"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
With work on the herb garden underway, Alysanne decided it was about time she try to contribute to it if she could. And she knew just where she wanted to start. Maybe there was the chance that any of these herbs that she could collect this far north wouldn’t survive in the garden back at the Edge, but she could at least give it a shot! Besides, she had been itching to come to the Basin ever since she and Lena had talked about it. This was her friend’s home! This was where Lena and Imogen had found a family.
The only real problem was that she wasn’t exactly sure where the Basin was. She knew it was in the north, near to where she had last seen the wandering brothers of darkness. But where did the Aurora Basin start and where did Frostbreath Steppe or Frozen Arch end? Perhaps she should have asked someone for help with directions before leaving, and not relied on her (lack of) innate sense of direction. It was a slow trip, impeded both by getting lost (she found the sea three times) and by picking a careful gait so as to not disturb the slumbering owlet nestled on her back.
With the signs of spring becoming more and more minimal – but still present! – she knew she was at least heading northward. The only clue that she had was near something was when the most peculiar noise broke through the relatively silent early afternoon air. Then, up ahead on the path, there was suddenly a horse moving to block the way – and boy, it was unlike any other horse she had ever seen before. Made of a hard looking substance and just massive... but her world was hardly a conservative one. Between Nocturne and Helovia, Alysanne had seen quite her fair share of interesting looking creatures.
So she had no reason to believe, especially from where she paused a little about two dozen metres away, that this metal being was not alive. A new species perhaps! Giant horses, how wonderful!
And because of that, she flashed it a bright, genuine smile and called out in a cheerful voice. “Hello there!” Oh, maybe this giant horse could help her! Hemlock awoke at the sound and with some rather grumpy noises climbed his way awkwardly up to his usual perch between her ears. Perhaps there was some doubt, between the pair of them, that this was yet again some odd magic and not a lifeform - but whether it was living or not, Alysanne would still be polite. Such was her way. “I’m looking for the Basin - my friend Lena lives there. Could you point me in the right direction?” She hoped that she had not accidentally crossed into the Basin without permission - she was new to politics but it was never her desire to go trotting about where she didn't belong. Hopefully this metal beast knew of Lena
Whirlwind, singsong choreography, dancers on chilling winds and vestiges of spring, sprig plumes, buds and blossoms trumpeting to the beat of a frost-laden garden, they streaked along the plains, nymphs of the empyrean mountains and valleys. Refreshed and invigorated by the cycles of seasons, drawn into the wake of finches, sparrows, and cardinals, sketched by jay feathers and dewy petals, cast into repose and reverie for instances, for snippets, for moments at a time; enamored in bliss for the short hours they could entangle its mirth, its bounty, its whimsy. Were she more pious perhaps she would have drank ambrosia and polished gilded enchantments, wove tapestries and canvases telling fantastical stories, but instead, she granted the gift of her own allure, invoking satin song through the layers and corridors of Basin pleasantries. She watched the flowers awaken, she witnessed the laurels of their perseverance flourish, and she paid respect to the summits and lieges, bowing to their might and spinning in their wake. Only when they’d both heard a familiar voice (Imogen snapped her ears upright, ceased hopping amongst the tall grass), did they abandon all movement, pondering over the wonder, the distinction, of such a visit. Was it Alysanne, the gentle-hearted lamb from the vines, the caverns, the glowing dungeon and haven? A deep breath, an invoking of scent, a token flap of wings, was all the sylph and kitsune needed to capture the nature of their intention – steps gave chase, wild, untamed beasts in the blush of their valley, in the lacquer of their glaciers and potency, laughing, giggling, coiling the fanciful art of their generous symphony once more. Whatever they’d done to earn the social hour, they cherished it with a momentous burst of rhapsody, entangled into the midst of sentinels and borders, chiming, chirping, echoing the peaceful decibels across the void, watching as the machine heeded the ardent, fervent strains and arias. “Alysanne!” Painted and regal, friendly and outgoing, appearing in the passage as though she’d never changed, and the two responded in kind – longing to seem unaltered from the destruction, from the chaos, ravaging the outside realms and kingdoms, the open lands seeking, absconding commotion. “Welcome to the Basin!” A smile, a grin, an extension of her soft maw upon the femme’s shoulder, and she continued as Imogen bounced between her legs, lithe and swift, an ivory flame in the tendrils of green. “How are you?”
