Shadows shifted: a child begged for his mother (a name she recalled, from the deep denizens of darkness, then an uncomfortable atmosphere, as if she’d intruded on her own solitude), Mauja offering himself for bait, the stormy femme proclaiming their actions. It circled in swift, turbulent motions, caused her to focus on too many things at once; overwhelmed, but willing, always willing, to lend aid, to proffer a hand, to selflessly grind against nefarious, heartless machinations. Her wonder was reserved for another hour (because she’d like to delve and puzzle over why Mauja was willing to throw himself into claws, scythes, and daggers, she’d like to mull over Shadow’s colt, burrowed and buried in sanctuary); greater means, minds, and speculations lingered, gnarled, knotted, tangled over the din. She held too much purpose to stray, to sway, to bend and break against the rubble and walls, to flutter anxiously or comb the apprehensive innards and entrails of their sanctum – driven, resolute, adamant and persistent, wings of the persevering and dust of the unwavering. Her features, not kindling a grin, extended in a stubborn set, a fierce brow, an undaunted fortitude, tenacious, staunch, valorous, a vessel tipping towards the heavens, dipping along the restless gallows. Imogen, standing between her forelegs, drummed a steadfast hymn between purrs and chirps, mastered the conjectures and sentiments of her companion, schooled the murmurs and croons of a dedicated fey and her vixen. The nurse’s voice melded and folded into the crowd, orchestrated the arias, the tunes, the dedication of a compassionate, benevolent soul, sculpted, imagined, coiled and contorted into the considerate sylph. “I’ll save you a trip and accompany you.” She’d enter the fray alongside the brethren of volunteers, breathe the infidel air, pursue and snake through the relentless oeuvre, come out whole and restore the beaten, the broken, and the baleful. She wasn’t placed upon a pedestal, held no paragon entity, had roamed into battlefields, had whispered and sang remnants of requiems, had made tranquility simmer beneath the damned, and agreed to do it over and over again, assuaging, soothing, the barbs, the thorns, the nettles piercing and puncturing their acidic traces. Another blessing sinking into the earth could only help to renew, revive, and in time, permit them to forget the woven threads of chaos, pestilence, and desecration.