And a few minutes later, the leshya'e suddenly turns her head, then points. "A quarter mile in that direction." She starts moving - not walking, but gliding just above the forest floor. 

Promise flutters through the trees after her.

And, a ways off, there's a Gate! It's built on an ivy-strewn arch shape where two trees have branches twined together; it looks like the trees might have been grown that way deliberately. 

On the other side of the Gate is a man, fairly young-looking but with snow-white hair that falls to his waist. 

She goes through and alights. "Hello. I'm Promise. I'm here to fix up your wounded."

"This way," the man says in a flat voice, not quite looking at her. They're in a sort of courtyard paved in large flat stones. He gestures at a trail vanishing into luxuriant greenery, and starts walking. 

"Does everyone here have a nickname picked out if they might need one?"

"Hmm?" He glances back at her, blankly. "Why?" 

"- because of my names thing. I guess maybe the Star-Eyed didn't explain... if I know someone's name I can tell them to do things. I'm not planning on it but it's customary among fairies like me to use nicknames."

"Oh. I will tell everyone. Is it name at birth that does that. Many of us have names chosen as adults, do those matter." These are presumably questions but he says them with completely flat intonation, still walking stiffly. 

"The first name you have is the one that counts."

"Ah." And he stops for a moment, presumably passing this on in Mindspeech, and then keeps walking. 

And someone coming the opposite way nearly runs into him. "I - what - can you tell me what's going on–"

"You must needs choose a nickname," the man says, sort of rote, as though he can only hold the one thought in mind at a time.

"Right, you said - yours is fine because you chose it here, right - who are you?" His gaze has finally fixed on Promise. 

"This is Promise." 

"That answers so few of my questions. Why does she have wings?" 

"Because I'm a fairy. Do you maybe want to talk about this while I do prep work for the healing instead of before?"

The man steps out of her way, but keeps staring at her as she heads past. He rakes a hand through his hair, which is black but oddly streaked through with threads of white. 

The man stops out front of a dwelling that seems to be mostly made of plants grown in place to form walls and a mesh-like ceiling. 

Another man, white-haired as well and somewhat older looking, is resting in a hammock strung between two trees, a blanket covering his legs. He starts to sit up, but it's immediately apparent that his movement is somehow limited, and he falls back. "Ashke, what -"

The first man kneels at his side, taking his hand. "This is Promise. She came to heal the wounded here. Did you choose a name to go by..." He waits a beat. "I will pick one then. Promise, this is Lightning. And, sorry, I am Moondance." 

"Hi. This will take me a few minutes." She finds a place to sit and stares at Lightning. "You without the nickname, what do you know, where should I start?"

"You could take a nickname from the songs," Moondance says; for the first time there's a flicker of humour in his eyes, though his lips stay pressed in a hard line. "Shadow Stalker is not a bad one. Or Demonsbane." 

"No." The nicknameless man rolls his eyes.

"Firelord?"