It was not long after the painted pegasus addressed the metal horse that a familiar face, perhaps the only familiar face in this entire herd, came dancing forward with the delightful Imogen at her side. Forgetting the one she had just addressed for a brief moment or two, she focused her attention on the pair she had come all this way to see. “Lena! Imogen!” She greeted them both with such joy, returning the soft touch that the mare offered upon their meeting and lowering her head to whicker softly at the fox-like creature near her feet. Hemlock hooted in a disgruntled manner as she did so, the fledgling taking exception to this increased amount of head movement.
If he was curious about Imogen or Lena, he did not show it just yet. He was just getting used to the fact that he could move about on his own – not far, though, and not for long – and did not seem willing to test the boundaries in this strange land. Instead he backed up a little down her neck so that just his eyes and the fluffy top of his head appeared between her ears – those dark eyes watching this new horned mare carefully.
Oh he was certainly developing quite the personality! “Don’t mind him, he’s a little shy.” Was that the right word for it? She said it with a laugh to hide her uncertainty, but the smile was true. “This is Hemlock.” So much had changed since the two had last spoken in that magical, illuminated cave beneath the earth. “And thank you for the welcome! It’s just as beautiful as you told me.” Though she had only seen very little of the actual herd land, the surrounding areas were just marvellous so she could only imagine what lay ahead! “I’m well though! Settling back into the Edge and just loving this bright season. I was promoted to Moon Doctor beside Resplendence, though I feel like I have a lot to learn. We’re rebuilding the garden we have so I’ve been out looking for new herbs to add to the collection.” It was hardly ever just a simple ‘I’ve been well!’ answer for Alysanne. “But really, that’s just my excuse for the chance to come visit you and make sure you made it out of there safe and sound.” Here her bright chuckle sounded again. Perhaps she didn’t need an excuse to come visit Lena, perhaps she could have just come by just to check up on her, but no matter – she was here now. “How about you?”
Though her own answer might have been a little longer than expected, her desire to hear about Lena’s welfare was not lessened. They both looked well, which was a good sign… though she would feel much better hearing it confirmed!
Blessings resonated, harpsichord strings and open rhapsodies, melodies of the magnificent and sonnets of the spring, she flowed through the buoyant particles of joy and ebullience, explored the regions of information Alysanne uttered, brought, exuded. How easy and quickly the world altered, changed, for while their last conversations had ravaged and mauled over glowing stones, expressed foundations of grandeur and flickered along arrays of peace in a crooning crypt, this molding, this sculpture, seemed only to foster happiness and generosity. She hadn’t come alone or without recognition, a newfound companion, fledging and nurtured by her caregiver, and a title pressed into her efforts. Alysanne had received worthy gifts, bestowed and enriched, proffered and gathered for a deserving individual, and the genuine elation Lena felt for her friend’s successes courted the elongation of her smile, the gentle reel of her lips. Her honeyed gaze flew first to the tiny owl, a snippet of her coiled, mellifluous tunes dabbling and springing through the vestiges. “Hello, little one.” Imogen sought to join in the festivities, chirping towards the little, flying babe, tails wagging and brushing over the long tendrils of newly established grass and sustenance. The sylph had no doubts that Hemlock and his connected would invoke angelic qualities within one another, beneficent and protective, safeguarded and sanctified, hallowed, consecrated, ordained. Only thereafter the healer’s silent, singsong musings did the nymph return to the structure and harmonies of Alysanne’s achievements, piecing and stitching, layering and weaving, the tender commendations and praise the flier merited, warranted. Moon Doctor, D’art’s prior title. This one, dear gentleheart, however, is without poison. “Goodness, how busy you’ve been! Congratulations on all of your efforts.” She paused as the Pegasus asked of her own accomplishments, how to reflect on which had been growths or failings. She’d learned of the Regime, the awful, tormenting blight scarring and scorching her brethren, and likely countless others beyond the walls and fortifications of the wild, untamed earth. She’d gone with Roland, with Illynx, to tell sovereigns of their wayward haze, of their chaotic frays. The only one she mentioned, without the air of enigmas, of villainy hovering in tangled warrens, was their mirrored roles. “It seems we are counterparts! I was recently named Time Mender.” She warmly extended her maw into another grin, incised and invoked by the clarity of their equivalency. “I’m glad you came. Is there anything you’d like to see?”
Hemlock regarded Lena as she greeted him for a long moment before responding with a cheerful hoot - clamouring forward so he was sitting more on the top of his bonded’s head than he was before. More hoots to Imogen, curiosity becoming stronger as he clamoured down and hopped along her back until he was perched within the feathers of her wing, peering down at the fox-like creature below.
