They twirled, swayed, explored, and rummaged through the confines of the Threshold, again and again, a familiar dance. The only portions of their activity remaining foreign were the creatures they could meet within; scarred, scorned individuals layered and mired within their past, tiny, ferocious bulbs of spirit and lace, fragments and slivers of ebullience polished and veneered into stern artifices, wounds needing to be healed, scattered and slinking to the western winds or the northern breeze. The varieties of creatures, the mysteries adorned and abandoned, found again, twisted, contorted, plaited and unabashed, were what made her trips, even those unsuccessful, worth the movement and motion. Resurgence and renewal was always the forefront of her journeys into the gateway, across the palisade yards, but so were the entangled enigmas and the quiet quandaries, lurking and shimmering, brilliant, luminescent chords of unearthly, fine, subtle deliberations.

Their motions were ambient pieces of honey and ambrosia, scaling over roots and soil, willow, sprite, pixie, faire and fey presence, seeking and searching through the unknown heralds of voices, of gatherings, of throngs and finally, to those unanswered plumes waiting in the sun, in the shadow. Scents washed over them in undying waves, until one finally overcame the relentless pursuit, a haunting outcry for others pervading, unwinding, intrigued and hustled Lena’s curiosity. The two followed, kitsune and healer, endeavoring to find and procure, pluck and lead, another restless jewel into the mountains, into the frozen beauty of auroras, peaks, lakes never freezing, hot springs never failing. Eventually, the collected smell led their path towards a figure of silver, an intriguing mask laid over the unknown femme’s features (like a masquerade, only she benefitted from always hiding behind her markings), and then, to the daffodil eyes, flaxen, golden, gilded gaze. Drawing her frame across the hallowed void, providing clarity, beneficence, benevolence, heart-strung honesty and candor, her lips curled into an enormous smile, an enduring grin. Lilting, harmonious strains and ditties coiled and rippled through her vocals, strung by lutes and flutes. “Greetings! Welcome to Helovia!” She issued one dip of her cranium, salutations and respect, and the ivory companion nestled at her front limbs attempted to do the same (though not nearly as graceful – finesse would come with age). “I’m Lena. What's your name?”