The bright, cheery wave of Orangemoon – with its flickering sonnets, with its vigilant, chilling wind spiraling from the North, varnished them in a determined glow. Perhaps the world, the season, knew of their passion, their zest, their ardor for the upcoming mission, courted and coated their movements, their motions, with the capacity for zealousness, for both Songbird and fox held their heads high, driving their crowns into the coiling breeze, awakened, fulfilled. With the change in the air, with the alteration from summer to autumn, came a promise cresting with the horizon – one of wonder, one of celebration, one of prestige, beauty, and majesty, and they spiraled their strides to match its decree, to share the splendor with the rest of the world.
 
They descended from the mountains, crossed over lines of shivering trees and foreign soil, raced along the skyline and embraced soft, light conversation with their resident Thief; merry, ebullient, a portion of cordial essence and eager, vibrant fervency. The nymph forged onward with the blighted memories of another time where she’d committed the same actions with another (a child, excited, born beneath the same auroras and summits they were bound to commemorate), only to watch the invitations, delicate morsels of leaves with anointed symbols and signs, become destroyed through rage and rancor. She didn’t expect such an incident in this hour, when the world had finally managed to trace over the foundations of peace, of repose, when the shadows didn’t dance so decadently over brows and minds. The Mender kept the story to herself, granting Rexanna her dazzling smile, nodding firmly to Imogen as the kitsune wandered beside her, mouth holding a bundle of herbs to extend to their Throat allies.
 
On the approach towards the land of dunes and sun, where the solar rays seemed just a bit more heavy, a bit more cumbersome, not yet wholly shrouded by the rawness of Orangemoon, her steps faltered, her eyes narrowed, taking the time to scan the outcrops. They wouldn’t trespass, or linger too close to giant walls and distant bridges, awaiting their opportunity and chance to spread the word of their upcoming festivities. She’d been on so many different occasions; and she wanted this one to be the most uplifting. A moment or two passed before she exhaled on a fervid melody, hoping it reached past the sandy boundaries, the crimson slate, and drifted to those who stood guard, who stood watch, ready to receive invitations to glistening lights and opulent stars.