Yue's snort was hardly ladylike, but then, neither was taking too overt a joy in the sight of men clawing and kicking. River's smile tugged a faint fraction higher at her amusement. But if he'd enraptured her with his tale, she was taking him well along the way to heaven herself.

A menagerie of fine trees, and among them, a singular young peach. Had she felt out of place? Had she known the shining jewel she was? Most of the year perhaps she could blend with the others, green leaves and dark branches. But the bloom of spring would ever set her apart, and he hoped she wore her beauty with pride.

A lost gift, she was. Under another's stewardship, now. Or grown wild as dryads were wont to do. Or cut down. Any and all at once.

He considered next the newness of those eternal fruits which now beguiled Empress. Delights which fae knew well and often — for in their ageless realm, desire and reality could blend without conflict.

It only makes ye creatural. He inclined his head amicably. Many who knew sorrow did covet that way of being, but to achieve it meant to become a stranger to one's self, and he'd seen this was not always the comfort which seemed promised.

Though. 'Tis not well for mortals to forget winter overlong. He confessed to thinking, For it will not forget them in the end. And toil has its own sweetness, when fairly repaid.