This was quite close enough for him for now.
Lena’s congratulations were greeted with a smile, though a smile would be permanent in the company of this dear pair before her now. “Thank you!” Though she still found it a little odd to think that she was in any sort of position of power. How incredible was it that both she and Lena would have found themselves in similar positions? Perhaps she should not be so surprised - the first time they had met had been a meeting for the healers, called together by a mare that Alysanne was certain she would never truly feel equal too. Lena had an extraordinary ability and it was good to know that the herd she considered family could see that. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations to you as well then.” There was every bit of sincerity in her voice as she returned the compliment.
At the question about what Alysanne would like to see, she could not help a light little laugh. “Is seeing everything a good place to start?” A small pause before shaking her head and moving on to a more serious answer (though really, she was incredibly curious about this northern herd land and the undoubted beauties that lay within). “Actually, I was wondering if you knew whether bearberry grows here? Or perhaps the pasque flower?” Although she had once been taught many different herbs that could grow in the cold reaches of the world, without access to a tundra her father had been unable to show her what many of them looked like - and so they were filtered from her mind over the years. If only she had known just how useful that knowledge would have been later on in life! These two species, however, remained in her memory and she was fairly certain she would be able to recognize them if Lena did not recognize the names.
Toasted to measures of the sublime, ambrosial standards enacted and composed, like swift, serene hums and croons of the resonant, the words of Alysanne prospered and bolstered with minstrel chimes: declarations of exploration at hand. They’d roam and discover instead of be entombed in the rubble and glow of a illustrious cavern, bellow and sway in chipper exultations and buoyant regard instead of the haunting plume of bewitching, eldritch sepulchers, caught like thieves in underground waterways. The belle was only too happy to allow the surveying to take place, the wandering, the wayfaring, the Romanic travels with a friend instead of ghostly hymns and gallows creaking, serpent shards slinking, wild, free, peaceful dove ruminations crossing into the divine spirits of their kindred graces. They could rest on their laurels and their blessings, covet and speculate, laugh and delight, weave bliss and arches of lilting song, find freedom in chasing after medicines, herbs, spices meant to heal, meant to soothe, meant to replenish soldiers and maidens marching into battle. She giggled at the Moon Doctor’s proclamation, everything would take quite a while, but it meant no matter to her if that meant a friend stayed with her a little longer, if she was allowed and permitted to mingle, loiter, chip away at a day’s length with a companion and their glorious purpose. Her mind roamed, cherubic and speculating, over the plants murmured, by no means ignorant of the bushes gathered among tundra lines or curling around cavern walls. The bearberry clung to Siberia’s threshold, alpine and nourished by bees, and the pasque flower along droves of violet, sepal fingers clustered in bells. The latter, however, held a distinctly toxic endeavor for most occasions, leaving the nymph to briefly wonder over the root of Alysanne’s search – though in some livelihood, all curatives could be driven into poisonous doldrums. She smiled, and thought no more on the cold speculation of venomous attributes, drifting in harmonious tunes once again. “I know of both! Let’s attend to the bearberry first.” Imogen chirped in response, leading the way along thickets and groves of snow, of waving blades of grass, tails matching the kindled sway of wind and late spring breeze. Marching, waltzing, dancing in the repose, leaves on melodies, springs on rose bulbs, she kindled more mellifluous tones, lapsed into her pursuits and the others’. “I’m searching for cotton and flax. I’m hoping I can appeal to one of our Weavers to fashion myself a bag to carry any herbs.” The pause, the smell of sweet air, the tune of Imogen floated through the branches, the bramble, the titanic Sentinel growing farther and farther away. “What drives you to the bearberry or pasque flower?”
A truly wonderful day was shaping before Alysanne and she was all the happier for having decided to come visit Lena. If the two could have found such pleasant company within one another down in the caves, even in the beauty of the glowing plants, then surely here it would be magnified - set free by the fresh air around them. There were many questions she had about the Basin, Lena being the first that she knew of to call this place home. She recalls the features that had been brought up the last time they spoke - the summits, the lake, the hot springs.
She followed Lena happily as the mare moved, leaving the metal horse behind. As they had passed it, Alysanne quickly realized it was not truly alive as she had originally thought. Such a marvel! She would like to know who had created such a thing so that she might compliment them if she should ever be fortunate enough to meet them.
