Predawn fluttered, a sonnet’s first brush of a wing, a singsong caress of the vigilant, the spry, emboldened a fairy and her beloved. Furtive and specious, they sank into the early light, ambrosia of the heavens, of the twinkling stars, of the finale of aurora sketches, as dream-lit wonders, captured and entranced by inky denizens and the promise of the sun, beginning to awaken in the crisp, holy hours. Along the edges of twilight, they drew towards a certain cavern, whispering, soft, dulcet steps, briefly enamored by the aperture’s radiance, briefly enchanted by the hints of a slumbering beast, a Thief within. The maiden anointed her cranium slightly to the left, gesturing in silent tones towards the white vixen, who pulsed and radiated mischief, slinking around the cave walls, and returning shortly thereafter with several items laden in her maw. Without a single word, they brushed aside a pocket of dust and dirt, the nymph’s eyes roaming delicately towards the sleeping, gilded stag, and began laying out an ornate design. The pale kitsune arranged a circle of seashells, like an oceanic embroidery, each one different sizes, shapes, and colors, some sparkling from the midst of winking constellations, some cherishing a crisp, emerald hue, or a delicate, periwinkle blue, varnished ivory, blushing pink, delicate lavender, gathered and nestled from the enduring waves and tidal pools, when the Mender had been brave enough to conquer them again. The latter’s gentle movements and motions stroked the shells tenderly, because she remembered on their quest to a ship, when the brigand had stopped to poke and prod at them, then leaving their armor untouched, nodding once she presumed the composition rendered to her liking. The fox backed away again, searching out into the morning throngs, and the quiet, reserved sylph remained staring at the walls, heart bursting with ambitious squalls, breath pulsing in calm signatures, forgoing the apprehensive fringe of her veins. When the tiny creature returned, carefully, slowly, so as not to damage the precious item ensconced in her jaw, the pair lowered the ornament together, in the middle of the seashell tapestry.

The circlet was a beautiful work of art, small enough to enclose a horn, a sword, interlaced and woven with gold, resting in the midst of one singular ruby. They’d found it on their travels around the water’s edge, and the naiad had conjured stories and myths about it along their notched path home: perhaps it had once belonged to a elegant siren, crooning sailors to her gnarled rocks or her fabled runes, and instead of losing a soul to her decadent strains, she’d forgotten her tiny crown, and allowed it to be washed up amongst the waves. Maybe it was from a long-lost city, a treasure from Atlantis, breaking away from its former home due to a strong, enduring current, tossing it back up to the heavens. Regardless of how it had come to be, and whichever legend possessed its surface, it was going to be his now.

She’d been in debt to the brigand for far too long now, and with nothing to show for it on her end. He’d granted her freedom in the wandering, underground caves, where moss glowed and no sun shone. He’d accompanied her on trips through streams and marshes, allowed her to ask ridiculous queries, pry open boxes, and rip away veneers. He’d granted her his presence when fear strapped and tethered her muscles, her sentiments, her thoughts into dangerous contortions and treacherous actions for the sake of protection, and nearly had him embroiled in flame due to it. No matter how many times she apologized, and both her companion and the Thief ensured her they didn’t want to hear anymore, the guilt ran and ate and tore at her ruminations. These little trinkets, these granted gifts wouldn’t be enough, probably not for several lifetimes, but they were at least tokens of her affection, of her obligation, of her endless, enduring gratitude. The Mender wasn’t sure where she’d be now without his assistance, without his presence, guidance or support –

Go now? - the invisible bond between kitsune and healer surged with one lift of the vixen’s brow – Lena had been taking too long, staring off into space, listening to the harmonic quiet. She nodded and turned on petal soft steps, exuding the lost portals and traces of grace she’d left behind in fire and brimstone, leaving on an inaudible secret and a quiet smile, hastening for the lake as twilight turned to daybreak. Imogen, however, sometimes too audacious, sometimes too bold, stood in the corridor for one second longer, channeling a ruffian glow, extending a bright, cheery chirp, listening to it bound and echo off the walls. On a laugh, on a grin, she twisted and chased after the sylph, and perhaps, if Roland woke quickly, he’d catch the sight of five ivory tails beckoning him in a particular direction, before they disappeared around the corner – gone.


@[Roland]