"Our brother and his daemon have already separated - we're going to, but our plane doesn't have daemons. I did not exist until yesterday. We haven't had time to, but we will," says Lecasryn with resolution. "We are not exactly mortal. Not completely."

"Traveling through this plane pretending to be a mortal doesn't interest me much. My magic's different, but magic I am. I don't like being confined by country borders and governments - something witches ignore, as far as I can tell. I'd like to - put up a sort of front as a witch, so I can have more options, and avoid the annoyance of it all."

The pied bird hops back a few steps, looking roughly as disturbed as is possible with a bird face.

"No daemons," he mutters. "Well, apparently coming here has fixed you. Not mortal how?"

Meanwhile his witch says: "We do not completely ignore the government, but most of us can avoid it most of the time. What can your magic do to allow you to evince the usual trappings of witchhood? We won't readily be able to protect you from a border guard or tax collector if it's discovered you aren't one of us."

Lecasryn takes no offense. "Yes. We are likely to live for several hundred years - I believe the range is anywhere from four centuries to six or so. Unless killed, of course."

"I can fly for short distances to convince others I fly with a cloud pine, but also teleport to avoid border guards entirely. I don't know the ins and outs of your magic, but that seemed like the main one. To truly be able to play the part, I'd have to know what you're capable of and how you go about it - I've only been here for a day."

"Mmm. Close enough to us. How old are you now?" the little bird wants to know.

"Mmm," says the queen. "Perhaps Ranata Ekamma should give you a bit of a tour of our lands and we should reconvene later."

"My mage is twenty-one," says Lecasryn. "But I can't say I am the same age. She arrived yesterday, and I was born with that arrival."

"That would be fine with me. Would you like me to show proof of my magic? As a - show of good faith," says Zeviana carefully.

"You'll want to be in the habit of answering for the pair of you, if you don't want awkward questions," says the pied water tyrant.

"Perhaps. What is it that you do with plants?" asks the queen.

"Of course," says Lecasryn. "But I do not want to deceive you."

"I can do any number of things - send away weeds for good, help certain plants grow faster, weave them together to make things, make them stronger against diseases and pests and such. Some of it can be done quickly, but if I really want it to stick I'd need a while - months, usually. But if there's a field or garden that's - I don't know, having trouble or not growing as well as you'd like, I can give it a boost, and that won't take long at all."

"Of course," says the pied water tyrant. He still hasn't introduced himself. "What are you?"

"The mint could use the weeding treatment. The adjacent rosemary, too, if that's easy enough," says Narida Memma. "How long will it take?"

Lecasryn doesn't know if it's rude or not for him to not introduce himself, so she's not going to poke. She's more interested in not screwing this up than knowing this daemon's name. "Some type of hawk - Castarilan believed I was some kind of harrier, but I don't know the specifics, yet. We haven't had time to look it up."

"An hour, or so? Maybe longer, if it's a large area or they're particularly intrusive."

"Do you have an idea why you suit her?" wonders the tyrant.

"Reasonably large. It's intended to serve the needs for those herbs for the whole clan. Ranata Ekamma can show you."

"Hmm," considers Lecasryn. "Flight feels right for me - one of the greatest things we hope to gain from separation is my flight unimpeded by a bond in our way. I feel strong, but I think that we wouldn't be able to respect anyone that isn't strong in some way. She doesn't abhor weakness, exactly, but she admires strength."

"Thank you. Would you like us to let you know when I'm done?"

"Mmm," says the tyrant enigmatically.

"And when you've toured the clan and learned about witches to your satisfaction," nods the queen.

"She admires witches so far," adds the harrier. "We think we would have been happier if we were born as one."

"Sure. Thank you for your hospitality," says Zeviana.

"Perhaps you will yet be able to capture some of that happiness," says the tyrant, and he flutters back to his witch.

"You're welcome," says the queen, and makes a gesture that Ranata seems to take as dismissal, setting her cloud-pine float again.

"So we hope," replies Lecasryn. Then she flies to her own mage.

Zeviana smiles a bit. She thinks that went well, but it's hard to tell.

"Yes!" says Zeviana triumphantly. "Good, I was on my best behavior and didn't swear even once."

Lecasryn makes a happy 'Caw' noise, and Zeviana pets her indulgently.

"Okay. If anybody bothers you, tell them you're my guest, don't overdo the other details," recommends Ranata. "Actually - I'll go ahead and leave Cas just to be safe."

The hummingbird stays while the witch goes; he sits near Lecasryn.

"Sure," agrees Zeviana. She finds a nice spot to sit, and does so.

Technically what she's doing is scrying, but she's so used to this particular kind that she doesn't think of it as such. It's just - feeling the plants around her, how they're doing. The clan's protections don't stop her - she's already inside, behind the shield. It doesn't even occur to her that she could be stopped.

It's sort of like feeling the heartbeat of the life around her. It's always been soothing, and the quiet thrum of life around her calms and focuses her. She locates the weeds that were mentioned - along with a diagnostic of the plants that are being tended. They're pretty well cared for, but she can do better. Weeds first, though, she will do some nurturing later, maybe. So she follows the 'heartbeat' of the weeds, and dissects them magically for how they work. How they can be soothed to not grow where they're not wanted. It's not difficult to find the answers, but it's always smart to find out the specifics before she starts tweaking them. Besides, she likes doing this.

She's there for a while, sitting in silence, a faint smile on her face.

Lecasryn is perfectly fine sitting by Castarilan, watching her mage work.

Lecasryn laughs, softly. She decides to fly, as well. She can hardly go on the distance flights she longs for, yet, but she can lazily circle around her mage. She is getting some feedback from her witch on the state of things, so she swoops down to check on certain areas out of curiosity.

Zeviana isn't likely to notice, anyway. She's in her own world.