The world had always been vexing, cumbersome, furtive, specious and unruly. Lena would never understand all of its complexities, all of its intricacies and complications, but she always tried, a resolute paragon pulled and swung by tenacity, by perseverance, by unruly disregard for all the faults of her curiosity. A quiet mind driven to solve mysteries, drawn to the peaks and valleys of circumstance, of paradoxes hovering in the distance, now struggled to separate apparitions from fact, specters from corporeal essences, wraiths from withering plumes. Just when she’d found purpose, sought guidance, rekindled the aura of her motivations and goals, the kingdom struck another match into the fire, stoked the coals and embers of enigmas, coaxed riddles and puzzles to the forefront of her mind. Pervading darkness, varnishing ivory converted into altered, misshapened ebony, plucking stone into ebony, scorching caverns into brutal shapes of monsters and demons, of tenebrous lacquer stained to once safe, content layers. This was the sovereignty, the empire, the kingdom, she pledged her soul upon, wandered over crag and creation to defend, to serve, to refresh and anew, and so abruptly, so swiftly, so quickly, it had changed. Transformed and morphed from perilous peaks to daunting, starless coal, from rime and glaciers to deceptive, hidden runes, and if she wished to survive again, if she longed, yearned and desired to become stronger, tenacious and indomitable, she’d have to evolve too. But as her gaze strayed over the memorized hilltops, over the crushing arms of stalwart summits and pernicious pinnacles, she wondered how she’d accomplish such a task, such a force, wandering in deep, bottomless ignorance. How does one conquer the unknown? How does one vanquish the obscure? How does one slay the ambiguous, the incomprehensible, the perplexing and peculiar? How does one escort, model and shepherd when they’re unsure of their own trembling footsteps? When each tremulous pathway could lead them further into the Stygian oubliette? When memorized footfalls fell away, became ash and soot, rubble and ruin? Where each trail became a primrose path? When the sun died and the moon drowned in twilight, and all one could see was their breath curling in the gloom? A coiled voice signified her answer, pierced and penetrated the core of her being, washed over the varnish of all her doubts, all her misgivings, all the shards and remnants of doubt, suspicion and weakness. Be brave. Be fierce. Be dauntless.

Lena’s gaze pursued the juncture of icy massifs then dragged their sights back to Blue Duck, where the warmth of her rich stare shown through the barbs and thorns, the nettles and spikes. They spoke of reassurance, of soothing, assuaging depths, where tenderness invoked calm layers to break through the hasty calamity, the cruel, callous sentiments surrounding their relics and remains. Even over the stag’s sarcasm, she could sense the hurt, the despair dragged over his lips, some harkening, painful memory that clashed and crashed with the weight of Mauja’s acceptance. So easily, effortlessly, she related to his anarchy, to the twist and turn of approval, how many times she’d sought the alms of her brethren and found naught to show for it. Only with time, smiles, laughter and dedication had she managed to break into their foundations, to obtain trust, to show steadfast power, even if it came in another form. The nymph was sure that it wouldn’t take Blue Duck half as long to garner their convictions and reliance. Her grin appeared again, as if it had never left in the length of their stead, hadn’t hesitated over the dungeon-esque qualms of their homeland, extended and prospered to the cerulean stallion, forcing away the chill of the flourishing wind, the glacial air. Her voice rang too, birdsong, aria and melody, covering the darkness with the radiance of her valor. “He liked you.” She shifted her cranium, allowed her steps, elegant, refined, to move forward, into the depths, into the fathoms, of the unknown. But his statement remained, hanging over the bounty of the Stygian hold, because this was something different, something foreign, something new and dangerous. Their past Frostfall had not been like this, when they’d been scavengers in the Steppe, defeated and belligerent, disappointed and hungry. The sun had set, and the moon had risen, dusk followed dawn, but never stayed like an undying foe. Her voice floated across the breeze, tangled in the haze, but remained intrepid, valorous. “No, not like this.”

They continued, past the outlying borders, where the guards stood in shadows, frozen monuments and monoliths of safety, security and preservation, and Lena stretched her limbs across boundaries of snow and ice. Imogen hastened thereafter, plunging her pale paws into rifts and drifts, and the sylph contorted her features to bliss, to harmony, to rapture and reverie where naught could be found. His words ambled across her ears, and she took the phrase, held the consecrated syllables in the mellifluous courts of her head, sang the voice in silent absorption across the secretive landscape. “You’re welcome.” For instead of discomfort, she wanted to show him the earth he’d accepted, the country he’d grow to cherish, the nation he’d protect, and her brilliance, her pluck, her daring, wove a subtle essence of magnificence and intensity. She wouldn’t wallow, wouldn’t despair, wouldn’t foster a dread to brew in his guts. She would lead him into their sanctuary, their shelter and their sovereignty with the blinding spirit of her gaze, of her movements, of her motions. Today, she would be the light.