"So pretty," she sighed. She flung her incorporeal substance around each flower, absorbing their unified beauty of scent, sight, and feel. Buos shrilled himself into a column of wind to express his displeasure at her attitude.
"Stupid, silly, shallow thing!" he said. "If the others only knew how you behaved--"
"And you'll be glad to tell them, of course," she said, extending her fingers of air into the roots of the wind-bent grass. She rolled across the hill ecstatically, and Buos followed in grumbling billows of energy.
"I don't carry tales," he replied, somewhat mortified. "But we're here as observers, and you insist upon making this world a plaything ..."
"I love it," she said happily. "It's so warm and green."
Buos whipped in front