The early afternoon played its serene, summer song, danced along the horizon and mingled with the birds, drew Lena and Imogen away from the shadowed copses and fields of frost, seeking out the sun’s unwavering shape, glowing in its serene rays. Even into the dusky hours, they did just that, basking and breathing in the mountain air, twirling in the mist and midst of another promising evening, flickering twilight heavens and bountiful aurora arrays; when the scent of blood, unsettling, mixing with the swirl of apprehension amongst her ruminating core, pressed their obligations elsewhere. Forgoing and forgetting the tender, warm trail of the heavenly hues, they followed the smell, the lingering fortitude of someone’s might, someone’s tenacity, someone’s grace and will, and hoped they could muster the patience and fortitude to maintain this disposition until she arrived (and what preempted it – an attack, a poor defensive maneuver, a silly spar gone too far?). But across the valley, across the lake, the gathering of many others unfolded, and an gesture of faith wrapped its shambles of caution to the wind, allowed the generous flow of her smile to unravel: new life crooned and bleated into the Basin once more. They’d been fortunate to have so many babes christened and anointed into the wintry, mighty convictions in Birdsong, with its spring deluge and twittering ruminations, and on the trail of Orangemoon, before the burst of color through leafy fronds and fallen, decaying brethren, another had been brought into their sphere. As she approached, soft and gentle, dulcet and unwavering, a spirited beacon sparkling amidst the horizon, she courted an elegant tune, composed the lithe, light aria through a graceful, finessed whisper, sprinkled its bountiful tones in gestures of assuaging, soothing, tending, and mending a mother’s harsh, overwhelming labors. Though she didn’t know the belle, and truly could only administer knowledge of the GildedBlade amongst the crowd of soldier, dam, child and Lady, her beneficent chords continued their harmonic, mellifluous dance, healing and prospering, restoring and guiding. Her warm gaze gestured politely to everyone gathered, but remained fixated on the gilded rose and her youth, nestled and tucked into the strands of their blinding auroras and overbearing world, thrust into the strength and resilience of a land that mustered courage and tested loyalty. Continuing to hum her strain, Imogen clustered in her forelegs, rising once or twice to take a quick look at the little roan with everlasting promise for the future, Lena crooned, introduced, and provided her delight in soft, sweet decibels. “Congratulations, what a fine babe.” She tilted her head, scrutinized and examined. “I’m Lena, the Time Mender. Please let me know if there’s anything I could do for you.” She followed thereafter with a zealous wink, as if she hadn’t been conjuring her healing song all along.