Estinien spends much of his time in those unpopulated places, easy enough to travel to but far enough to avoid damaging anything important. He moves on wing, theoretically scouting, but... increasingly, he finds himself flying without particular aim. Instead, it has become a way to pass the time between immediate tasks, where stillness has become too abrasive to stand.

He should rest, he knows. He just can't stand the silence.

As so, when he hears thunder crackle overhead and the wind picks up, he finds himself startled out of his malaise. His luminous, seraphic form glides downward, his six wings stretching and folding as he angles to land safely. He's forced to fold them in swiftly, like a man trying to avoid being pulled along by his umbrella. He holds out a hand, as if expecting to feel raindrops. He sees Rand, very suddenly, out here in the wood with him.

"A storm is brewing," he says, having no idea he is speaking to the man responsible. "I would head towards shelter while you can."