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08-20-2015, 02:52 PM
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars
She thought to leave and give them the chance to connect, to bond, with one another. The bond between companions was a blessed, beautiful thing, and she held no notion to intrude; the awakening of curiosity wouldn’t be permitted towards the point of rudeness. So the nymph nearly bade Imogen and herself to wander away, back into the mist and abyss, along the features of secrets and dances, had the other not beckoned them from the shade and veil. They were offered acknowledgment and gratitude, questions and concerns, and the stirrings of departure flew away with the rest of her vices. Her heart rested easy, and with a crook of her brow, Imogen sauntered right behind her, settling amidst the wonder and chaos of a new attachment soaking in its fledgling stages. The Songbird’s eyes first attended to the gentleman with the moon in his eyes and stars in his coat, familiarity notched along her brow but going nowhere else, incapable of placing a name to his features, a herald to his otherworldly physique. The nymph’s grin remained in place, stalwart and valorous as she prospered her calling, and hoped he’d do the same in turn. “I’m Lena,” and her maw gestured openly to the ivory vixen nestled at her feet, peering over the edges and fringe of eggshell and mottled bird, “and this is Imogen.” The Mender’s stare riveted towards the newcomer, glowing and blinding, nearly luminescent, as if he matched his bonded hue for hue, spark for spark, beam for beam. How well they molded and melded, strange and inspiring, beautiful and transcendent. Maybe they were pieces of the divine, and she, a mere mortal, could only gaze and speculate from below, offer rapture, reverie, and wonder to the arts of holy grails and devout armaments. Her lips traced into a fine, layered grin, bestowing riches and bejeweled compliments with winsome pride and wholesome regard. “He’s very beautiful. What will you call him?” Then, to answer his own inquiries, she bowed her head against the backdrop of sky and song, polishing over the distant memories of finding Imogen’s egg, of chasing after wily foxes and cunning eyes and dastardly tricks, of waiting for the days when it would open and show her something incredible, wonderful, and mystical. Her pale kitsune had been a vastly independent creature, but Lena suspected the bundle of wet feathers and raven inspiration may need a bit more of a touch, a nudge, before fully grown and capable of tending to himself. “My companion is a kitsune, but I’m sure their care could be similar.” She paused, reflected, mused, tilted her head vaguely over the child, then back to the moon child. “Perhaps you’d like to find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d like insects or small rodents.” Her mind began churning, a list of reminders flickering and igniting. “Make sure to keep him warm – even in Birdsong the nights and mornings can be chilly.” Her smile radiated, pulsed amidst the splendor and glamour, opulent and kind, beneficent and fervent, ardent for the opportunity to support and nurture. “Be there for him. Be mindful of your connection to one another. Can you hear his thoughts?” |
@Mesec
