L E N A
the love of heaven makes one heavenly

Did she trust too much, to be led away by temptation? Was this a moment she would reflect upon later as disastrous – the allure, the fixation, the beguiling trance of the ages that captured and ensnared her into a most despairing trap? There was a fleeting moment in her mind that whispered of treachery and deceit, but her heart, bold, valiant and enduring, believed in sanctity, in bliss, in hope and benedictions, and the croon of timidity was soon forgotten in the waves of enchantment. The fox was quick, eager, swift, and she followed it into the streams and inclinations of snow, a blurry glimpse of sienna against the backdrop of ivory and chilly auroras, intrepid and spirited. The wind caressed her skin, harsh and unrelenting, cold biting at pelt and hide, but she ignored the haunting frailties of spring with the chords of her own rapture, chasing the impulse, the indulgence, of her dream escort. Limbs carved the finery of her dancing fancies with each passing moment of fluid, elegant grace and poise, the regal, moral tides drifting in the glade of snow and ice. When the fellow beast dove into the trees, she ducked beneath branches and skirted around bushes, driven to accompany, to traverse, with the vulpine’s silent candor. Yet, when she glimpsed around a tree, it had disappeared into another bough and she was lost to the breath, mist, and vapor that rang from the hushed limbs of forest and mountains. Her nares collected the scents of the glade, but found naught that traced their way back to the guiles of the fox. For a moment, she stood still, composed, calm, but otherwise uncertain of what had transpired. Had she truly been led astray, into a path of nettles, barbs and tribulations? Had she been tricked, deceived, escorted to slaughter, ruin? What was the purpose of leading her on a chase into nothingness?

Disappointed, she lowered her head, and turned her dial back towards where the apparition had last been seen. A flicker of peculiar color struck her eye, some hue that didn’t belong in the peaks and valleys of snow dunes. Pricked by insatiable curiosity again, she lingered, softly sketching her hooves in the shadows of the branches. She pushed one bough aside, then the other, and allowed a soft gasp to exhale from her lungs. The warm air billowed and traced around the essence of one egg, alone, forlorn, and desolate in the chilling slate of the Basin. The sylph raised her crown to see if any other creature was around, if any soul could claim the lonely child, if the mother had disappeared like the wraith – it couldn’t have been left to wither and die in the chill. When nothing made its presence known, she bent down towards it again, and with her muzzle, gently nudged it from beneath the wooden arms of its protector. She couldn’t help but stare at it again, unsure, anxious, apprehensive that her actions wouldn’t hold consequences, yet, she couldn’t allow herself to be the one to have found the helpless babe and not provide assistance. Her hesitation didn’t last long as she lowered her body near the egg, prompting it with her maw again to rest in the cloak of her warmth, nestled between her forelegs and against her chest. She’d been alone once too, wandering, wavering, in the expanse of misery, and she wouldn’t allow this one to experience the melancholy any longer.