But attentions were quickly turned elsewhere. Her friend spoke of how there were plants she was looking for as well - cotton and flax - so she might be made a herb bag by the weavers. So they both had something to look out for! “Oh wonderful! I’d be happy to help you find those - a bag would be so handy. Flax should definitely be easy enough to find around these parts.” She wasn’t so sure about cotton though, but maybe they would be lucky if Lena did not already know where there was some. Not knowing that there were in fact distinctions between the crafting powers between the herds, Alysanne simply thought it was funny how there seemed to be preferences depending on where you were. Glass, metal, fabric.
The pair - or group, with the companions with them (Hemlock nestled now in the wings of Alysanne, hooting occasionally and trying to catch Imogen’s attention before hiding again) - moved peacefully forward. The scent of the northern air continued to fill Alysanne’s lungs and she felt as though she were being cleansed. Not that the World’s Edge had particularly dirty air, but there was just something about a cooler climate that felt fresh.
“Bearberry is a funny little plant - you have to be careful to just use the leaves but they can be used as astringent if you soak them in water a little bit and quite helpful for any… urinary problems.” Now, Alysanne has not quite thought of how she will soak the leaves in water to be used, but perhaps one of the crafters back home could help her with that! She would have to talk to Resplendence and see if they could come up with a solution or if it was even a good idea.
“Pasque flower I’ve heard has rather helpful for cataracts and other issues with the eyes.” Maybe she could have tried to think up herbs that were a little… less specific than these two. The population of the Edge were all fairly young and generally in good health - but these were what had come to her mind. And she thought it would be rather handy to have them and see if they could be cultivated in the Edge. Just in case. “I'm sure there's plenty of other helpful herbs just waiting to be found here but I've quite forgotten what most of them are! Sometimes I worry that my dad would be disappointed by how much I've forgotten since our lessons when I was a filly.” But it is said with a smile - the leaf-encrusted stallion would only laugh with that earth-rumbling laugh and remind her gently what she needed to know.
Not a single misgiving floated about her heart, dazed and dazzled into ebullience, beatific and grand. Each step was a sprig of joviality, emboldened and impassioned by the search for information, by the will to usher her friend’s contentment, and the gleeful merriment of having a companion so close by. Like a grandiose dance, she gave, ushered, granted strides laden with warmth, tenderness, generosity, floating upon air in honeysuckle splendor, in hummingbird radiance, in finessed birdsong unwinding around them. Her eyes kept to the whirlwind sights and sounds amongst their repose, their haven, the lavish forest set like a stage, posturing so many acts, so many parts, so many plants, that, had they the necessary intuition, the gallant passion, they’d be able to harness their powers, their delights, their potency and regality. Which proved to be deadly and toxic, tarnished and blotted, and which manifested to be more than just thorns or weeds, nestled into the artful strands of divinity and virtue? While she looked, while she scoured, while she discovered through careful endeavors, she listened to the quiet allure of Alysanne’s voice, the pique and efforts beyond it, the enticement and prowess of vegetation, while seemingly just mere berries or leaves, held far more than just glamour and ornaments, bells and whistles. The nymph smiled, cajoled again, into the whimsical airs of their peaceful search. “Extraordinary – you’ll have to take some home with you.” Imogen chirped and provided a point of her nose towards the correct direction, and sure enough, bearberries remained scattered amongst the lower brush of a nearby fir tree – not yet plucked or eaten by other animals. Thereafter she did a blithe, elated jig, garnered by Hemlock’s attention, poised to be the awe-inspiring kitsune and fox majesty; queen of the flora. Lena’s interest was piqued again, however, by the mention of Alysanne’s father; surely a knowledgeable creature, embarking wisdom and musings upon his daughter – and while she’d never had such a thing, a single snippet in time where family tossed her a lifeline and she could sail through into columns of sagacity, it sounded marvelous and wonderful. A small trinket of hope bloomed in her chest, in aspirations, in ambitions, that perhaps Alysanne could entreat her to such delicacies and song. She tilted her head, and couldn’t mask her curiosity, floating with fanciful delight amongst her sienna gaze. “Your father sounds delightful. What else do you remember?”
As they move deeper into Lena’s homeland, Alysanne found herself too distracted by their surroundings to help look for the plants that they were both searching for. It was all just so beautiful! She imagined that it would be even more so at night, when all the stars and the northern lights came out to dance across the dark sky. With her attention drifting near and far, she almost missed the chirp of Imogen and the point of a nose that highlighted the little bearberry plants. “Thank you, Imogen.” She spoke softly to the little fox before Hemlock leapt from her back and, gracefully as he could, glided to the ground and worked at uprooting one of the small plants, his small talons better at the delicate action than Alysanne would have been.
