“I certainly like to think so,” Sona calls out through her telepathic link, a cheerful smile on her lips. It wasn’t often she visited her homeland, rare still when she engaged in conversation with the non-human populace of the First Lands. Today would grant her the great fortune of a rather rambunctious Vastaya--one with soft ivory tufts with a shock of crimson. He was bright and enthusiastic, carrying a sort of energy that was contagious to be around. Sona couldn’t help but grin and feel alive with newfound vigor in her motions. Not many had such powerful personalities, and while some may find it as abrasive, Sona is quite the opposite; a light such as this ought to be appreciated in full, for she knows all too well how the cruelty of life can make such optimism scarce.
“Ah, and you mean my etwahl,” Sona replies, idly gesturing to her floating instrument. The gilded body of the etwahl would turn slightly, as if considering the man for a moment. Then, there’s a quiet trill, one that seems eager but reserved, as if a child wishing to make a new friend. It earns a cheerful giggle from the maven. “Somebody seems to like you. It’s not often they approach strangers without some sort of caution.” Truthfully, had it ever noted anyone with anything more kind than leeriness? The instrument was possessed by a kindly spirit, one that acted as a guardian to Sona as she grew up in the world as an orphan, and it was one that had remained dutifully by her side ever since her earliest memories. Not once could the maven recall the etwahl being receptive to anyone so positively. A good omen, perhaps.
“Since it seems to be so appreciative of you, I’m sure they’d let you play. Oh, I ought to introduce myself proper to you, shouldn’t I?” Sona would take a step away from the etwahl and offer a low courtesy with the same grace and humility she’s exemplified thus far. “I am Sona Buvelle, a virtuoso. Are you at all familiar with music and the arts, my friend?”