The essence of wanderers, strangers and newcomers harked to others as one more slipped from the wayfaring walls and the wavering pathways, and the stalwart, valorous nymph extended another bob of greeting. She wondered if more would come from the woodwork, perhaps as desperate and desiring as she, to revitalize and restore the prestige of their homelands; the great, duned Throat, with its sandy knolls and wide canyons, or the misty, labyrinth contortions of the Edge, following in the footsteps of this Ciceron, as he strolled into the gateway for his empire and crown. Her attention was quickly fixated back upon the burly, brawny figure, one of fortresses, domineering stanchions and barriers, as he spoke his name, Vladic, and that he wished to end his endless traversing. Her curiosity brimmed and brewed, slender and bright, luminescent and radiant, existing solely to tangle her mind into the nuances and explorations of her fellow creatures – where he’d arrived from, the wars he’d faced, the reasons for the upheavals, the scars mottling and marring his pelt. Was he proud of them, content with their memories, or did he slide away from their lines, their images, their scales and pictures? What had his experiences taught him? And would he, once she offered, find her home to his liking, a world of grandeur, a sovereignty of strength, might, danger, treachery and beauty?

His query over the ivory vixen at her feet pulled her momentarily from the eternal musing of an inquisitive nature and mind, and her eyes ghosted, fell, upon the beautiful fox she’d come to cherish, revere and adore. Never absent of company, of a kindred spirit, of a prevailing, honorable patriot – so even in her darkest days, even in the midst of collapsing, crumbling corridors and seething, smoldering maelstroms, nomadic, Gypsy harkenings or bellicose, rancorous listless, she was never alone. Her voice crooned over the gathered, extending towards the cherubic, lithe fox, over the throngs of darkness and light, shuffling and sliding into the copse and glade with elegant, woven finery and grace, mustering faith and credence in the calling of a name. “This is Imogen, a kitsune.” In response, the pale kit danced amongst the crowd, rolling along hooves, cloven or solid, whirling along the intertwining breeze as her tails drifted in accordance with Lena’s melodic tunes. Forever bold and intrepid, she even ceased her gliding to sniff at Vladic’s feet, chirping once, vigilant, ethereal air, and pausing to glance at Cypress, who seemed altogether too wary to even yearn for a closer presence. The sylph’s smile broadened at her antics, then extended towards the flock, bells, carols and trills filling the atmosphere once more. “A pleasure, Vladic, Cypress and Ciceron. I’m fortunate to meet so many new faces.” An absence of sound for a few hushed moments of clarity, before she pressed on, noble, eloquent, woven into the fabric of nature and elements. “If you seek to end your wandering, perhaps you would consider my home. The Basin offers plentiful shelter, lakes, and a beautiful mountain region.”