As he gathered up two of the little plants, with as much of their roots as he could gather, and made his way back to the folds of her wings, Alysanne’s attention remained fixed in closer vicinities with a question from Lena about her father. Her smile softened and she willingly answered it. “He was wonderful, I learned so much from him. Even if I’ve forgotten most of it! He was… well, not quite on par with the Gods of Helovia but he was a spirit of the forest, something of a dryad.” They had called her dryad in Nocturne but she was only half, and here in Helovia that part of her had faded further - the vines that once grew amongst her mane and tail falling out and her natural growing and healing magics dissipated. A small price to pay. She remembered where she had come from - that time she had with her father was priceless and no matter what she looked like or what magic flowed through her veins, nothing could take away those memories from her. Not even misguided friends looking to protect her.
Along with the birth of her son, they were some of the most precious memories to her. Moving on now, bright green eyes flashed about to find one of the other plants on their list as she continued to speak. Hemlock nearly lost his bounty while trying to show off a little for Imogen - hopping around in a little dance and popping out of feathers here and there. “He was my dearest mentor - while my sister was off learning to fly from our mother, he taught me about the earth: the plants and features that compose it, and how everything is connected and lives in harmony... even if it doesn’t always seem harmonious.”
She needed to believe that, needed to think that there was some sort of reason for all the darkness and hatred. A balance.
But there was no darkness and hatred today.
Some periwinkle coloured flowers caught her attention as they walked and she stopped both her movements and her story as confusion descended. “Is that flax? I’ve never seen it in bloom before.”
Amidst their discoveries, their wanderings, their idle, friendly conversations (and Imogen proudly preening at finding the flower, watching Hemlock uproot them with great fascination, a gentle drop to her jaw), Lena listened, procuring the knowledge of Alysanne’s family – and imagining the gentle lull of a father, the generous, warm tones of a sage, a wise, gallant mentor. Even though she’d never managed to procure a sire of such a nature, she delighted in the thought of it; passing the days beneath their guiding maws and warning glances, their cherishing smiles and clambering well wishes, their rigorous strength and potent power. Spirits of the forest, dryads, inhabitants of the copses and glades, sinking and simmering into the twisting leaves, the springing shoots, the shivering, maneuvering saplings; it sounded much like a dream (and she briefly wondered why Alysanne would ever want to leave it). Could he have curled vines, summoned shrubs, elongated wide, sheltering branches, built thicker boughs? Could he have manifested serenity, tranquility, with the whisper of his words, with the elegance of his heart, with the finesse of his sagacity? She reflected as they roamed, as they collected, as they chiseled away in the tundra’s bliss, paused to offer her sincerities, her deep, elongated smile for a cherished bestowal. “What heavenly memories. Thank you for sharing them with me.” And though she had none to offer herself, the flier didn’t ask, didn’t pry, didn’t pull across the veil of all of her secrets, chime and echo, inquire and wring, dip into the darkened bounty of the nymph’s childhood. For all of the Moon Doctor’s sweet, wonderful images, Lena couldn’t bestow a single one, except, perhaps, those few instances of peace, of deep, layered, bracken-like shadows, the forest hiding her from the rest of the world, drowning out the void of a nestled babe. She quieted thereafter, lost in the ambling haze, bright eyes cast into the shade of pine and fir, exploring the whims and fancies of what could have been; speculation for the cast away, consigned.
She was driven to further distraction at the painted figure’s proclamation, and her stare was cast towards the soft, vivid blue hue of the five petaled flowers, delicate, flourished in repose. The sylph outstretched her maw, carefully inspected the tiny bushel of flora, distinguishing its importance, its significance, to her wishes of the day. Her grin returned, brilliant and bright as ever, as though it had never dimmed or faded away, extended towards Alysanne, grateful for her clever eyes. “So it is!” Imogen slipped away from her attentive, querying glances at Hemlock, and proceeded to assist Lena pluck at the stems, gathering and collecting them together in a bundle in her mouth. Though unable to chirp or twitter in the current mode, she managed to swing her five tails in pride, in happiness, in contentment, matching the tune and sway to the successful day. Not forgetting or forgoing their task, the Time Mender conjured another spell of words, tilting her head at the exuberance, the wonder, the might of the hours’ follies and fancies. “Now, for your pasque flower.” She inclined her cranium in the direction they should search, ivory kitsune valorously flocking to her heels, seeking out the curiously shaped purple blooms, the strange, toxic indulgence of poison and remedy.
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