They followed him down the rabbit hole. A notion, strung and stung, nestled within her mind like a barb, like a thorn, curling and coiling in treacherous diversions – because what if they were being led to another ambush? What if they were destined to be the Pied Piper’s children, enchanted, beguiled, and allured, then gone, vanished, and taken? What if they were to be snagged and snarled, tethered and chained, never to be seen again? Or was she being foolish, ridiculous, having witnessed and seen too much of the barbarity, of the sinister incantations, of the ruffian endeavors searing across the earth?
 
And still she followed the fox and the deer, torn by curiosity and fear. Would a spirit of the forest truly drag them to oblivion? Would a king of the woods, of the copses, of the fields and brush, drag them into snares and traps? The Songbird didn’t know – but she didn’t leave breadcrumbs behind. She only hoped, trusted, and prayed.
 
They stepped over moss and lichen, over puddles and streams, over ripples of greenery still maintained throughout the unwinding season. She wondered if the greater mystery was the illusion itself – if she was dreaming and lost in a thicket, in a time, in a place, where nothing was as it seemed, if she was drunk and deceived on something much grander, much more powerful than herself, if she were a mere speck in the schemes of gods and deities. Or maybe she was nothing at all, and this was all fantasy, all whimsy, and all gold-lacquered falsehoods.
 
The sunlight blinded her as they seemed to cease moving altogether, a reign of beams cast across her eyes, guarding her from secrets and catacombs. Imogen was a crowned laurel of ebullience, a fluttering collection of white and tails and vibrant plumage strung between earthy browns and incandescent greens, bounding closer and closer to a figure rising from the loam. Lena stepped closer, lowering her head so she could see the unveiling of the enigma, the reasoning for their tirade and chase into the labyrinth, then stopped again. “Oh,” was all she said, loosening a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. There’d been no deceptions or ruses. There'd been no games or lies.
 
Her eyes widened as she took him in, as a series of memories popped and sprung along her mind, as the cobwebs untangled from one another and became living ghosts. She remembered him from days long ago, seasons past, a sagacious mage dipped in ivory, clutching an orb, listening to her start to fall apart. How odd it was now – that even years later, she was almost the same, whittling away at the fringes, at the edges, of her strength and devotion, of her diligence and virtue. She bowed her head, tucked a smile along her cheek, and allowed a hallelujah to slip past her lips. “Hello again.” Sadly, she couldn’t recall his name (perhaps she’d never asked; too broken and stupid and inept to conjure anything but the layers of her disappointment), but noted he remembered hers. Had she ever granted it to him? Another puzzle churned along her membrane, warring away other silly, trivial things. “I trust you’re well?”
 
He’d been altered, if only slightly, by the presence of the companion beside him. She understood the deer’s existence now – the crackling spirit once nestled inside the sparkling, bright sphere had been this beautiful essence. Her grin widened as Imogen danced nearer to the stag, eyeing the width of his antlers – and even if he wasn’t truly a god of this forest, this field, Lena still gave him the merit he deserved. “What a clever companion you have.” And after, she didn’t know what to say, what to feel, or where to even begin.