Lena
I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars

Winter: cold, harsh, unrelenting, beautiful, enigmatic, traces of days encased in memories and solidified in hopes until the next awe-inspiring renewal. Enriching, invigorating, polishing warm sentiments across the passing, passionate dawn, Lena treated the returned season like any other, as an old friend, as a loyal companion, as a plaited ritual from song to warble, from trill to ditty. It thrilled, intoxicated her senses, wild, free, arduous and glorious, ruffling the thick hair lacquered to her hide, joining the revolutionary breezes as they turned into swift, chaotic winds, chilled, glacial, frigid, but still delivering the mass of her coquette grace. The world is a delightful place, full of hopes, dreams and promises, and no matter the passing hours, the swindling graces of frost and rime, she cherished them like a sonnet, like a reverie, encased in the crusades, the journeys, the wanderlust and phoenix quandaries of another revolving slate. She found virtue and whim in the fleeting, transient hours, paused to grant them clemency, honor and merit, traveling across heaven and earth for the last piece of their gifts and bestowals. Even now, amidst the heavy snow, the deep pockets of frozen tundra, she danced, eager, ready, to offer and provide the distinction of joining the masses of their mighty Basin. A twirl, a whirl, a flip of feet, a scattering of movements and motions, puppet on strings, marionette dangling by divine hands, nymph cascading through the elements, laureled and crowned by the benediction of beneficence and arias. Imogen followed closely behind, mimicking her own bright motions, chirping in appraisal of the wonderful land, the sublime, the magnificent, the sketching of their artful designs. They followed the trail worn down by passing sword-ed beasts, driving minute to minute, hour to hour, across the waylaid path towards the Threshold, awaiting the moment that another welcoming would transpire, extending their invitations towards their flourishing sovereignty, their blooming monarchy, their distinguished, illustrious empire.

A scent was caught by the fairy’s nostrils – so distinct, so familiar, so discrete that she paused momentarily to contemplate the situation. Time had wilted and vanished, vanquished, since the last occasion she’d crossed the corridors with the well-recognized warrioress, and she can recall her fondly along snow, throwing, catching, distorting, or upon the battlefield, wreaking havoc as she fought for their world. A thousands questions piled into her mind, fueled and instigated by the invocations, the return, of a vital confidant. Where had she gone? What had she done? What worlds did she see, what journeys did she enact? What crusades, what odysseys had been laid before her, prevailing, arching, lofting and perilous? Was the sprite’s mind playing tricks on her, deceiving her into well-wishes, fancies and foibles, causing her to reach out for something that wasn’t there, that couldn’t yield her happiness? First with the painted mercenary’s homecoming, and now, the derisive, loyal soldier made of stone and stag. Could she wilt from such happiness? Was there deceit layered in the paradoxes, in the quandaries, of long-lost friends reviving before her eyes? And all at once, the minx does not care, reinstating her waltzing threads, Imogen tucked towards her side, a mixture of ardent designs, lacquered to the filaments of bond and yesteryear. When she came upon the sienna femme, just as lithe, just as sturdy, just as strong as she was once, the thrill of her heart rings in her chest, spills from her mouth in a valiant nicker, coasting and ghosting over hill, forest and snow to render her welcome home. “Korra!” She chased the picture of her ally, of her comrade, of antlers, brambles, thorns and sardonic, smug smirks, and wrapped them in the assemblage of her winsome smile. Upon her arrival, the grin blossomed, a blooming spectacle of radiance, resplendence and reverie, the image of bliss at having found a soul once believed to be lost, now found in the resurgence of opulence. Brilliant and beaming, her voice carried the depths of her song, trilling and tickling across her tongue in an array of splendor. “How wonderful to see you again!” The queries returned, fresh in her cranium, but she didn't ask, didn't pry, and waited for the new walls of Korra's soul to come wittling down.