Like muses, inspired by the contortions, the twists, the turns of nature, they absorbed and nurtured the information pressed amidst their wisdom, their sagacity. Lena, amused and diverted, watched as the sea girl processed everything given to her – absorbing and entertaining, ravishing the precious tokens and objects anointed towards her frame – and it was a wondrous thing, to witness another learn and interact with a newfound piece of knowledge. The Mender’s smile couldn’t grow any more, tender and reverential, gleaming towards the sparks of indulgence and marveling at the scales and rationale they’d provided one another. She soaked in the admiration and continued giving forth her own, hoping they could continue their delightful discourse, either now or in the future, when more of their education had been incensed and conjured. Every day was an experience, every hour an opportunity to kindle, grow, and blossom. The Songbird wouldn’t dare to have any of them wasted. “I’m not sure many of us do,” she laughed, light and ethereal, slinking her thoughts towards the Gods and all their enigmas, mysteries, exploits, and disasters (she didn’t dare mention the tales and toils of the latest fold, when the Moon Goddess had used another as naught more than a pawn to commit murder), or the method for some of their quests (she’d been burned, burned, burned alive, acquiring danger for a taste, for a chance of delivering barbarity to others). She didn’t want to dissuade the mare from her pursuits, and if she crafted from water, she may have better luck with the Earth God’s easygoing, gentle veneer. “I’m sure you’ll be successful in whatever you choose.” Her grin, so bright, so easygoing, retained its luminescent fixtures, even as she glanced towards Imogen, and knew their hour was at its end; Tiamat had been a welcome intervention and distraction from the roughened pathways of her thoughts, and she was grateful for the warmth of the springs and the delight of a friend. To know there would be more opportunities, more chances, for them to converse, chat away the evening or the day, gave Lena all the more hope for the future – naught could be cold, haunting, or alarming with Tiamat nearby. “You’re very welcome – and thank you for your time as well.” She drifted away, lifted herself out of the springs, out of the blessed heat and the consecrated hallows of the ocean mare’s comfort, and shook the droplets away from her coat (Imogen may have growled a little when pelted with several drops, and Lena muffled a brief laugh). Her tunes drew back to the femme before she was whisked away, back into the breadth of Frostfall and the winter air, bestowing a promise and an oath. “See you in the Heavenly Fields!”