Bliss settled over her spine and curled through her sentiments, sprung along her movements beneath the blooming sun and over the frosty vestiges of familiar lands – walking, floating on air in resplendent waves. The Songbird flew on intangible, ethereal wings, on sonnets and laurels, on pieces of ice and tapestries of rime, lilting and harmonizing with the virtuous rounds of peace and repose retained with the sense of euphoria. It sizzled and brewed within her motions with an ardent gaze and a pressing tune, so much so that she would sometimes glance back at the brigand, the thief, to ensure he was still there and she hadn’t been locked away in some otherworldly dream. Then Lena would beam again, radiance and sunshine, blossoms and florets that had already fallen away for another season but now rested between her strides and stares, lifting her head and turning away, forgetting what it was like to be tentative. Love made her bolder, made her stronger, made her dash across the vast plains on a heartbeat, twist and dance and laugh, chat away on anything and everything (the recent events of their world, of the Aurora Festival, of the comings and goings and Kisamoa offering them the sea). Courage and valor made her unbound, unfurling, uncoiling, rippling along cordial airs and refined graces, racing onward into the plunges of entrances and apertures with more than just assuaging tones and ebullient smiles. Her spirit felt free, liberated, delivered from a bestial, decrepit wasteland, where she’d been tied and tethered for seasons and cycles – now lifted, exultant and unafraid. She could conquer anything – invincible, brave, and resilient.
 
However, she faced the unknown now too – because being cherished, being adored, revered, or admired by another had never been a part of her life. She’d always committed herself to those characteristics, to extending her heart out in beautiful, beating pieces to those she met, to those she tended and protected, to those she’d seek out in the darkest of nights and the coldest of days. More often those fleeting wishes, those resplendent dreams, would be forgotten, left, discarded, and eventually break apart into tiny little fragments; worthless, misshapen, consigned and ignored. She was used to being pried into a thousand different directions and treated like dust – known for her talents in song and healing, for her kindness, for her compassion, but nothing else. Perseverance made her stay, caused her to shine in sable corners, be a beacon, a lantern, for those in peril; but she was renowned for naught much more. Roland knows, she’d think to herself, Roland knows me - her sentiments, her worries, her fears, her concerns, the weaknesses pervading her frame, the way she’d try to hide from her defects and flaws, the drive and determination she instilled in every motion, every instant, to pursue a course of action. Maybe that was enough. Or perhaps, eventually, everyone else would see too – that she wasn’t a speck of sand or a piece of earth lost in the mountains.  
 
They arrived beneath the rusted Sentinels’ gaze and she glanced at them, too cold, too stark, too empty to say anything; but she smiled at them, brilliant and bright in her vivid, gleaming way, wanting them to see that an old friend was returning, that something anew could rise from the ashes, that the world could rejoice and rejuvenate again. Then, she inclined her crown towards his figure of gold and red, blinding against the backdrop of snow and rock, grinned for all the world to see as Imogen dashed alongside his legs, as the sense of apprehension failed to return to her heart. “Ready?” She asked through the haze of contentment, where everything glowed and swirled, twisted and intertwined.

[Feel free to join to welcome Roland home! ^_^]