Fox and belle swept into the grounds on a whisper of leaves, a lilting, singsong hum gliding upon a cordial expanse, exploring, searching, brandishing silent inquiries into the avenues, corridors and parlors of the Threshold. An endless journey of restoration, renewal and restoration pulsed amongst the flow of their eloquence, their elegance, their refinery, inspiring, invoking the petalsoft delicacies of their motions, of their movements, until they were a swift, blossoming pair of fronds and flowers along the wind, following the pathway of strangers. Along each trail, the nymph wondered, pondered, over the serenity, over the sin, of those embarking along their first journey into Helovia; were they trapped and decayed, lost to the winsome disregard of former years? Were they quiet, solemn, haunting creatures, slinking and slithering across one courtyard to another, stealing the shadows and threading them through their hearts? Were they woebegone, miserable foes, basking in the limelight of newfound stories and companions to terrorize and pursue? Or were they gentle, wonderful, streamlined, staunch guardians of hearts, minds and souls? And who, after all their traveling had ceased, would they meet upon the gates of purgatory; divinity and iniquity crawling and guiding?

The gentle lull, the heavenly babble, beguiled Imogen and Lena to follow the creek’s watery lane, tracing over the wavering embankment, the toiling ripples and the steadfast rocks. The splendor of its coolness was an enticing deliverance, but she had no time to soak or play in its chilling enchantments. The silly kitsune decided she did, and wafted and played amongst the stream’s shallow, specious ends, splashing until Lena had ventured further along its aperture, shaking and swaying her pale tails until the dewy droplets had cascaded around them. The sylph didn’t have to explore the regions of the Threshold for much longer, for as they wandered amongst the brook, the appearance of another, an ivory femme soaking in the rivulet (horned, bearing a sword and shield for many follies to bear), and a stag, seemingly from the Foothills (as he made apparent by speech) joining her. From the edge of the rushing opulence, Lena extended her own greetings, a respectful nod to each creature, and curiosity unfolded, incited into hushed inquiry all over again. “A wonderful day to enjoy what nature has to offer.” Her lips turned into a wholesome, honeyed smile, genuine and veritable, continuing into the depth of shadows, glades and rivers. “I’m Lena of the Aurora Basin,” she paused to address the fox chirping at her hooves, “and this is Imogen. Who are you?” A tilt of the head, and interest expanded into words. “What brings you to Helovia, besides enjoying its splendors?” A wink followed thereafter, and ears twisted, eager for the answer. For a home? For a journey? For crusades and wonders?