Fallen petals, murmurs on the streamlines of beating, swift hearts, swirled in the turbulent tirade of the dim sky; she carried her soul aloft to light and guide their way. Through the waves of song, through the fleeting hands and brushstrokes of stanzas, essences shifted, from the sorrowful, to the triumphant, glowing, gilded, for the snippets where they stayed amongst the aria’s careful strands. Coaxed into vibrancy, tilted and stoked, fine, perfected, sculpted for agony and desperation, carried into the brief, tender lacquer of compassion and benevolence, a calm amongst the bracken storm. She couldn’t piece together every sullen remnant, every cast away piece or shard, the sad, broken filaments of stories untouched, untold, but she attempted to thread and lace the tresses of a melancholy web. Amidst the halcyon haze, she heard the drifting of movement, the ivory Pegasus eager, ready, bolstering her strength in the tides and mettle of better days (where the sun shone without guilt, where the wind didn’t bite and chide, where the toxic doldrums were fulfilled, satisfied), murmuring over the horizon. The child built her own tenacity, honed and rough, valorous and obstinate, and the music died in her throat, no longer necessary for their task. Instead, the beneficent smile returned over her lips, an undying emblem of her heart’s desires, finessed and indomitable, unfailing in the hazardous mist, in the vitriol plague and pestilence corroding their minds, their paths, their trails. The girl hastens a stumble, a faltering, but not a full collapse into the heathen reaches of armaments or scorn, not under their constant watch and supervision, shelter and sanctuary in the sinister wake of darkness, in the apathetic abyss of trenchant, mordant concoctions. Sohalia, the other introduced her namesake, and finally Lena had a calling to enamel towards a fellow creature, gentle and firm in the plight and madness outside their walls. She’s taken back into the throng, the silence, the regards of shields, swords, scythes, and refuges, wondering and pondering, the able nymph, the capable fairy, of where the babe intended to go, adrift in the runes and ruins of their hell thickets. Was there a world she had traversed towards, aching and bleeding, holding a sanction of promises, ambitions, aspirations? Were there others searching for her, their beloved child, longing to hold her in their arms? The healer directed the finale of her queries towards the filly, regarded tranquil laurels through the heartless dunes. Someone, somewhere, was missing their precious brethren, and she had every intention of returning it. Calm, clear, distinct and harmonic, touching upon mellifluous strands over and over again, the words ruminated and collected, dovetailed and spiraled towards each creature. “Where would you like to go?”