@sageborn liked a plot call !
She has only seen the souls of these people before, never their flesh and bone.
In the Boneyard most of them appear as bluish specks, oblivious already to what they were before and drifting into the River of Souls on their way to what they will be. Only the ones who linger—those lost souls clinging to past memories and some unfulfilled wish—have a defined shape, a ghostly echo of what they barely remember. Their is nothing harmful about them, usually. They are not like the hateful Poes, haunting their own graves. They only need guidance to pass on, the lilting tone of an ocarina, the gentle touch of a ferryman's hand.
As a healer, Medael has never worked with the souls, her duty is to the living. But she has seen them. Spectral gorons, still moving as though they carry around pounds of stoney skin, though the grass does not part and no flowers are crushed under their feet. Ghostly horses racing through the fields, unbothered by rabbit holes and treacherous gravel; translucent cuccoos pecking at nothing. Medael has always loved to watch the souls of the zora, soaring as though the sky of the Boneyard is their sea. The hylians, too, she has seen: stern guards watching over a gate that isn't there, farmers walking among crops only they can see.
Here they are alive. Breathing, feeling, watching. She feels their gazes upon her as she moves through the royal palace. They look at her bluish hands, the slender horns curving above her head, the scaly tail swishing under her skirts. She keeps her head high, her expression closed, and lets them look. She isn't here for pleasure, or to show herself off to the court of Hyrule—although she likes to think there are parts of her people's culture that would impress—nor is she here to grovel. She is here to ask for help from one realm to another. She has to show herself capable. Though still a girl, and not meant to negotiate anything without her advisor's help, she has to show herself capable, a true chief's daughter.
It is heavy, the duty laid on her shoulders, but not as heavy as the one her people has carried for as long as their stories reach back in time.
Her first meeting with the King of Hyrule is a brief introduction, a formal occasion where he receives her as a guest in his kingdom and she says what she's been told to say. The issue she has brought will be discussed later, after he has had time to consider it and as his time allows; he's busy, she assumed, with the many duties of a king, which much be many more than the duties of a chief, even if the kingdom of Hyrule does not suffer as the parksolians do to her knowledge. Until he calls on her she is a guest, and though her advisors and attendants advise her to never go far and keep up appearances, in the evening after her arrival Medael finds herself in a garden, small and secluded. It is the only place she has found where no one is looking at her, aside from the quarters she shares with her retinue.
A moments respite, that's all she wants. She sits on a bench under a tree, her feet in the grass—greener than home—and her hands on her ocarina, resting in her lap. She allows her shoulders to sink, her had to bow. After a little while she lifts the ocarina to her lips, but after only a few notes the melody fades and her hands lowers again.
The people here aren't complete strangers, for she has seen their souls. But she is a stranger to them. She wants nothing but to return to the bone-strewn fields and the overfull healing wards, to the sorrow and suffering of home.
