Mercy and reprieves, away from the clattering havoc, away from the smoldering wreckage, made up a core of the sylph’s foundation, and she used its might, its shield, its sword, to chisel away the clarity of vehemence and brutality. She embraced, loved, and cherished, swept away chaos with an offered hand, with a chorus of soothing bells and filled up the wishes of her dream jar with absolution and deliverance, hoped, prayed and salvaged innocence from travesties. Through devotion, through friendship, through guidance and renewal, she’d known the pieces of wonder, the shapes of hearts, the lines that crossed and merged together to mold and sculpt reveries, and in the collapse, in the wake, in the vestige of bedlam, she remembered – amidst her warmth, she tried to lend those precious notions to Kahlua. The kind, the earnest, the willing and innocent were always the first to fall, and the Glazier hadn’t deserved it; the undisclosed whims and caprice of wicked merchants and scarred sinners, hadn’t merited the rampage of its rancor, hadn’t meant to stumble into the closets and shadows of its rapacious hold. Of all the creatures in the world, perhaps her heart had been the lightest, untainted, glowing and gilded, a pedestal of virtues set upon its paragon vows, and Lena, already sullied, refused to see another one falter into brambles and thorns. The sobs, the weeping, the tears stained down in a rivulet across her withers, and determination, passions, reignited, charity and beneficence renewed through a surge of perseverance and might, clarity pervading in the angelic tones of her mellifluous words, the vibrant hums and hymns gathered into ears and nesting across assuaged brows. When they subsided, Lena and Imogen listened, strung together in silence, in regard for a friend who didn’t need to pursue any further avenues, to grant them something in return, because that had been the mender’s purpose, her lot in life, sacrifice and rites, absolution and sanctuary, tumbling over footfalls and perilous hazards in order to reach those incapable of mending themselves. To provide sanctum to a companion was never a treacherous motion, and for each stitched seam, she was granted resurgence in her motivations. A trill flowed and echoed over the paradise, over the grounds, a brilliant smile enlightened and reasserted, as if it had merely flickered away in threads of darkness, pulled back together by the call of heavens and ambrosia. “There’s no need, Kahlua.” Her maw, soft and cordial, lent itself towards the mare’s frame, along her shoulder, a guarantee in bond, solidified through strife. A wink, a laugh, attempting to hasten beauty in the rubble. “No debts, no obligations.” She tilted her head, honeyed eyes tenderly shielding, guarding the tempestuous storm of the Glazier’s doubts and misgivings. “Simply remain safe.”