Too much too soon: elation and ebullience lent her only the segmented hesitation and brittle reluctance along the stranger’s spine, and she was immediately remorseful and repentant. There had been no bitter, rancorous intentions on her part to dismay and swindle the stag away, to chase him into fleeing nuances and anxious intimidations – rueful, she tucked away the boldness of her exuberance and spirit. An alteration at swift speed followed; not the first, nor the last, where she had to contain and bottle the vibrant enchantments, the bright invocations, the exuberant clarity she forever yearned to share with others. But she also had no wish to press her characteristics on another, to will them away with the ferocity of her heart, with the audacity of her soul, so she bore veils, covers, and quiet, charming cloaks. It bit down into the core of her survival, how she’d managed to maintain roles and balance amongst the threshold of violence, of outcries, of dismal, hard, caustic faces and embittered lives. All at once, she dampened and doused the flickering beams of rhapsody and glee, cast the blinding merriment aside and harked back over the fragments of composure. The lines of the nymph’s lips fractured the enormous, gilded smile, and traced over a softened expression, not unkind, not unpleasant, but something more at ease; this wasn’t an evening of nightingale dances or luminary waltzing. She poised herself in the dulcet clamor of a quiet, maiden of song and healing, humming and hymning to the rapture of a forest choir or moonlit symphony. Polite intrigue simmered and sauntered along her vocals, not dipping below the surface of apprehension and anxiety, of crooning queries and attempted prying. Soft, light, cordial, welcoming, a blossom in hushed bliss. “A pleasure, Caneo. How do you find the Basin thus far?” Imogen, feeling the vibrations of foreign allusions, for not all adhered to her unearthly meandering, wrinkled her nose and outlined another path, swinging her tails away from the newcomer, lending her paws to playfully bat at Roland’s hooves. Even when the subject remarked and changed towards her, briefly, lined with dread, recoiled foreboding, she didn’t advance again upon the beast, vaguely dismayed and disheartened that she wasn’t constantly beloved.

That was so much more than Lena could grant or answer: the kitsune was a guardian, a savior, a secret-keeper, an eternal, unwavering friend. To deliver a simplistic reply was trailing into the obscure and unworthy. How could one describe a creature that extricated and liberated, but also provided the ardor, the passion, Lena sometimes required to move tyranny, to maul monsters, to destroy haunting requiems? How could one describe a little beast that carved strength and will, persistence and gall, the ability to cover the world in sunshine, in roses, or devastation? Who protected, who sheltered, who fought tooth and nail, side by side? Her eyes lingered upon the pale being with her ivory plumes, her proud head, her unending lines of nerve and steel, and fought back the vivid grin threatening to coil along her mouth again. Instead, her attention wandered back to Caneo, and despite his disturbance at the wily fox’s existence, presence, and wished he could see the glory, the salvation, the power, the contentment, and all the wonder she’d offered and bestowed. Fire and delight, embers and glee; slivers and slate of coins tossed and unveiled. She tried, desperately, to convey the nuances, the folds, the lines of their bond, but was afraid she’d failed utterly before she’d even begun. “Imogen is my companion, a kitsune.” She paused, mulled and thought, pressed into the bounty of gifts they’d been proffered. “You’ll find some beasts are bonded to one another. They’re constant comrades and confidants. The species, however, tends to vary.” Her warm stare flicked back to Roland briefly, remembered the slight tremor of apprehension they’d countered and conquered within the Edge (draconic wings and claws fluttering to his handsome face; the maiming that could have been); she stifled a laugh at the foolish memory, polished her gaze unto Caneo once again. “I’ve seen dragons, owls, hellhounds, and so many more. They’re blessings.” And even in he argued in the latter statement, she’d show him, she’d regale him, with the bravery, the prowess, the courageousness of her beloved.