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08-23-2015, 09:02 AM
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars
The early morning gave rise to a beautiful sun, and instead of sleeping, Lena and Imogen spent their hours carefully tending to their cave. The winter’s reign had ceased, and with it came the promise of spring’s earthly riches; some they’d already collected where burrowed and buried in the back of the grotto, awaiting to be awakened, to become immersed in the splendor of Birdsong. They dragged each out carefully, one-by-one, laying them out amidst the luminescent rays and uncovered soil: some peppermint, pine, Labrador tea, rich chamomile and common dandelion, permitting them to stretch beneath the beautiful light and unwind from their long slumber. Eventually they’d be cast into a garden, tended to as they sprouted and blossomed, then cultivated and picked for the ones who needed them most. Even the foxglove and yew, though poisonous, were treated with tender, loving care, and thereafter Lena gazed down at them with a fond smile and a proud heart, delighted to see progress had been made on a curling, plumed dream – - A summons rankled over the horizon, and the beautiful grin flanking her lips became lost in the midst of confusion and mystery. Imogen’s ears listened, flickered, and her cunning, fox eyes narrowed to a degree of speculation, while Lena’s thoughts ran a small gambit of possibilities. The voice had not been the Reaper’s, nor Hotaru’s, only that of Thranduil, and it could mean anything (was she required for something sinister or beneficial?) – she recalled watching him strip pelts from wolves’ hides, and resisted the shudder threatening to flow through her frame. She was initially hesitant, staring over at the blessed, beatific plants, not wishing to leave them without proper tending, but Imogen rolled her eyes and promised them safekeeping until she returned. A proper sense of gratitude filled them both – before the Songbird began her flight towards the borders. The nymph regarded her lands with a flutter, with a dance, with strides simmering over the grounds, rushed and consuming, layering them with righteous hymns and glorified songs, but without the purpose behind the zeal, the hums were less forth-coming, more intrigued, more bemused. Was there some trouble at the fringe? Had someone been hurt? Was the Laurelin injured, or perhaps newcomers, strangers in the midst? As she approached, gained earth and ground, the scene became a curious faction: pictures of the unknown, of the foreign, an ivory child laced with wings, a blackened equine alongside an ivory beast, Thranduil playing court – and there, a creature she hadn’t seen in years but remembered from days spent flickering in the wind: Shadow. Their meeting had been so brief, so stilted, so very awkward and rigid, but the naiad recalled the face, and could only hazard a guess the babe nestled at her side was hers. She performed her respectful nods towards each individual, hushed the ringing in her ears, the questions across her tongue (why were they here? What did they need?), and conjured warmth instead of endless prying. “Congratulations,” she murmured past a warm smile and an intrigued turn, tilt, of her head, before performing another act of salvation and hope, for the mare was truly a shadow of her old self, and Lena could gleam the reason for her distress was the youth at her feet. “Enna and I can heal you,” and she turned towards the sound of the other Mender coming, eager to perform their blessings together. |
