine companion, and slides off him with serpentine grace. “Of course, Yue the Sun Farmer!” She plays with one of her golden earrings as she catches up with the excitable girl, and by the time she catches up with Yue, she’s able to slide it easily out of the furrow in her skin, already closing again in its wake. Her changing may be slower now, but it still comes well enough for such small things. “Here,” she says, her voice the sort of gentle that makes grand proclamations sound quite ordinary, dropping it into Yue’s palm and closing her fingers around it. “Jeska the Fire Sage gave this to me for my service. Now I give it freely. Trade it for whatever you like.”

Then she gives a playful look to Chen and taps the ring in her nose. “Would you like an allowance, too, illustrious Twinshard Princess? I might not be as rich as your mothers, but in their absence… well, [i]someone[/i] has to take care of you,” she purrs, almost keeping her intent to fluster off her face. Dear, darling little Chen, beware! If you accept a ring-gift from Rose from the River, you expose yourself to [i]headpats[/i] and affectionate condescension-- but if you don’t happen to have your allowance on you, what else are you to do? (And even if you do have it, perhaps you might want to be taken care of, to have Rose’s strong, sure fingers curl around your hand as she looks you in the eye and you go redder and redder until you’re as red as the cherry tomatoes, and to hear her whisper [i]good girl[/i] juuuust loud enough for Yue to hear…)

 [If Chen is enticed by Rose from the River, at any point on this journey, Rose has rolled a [b]10[/b] just for her.]