Her amicable eyes were tied to him instead of the pervading gloom, studying, ruminating, attempting to deconstruct odds and ends of a newfound character, where they’d been, what they’d discovered, what transpired to make them flesh and blood, real and corporeal, tarnished and damned, beloved and virtuous. But this stranger’s gaze was locked into doubt, mistrust, and she pondered, wondered, over how to appear more amiable, more cordial, more welcoming to a soul that perhaps wasn’t ready for the safety net of others, for the brandishing of tenderness, for the compassion, determination and perseverance of warm, guiding entities. Her stare settled to the juncture of low-hanging branches, burdened and beautiful by the cumbersome weight of snow, to the crisp, cool outlets of their canopies and the strange, altered birdsong coasting from the eaves, to Imogen dancing in the moonless arches, not wishing to grant him suspicion of her own creation – that she were too bold, too audacious, too eager and ready to malign the earth with her restless ease. She only turned and settled her vivid stare back upon his frame as he spoke, listening as he told an answer to her query. Leovan, of the Endless Ocean. Were they eternal currents, like their odd, everlasting darkness, ghosting and tainting, gnarling and crushing? Or were they soft, gentle dunes of sand and coast, beach and shore, lining the kingdom with its briny contentments? The nymph’s imagination prospered and prompted a world of blue, a shining, shimmering haze of rough waves and sea foam, gulls crying in the distance, the floating juncture of creatures basking in the glow of the sun. She smiled in response then, curiosity brewing and bubbling in the fanciful strokes of her whimsical nature, conjured a harp song, enchanting, alluring, curling like the mist of their breaths into fierce shadows. “A pleasure, Leovan. Your home sounds very grand.” Voice ceased for a few moments, Imogen chirping and chattering in the background, her devious fox mind rolling and reeling as she tried to catch falling snow from the drifts of laden branches. Lena, forever resolute, adamant and unwavering, undaunted by the spirit of discontent or the range of curiosity immersed in her throat, continued with her questions, in hope that perhaps she could find her best way to serve the stranger. “What do you hope to find here?” For this sovereignty must have been very different than his homeland, stretching into amble gloaming and enigmas. What was his purpose in traveling this way, instead of staying amongst his former comrades?