An unapproved garden plot? East considered the scenario with a squint.

Quite an oversight, but he supposed that could happen in a place large as this. With so many varieties, some of which could practically pass for cousins due to their similarities in color or shape, slipping in a brand new crop amongst the familiar only required tricking eyes dulled over time from tending to the usual sea of flowers. Who would notice, after all, if some petals were slightly more lopsided than typical when they grew just as healthily as their near identical neighbors. So long as they didn't throw the entire aesthetic off, the difference wouldn't matter.

He nodded, though a guarded side-eye was reserved for the hissing chorus directed at him—a note jotted in his mind reminded him to stay well out of striking distance should Isra's simpler serpent side desire a nibble of free-range bird after a round of flower-sniffing. "I trust your... servants can manage tidying without further direction in the meantime?"

If she needed to leave a few instructions first, he'd wait a moment longer. Otherwise with an idle remark of, "I suppose you have something to avoid taking a whiff of these flowers. They're pretty potent, though I've doubts they'll punch you as hard as they did me," the bird squeezed his past the door and into the hall again. Not wanting to slow travel back to the gardens, the rest of the distance he covered off the ground, wings as always swifter than feet. The way to the cave wall was more of a stroll than a jaunt, and saving time would also ease possible flaring tempers.

Never let it be said that East was a poor student to life's harder-hitting lessons. Lack of awareness had sent him stumbling headfirst into illusory danger, and a repeat performance would do little good in presenting this unusual case of guerilla gardening. As they approached the burial site, not once did he swoop to touch the ground. Instead wings caught an upward draft and sent him soaring to circle above those deceptive flowers. Maintaining space between gusting pollen and his beak would prevent not only sneezing but a whole lot of hazardous confusion. He called down to Isra the answers to her inquiries.

"That's right: visions, and none of them pleasant. A great deterrent since those bones are buried close to the center of this patch. I doubt anyone with a lick of sense still left in them would wade in any deeper after that. Guess our mystery gardener didn't account for an overhead view of the spot."

Maybe it was treading on the boundaries of disrespect to consider this once Isra had departed for the palace; it certainly would've been if he'd voiced the developing thought in her presence, but now only the plants could hear any insight if it slipped from his beak. In the space time afforded, East found himself free to indulge in speculative morbidity while keeping watchful flight above flowers of questionable origin. To wonder and level criticism at a staff who'd seemingly not detected an intrusion of the floral variety for cycles at a time.

Taking into account, after all, how these flowers had been documented in worn and leatherbound pages, what else could this appear but as nothing other than gross negligence. Certainly the supposed trickery that had brought them here was a clever sort, carefully done to not draw instant suspicion, but cultivating a crop with startling properties shouldn't have escaped the notice of those tending the gardens for so remarkably long. It boggled the mind the more he pondered: how could no one in such a vast span have reported the hallucinations inflicted upon them? Had the imagery once been too subtle to notice, their potency grown over successive generations? Possibly, but they'd been noteworthy ages ago, certainly enough they should've been rooted out and culled as the imposters they were before even his own birthing chrysalis had formed.

Could magic have played a role in this astonishing ignorance, made eyes slide away when they should've focused instead? Maybe observers had been charmed into forgetting the frights inflicted upon them, the spell cast specially tailored to target those working at the palace, and now its immense longevity had finally run its course. An outlandish possibility, but others he could propose were no better. So far, his search for answers spun him in circles, tail feathers the only tangible thing to be grasped.

Isra's return came amidst a throbbing headache born from intense theorizing. After repeatedly smacking against dead ends in logic, seeing the palace supervisor was a welcome relief from mental self-harm. Once she collected a few choice specimens and set the rest of the unauthorized field ablaze, East heeded her warnings about smoke and steered wings away from the emerging patch of ashes. He glided closer to where she stood, maintaining still a cautious distance from her serpentine tails, and hummed at mention of a reward.

What was this, some bribe to keep mum about the palace's failings here? Eyes sharpened, suspicion glinting in them, as if to pierce through to the heart of her intentions. His next words he phrased carefully to avoid sounding too pushy in his suggestions.

"Nothing more than a name and face to that fella buried out there if you can find one. But seeing as those could be a tall order to fill, I can settle for a stiff drink instead. The sort that warms toes and leaves your brain buzzing."

Might as well take advantage of the offered hospitality. He'd been craving a swallow of alcohol to numb shaky nerves, and the ball he'd attended assured him any beverage from this place was bound to be of the highest quality. What better way to drown out the unceasing propagation of questions. It'd make it easier for him to idle the time away with Bentley later and learn of subjects wholly unrelated to death and quests for power.

Well, the skeletal remains delivered and arranged away from blackened soil qualified as a curious character, that much was certain. Their gemless state brought forth questions of whether their mysterious gravedigger had enjoyed trophies or valued the fallen individual's design. Spines, fangs, and hooves implied a bestial nature, yet the femur his canine help had managed hauling to the palace offered the picture of someone potentially more civilized than expected, willing to walk upright at times if need be. His current vantage point overhead made piecing together this picture easier than if he'd stuck to the ground and within reach of whatever leftover fumes tainted the air. This was simply the foundational guesswork for what he witnessed however. The details needed to refine the blurry image in his mind rested closer to the earth, knowledge of a life's experiences etched into bones. Every healed fracture or odd bump would only be discovered if sought out and examined closely by sharp eyes and talons alike.

Feathers rustled, and East swooped down to alight beside one of this forgotten shell's splayed forelimbs. Blame it on personal gripes with limited dexterity, but the unusual structure of these drew his curiosity most, not quite a quadruped's paw but a close companion to one. A toe nudged away at the digits and joints, and their extent of function was pondered.

"Quite a handshake on them," he remarked, engaging his entire foot in lifting the appendage.

Ah, there was the foul play he'd been looking for. Where the recovered femur hadn't told a tale other than that of advancing age, these bones spoke of the expected brutality which awaited most in death. A steady gaze accustomed to observing such injuries after flesh was long reduced to oil now traced the blatant sign of a rending wound. Its position guided East into a swift leap, and he fluttered down to lightly perch on the nearby rib cage next, neck twisting for a cursory sweep of the landscape beneath him. Following a trail of scarring, he had an idea where to look first; furthermore if the arms harbored the edge of the attack, surely this would be a good candidate for hosting the majority of it.