Illusions, despondencies, and chimeras of the unknown: Lena was remorseful for her lack of perception about dear painted Frost Fyre, with her breathtaking stars aligned and floating galaxies, handcrafted orbits and incandescent shades (questions within themselves, inquisition bound but silenced through her curious gaze). Never truly exchanging more than a few words, the sylph didn’t know the spotted maiden well, crossing paths once or twice through the plains of ice and rime, of valleys and summits, remained unsure and ignorant of her stories, of her tales, of her mythos and paradigms. She was unaware of what made her tangled, scalded, brooding in a fleeting warren, a molten labyrinth of the unknown, sinking and flailing from her homeland (and some deeper part of her nurtured and kindled some imaginative stories; perhaps a whirlwind adventure with beaus and ladies, scaling great heights in search of crusades and trials of juvenile twists and turns, returned with renewed perseverance and new outlooks), but also couldn’t fathom a notion to refuse the maiden. She was clad in Basin ruminations, lined and born into the midst and mist of its grand empire, eager and ready to return to the intrepid peaks, the scorn of her lost folly, the bewitching conviction of chilling elation. The warm breadth of her smile, the keen trumpet of her companion (to which Imogen nearly squealed in delight; amused by the loud rapture of the deer-like creature), was all Lena required for admittance. She carried no doubt, no hesitation, and considered the Lord and Lady would feel the same, eagerly extending another invitation to live and serenade amongst their wintry world once again. Faith, trust, and confidence, enlightened and emboldened, scintillated past her lips and swindled the horizon, warm, bright, hazy and tender. “The Basin would love to have you again.” The brilliant smile remained while her eyes ghosted and coasted along the framework of the great land, rising over the tops of the summits, of the icicle thrones and dazzling caverns, stones and glaciers combined into magnificence and time’s illustrious hold; she’d never leave this – but there were always others who benefitted from sojourns and richer tomes of sagacity, sparkling wisdom beyond the world they’d always known. She considered for a moment, over what the youth would be again, before asking her in turn. “What expertise did you wish to follow?” Another statement followed thereafter, lapsing into a hidden, subtle query the belle could either answer or decline, prick or follow, no judgments warranted or extended; mere, simple passions of a harmonic sylph glad another had been beckoned home. “I hope your excursion went well.”