They flickered and joined beneath the wondrous lights and the crystalline stars, between the caverns and pines, resplendent and incandescent, beckoned by the miraculous glow, the opulent waves of bright, brilliant hues in startling, northern beauty. She might have watched them for many seasons, but they still shown and sparkled with such awe-inspiring qualities and heavenliness that her heart fluttered and flittered at their sight – and she was even more affected by their nature at the frigid hour. Twilight hastened with autumn vestiges, pouring and pooling into frosted dew and thickening ice, falling leaves, chilling winds billowing from the mountaintops, but she wouldn’t have traded it away, not for the heat of Tallsun, not for the shackles of Frostfall. The Orangemoon conditions meant their celebrations, their festival, was imminent, and she hoped their efforts, their travels, and their preparations, had not been in vain. Would they flock to the peaks, wishing to uncover the secrets of their world? Or would they shy away, too close, too alarmed, too frightened, by the ways of the past? Would history play and plague too far, and they’d lose their souls to prejudice and rumors? The Songbird reached down, deep into her chest, into her essence, into her fairy ambience, and prayed for crowds of earnest strangers and familiar friends, for the whole world to be enlightened, ignited, inspired, by the collection of Basin pride and prowess; to let themselves decide on what the wintry world was like, how it’d grown, how it’d changed.
 
Lena wore her best smile as they descended by the lake’s edge, assuaged and soothed by the restless stroke of unfrozen waters, sturdy and valiant, strong and determined on the sandy embankment. After making several small, warm fires nestled and coiling from kindling, Imogen curled along her forelegs, brushing white tails and promises, prospering those righteous reveries Lena stoked within her mind (they’ll come, she thought, they’ll come and see how wonderful we really are). The beatific press of her force eased and quieted the nervous, apprehensive juncture simmering along her veins, and her grin took flight, resounding on the echoes of her harmonious voice, meant to gather, meant to hasten, those who tread on unfamiliar ground. “Come here for storytelling!” She announced, beckoning, a guide, a honeyed star beneath the shades of more intense lights, but not allowing herself to be dimmed, to be forgotten, to be shuffled back into the legions of shadows and darkness. The summits were more than just legends, glistening on tomes of war and disaster, triumph and ruin, loss, failure, and tenacity; the world would know, would understand, would come to comprehend the foundations of this frozen earth, with its everlasting raptures, with its unfounded strength. She’d help them see, she’d help them grasp, decipher, and fathom the fortitude and might of their incredible empire. Again she chimed, full of radiance, full of hope, full of perseverance, all the virtues of the Basin pressed within her frame, extending her wishes and boldness into the heart of so many woven threads. “What would you like to hear?”

[Festival Storytelling! Post order is a lie! Come in and and make yourself comfortable! <3]