The first set of giggles cast from her frame in ages sauntered in a harmonious reverie, slowly drifting along her tongue until she couldn’t cease the exuberant laughter, and though light and elegant, it seized hold and floated into the summer breeze, laden the world with beguiling, alluring fronds. Renewed and rejoicing, the merriment pulsed and quivered in delicate whims, cascading and rippling on the tender wind, on the warm, slinking rays, on the exotic fervor and relish of an enchanting instance. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself through the water, proud and mighty, only to gaze upon his reflection, ensuring a vainer portion of his character was gratified and content, confirming his approval, only to continue staring at himself. Her lighthearted jubilation broke into a careful, crooning carol as he drew nearer, and a collected sigh warbled from her throat, like the passing of a great, reverential tide had swept back over her, and the worries trickled away, down into nothingness and runes. The nymph nodded at his appreciation and, reforming the grand smile she always used to wear, polishing the tender nuances of her arias and strains. “You’re welcome.” When he stoked naught more, no questions over the ornament, no reasons contrived for its essence, for its existence, the fairy presumed he knew of the reasons for its arrival, for its bestowal, and chimed no more on the subject, sliding her gaze from mountain to lake, then back to the golden brigand. Indulging in the silence, her stare became a minor nuance, basking in his gilded presence, in his illustrious company. The notion and sentiments were peaceful, filled with repose and serenity, blessed and bountiful with simplicity, not diminished by the archaic thresholds of war and bloodshed, of murders and scoundrels. If every day could be sworn and plaited in such a form, consecrated and anointed with naught more than a few mischievous contortions and wild with only laughter, she’d have no apprehension, no searing distortions, no catastrophic measures and munitions.

The Mender, too engrossed in his fond, handsome smile, hadn’t treated the quietude with enough respect – for no sooner had she relaxed in its languid stretch, did Roland summon a brimming, laden query, quiet, hesitant. Almost out of habit, she looked away, cautious and stalwart, gathering strength and dominion for the recollections, for the answers, he sought. The question was far deeper than simple pleasantries, and she’d skirted, avoided, the true nature of the subject in their past meetings – floating and skimming across shoals, shores, forests, and ice as the Earth God presented them with more and more challenges, fueling her inner core with necessities and duties, rather than dragging her mind back into danger and treachery. All the unsaid ruminations came crashing back: her failures, her passions deluding and casting eerie spells and bright, blinding fragments of pain, her apologies, though unwanted, that continued flickering and sputtering along her core. She’d hope to dodge the subject entirely, and even though it seemed nearly cowardly, she didn’t want to relive the thought of the Thief turning to ash in her midst, sinking into the sand as mere embers and coals, once alive, then quickly dashed and disappeared. The fey stole a few breaths of Tallsun air, and Imogen quirked the tiniest brow, fastening her armor over her chest and along her throat, so when her voice unwound it didn’t quake, it didn’t flutter, it didn’t break. Her eyes wandered over to his, struggling to appear placid and unruffled. “I’m well. And yourself?” Well could be held in many different regards; truthfully, she hadn’t been marked or scarred by any other chaotic foils – her hide was slowly healing, for she refused to use her time invocations any more on the blights, losing the sharpened, telltale shimmer of burns and fire, adjusting to renewing hide and pelt. Lena had kept herself busy, chiming away at the stars and the sky, delivering herbs to herds in their proclaimed armistice, wandering the locked gateways in search of strangers to coax towards their beautiful mountains. She’d pushed and prodded the treacheries to the far regions of her memories, and only in her slumber did they reel again, back and forth, agonizing miseries telling the disastrous story all over again. Her eyes meandered back to the cool lakebed, and a keen note of courage and valor spiked through her veins, because maybe, if she fostered the potency she’d been given, the terror would have been justified (even that thought seemed weak, but she didn’t know how to fix the bridge, the gap, they’d nestled and stoked). Her melody hovered, careful and quiet, attempting to maintain their harmonic semblance without breaking, without breeching, the savage coils of their prior circumstances. “I returned to the Sun God and was granted the magic I sought.” The Songbird tilted her head a fraction, and the charms she’d acquired from their recent adventures twinkled in the sunlight, blooming one fresh floret, as if she were truly the innocent blossom nestled beneath woods and summits. “Would you like to see?”

@[Roland]