Proceeding over the longest distance, with rest, repose, and respite placed between (for Lena feared the journey would be long for little Mirabella and recently-foaled Sialia), the group eventually reached the dunes, the sands, and the setting sun of the Dragon’s Throat. Truthfully, it was the sovereign the Mender knew the littlest of, with no information transcribed or gathered (for they hadn’t tread to these warm lairs to discuss treaties or peace), and she felt the hindrance of ignorance tie and tether across the back of her mind, like a noose of barbs, like a crown of thorns. Perhaps the last time she’d journeyed to the southern regions had been to grasp and clutch those snatched and nabbed from the shadows, staunch, mighty Aurelius, mysterious, enigmatic Elizabeth, and many seasons had passed, trickled by, since those instances. She furrowed her brow briefly, considered the change in their horizon, land bridges and trickling oasis water, an ichor-ready tree rising towards the skies, the overwhelming sensation of fire, of infernos, of brewing, blazing potency. The fairy didn’t even know who lead the stalwart tribe now, who remained in the stead of darkness and pestilence, and thought to perhaps remedy the situation at a later date. It wouldn’t due to stew in incomprehension and unfamiliarity; they should be aware of the worlds, the kingdoms, the sovereigns and palisades surrounding them. With a gentle, withering sigh, a warm breath, she glanced to her traveling companions, who had graciously sojourned beside her on their enticing expedition. A harmonic interlude ghosted from her lips, a steady wink extended towards the growing Mirabella, an encouraging song for those winded and tired. “Our last herd – perhaps, on the way back, we can give some invitations to the open lands?”

With that, she released several coaxing wares into the sultry air, watched as they swam about in the scintillating twilight, another adventure for scion sketches and tracings, and she pondered if they realized how far their tiny etchings had gone, from waterfalls to misty walls, to shoaled sanctions and bridges – and she hoped, prayed, dreamed the world would see the miniature convictions steeped in silly, foolish drawings, be immersed in the idea, in the notion, that the Basin held far more than delusions of grandeur. They too, like so many empires and realms before them, aspired and renewed with each swindled step, tried new things and wiled away fantasies, rejoiced at the notion of peace and goodwill. Maybe their efforts would pay off, and the rest of the provinces, nations, would not be so blinded by the peak architecture and rugged, persevering spirits. She grinned at the last notion, turned to her cherished colleagues, and offered them the journey back to their blessed home.

[You’ve been invited to The Aurora Basin’s Celebration of the Time God!

Below is a drawing of your invitation, provided by several Basin foals: