She breathed in dulcet waves, unsung claims of her exuberance bottled and stored away for another exposition or composition of the wavering tides and melodious croons, listening to the murmurs and observations of the incoming stag. Oddly, she remained entirely unsure of how to act in front of Caneo, how to welcome, how to embody her generosity, her benevolence, without him flicking it away in low tones or wary whispers; cast aside for hesitation and ambivalence. She pondered over the rites and ruins, if all of her smiles, all of her grins, were for naught – it wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, time they’d been thrown away for smirks, defiance, or veiled calculations. The world could always sing in cruel clamors or violent throngs, and she’d eternally attempt to pluck the moral strings and strands, in hopes they’d play over the devilish chords. Even in the height of variability and caprice, however, she guarded her uncertainty, lined her features with the sweet essence of blooms and blossoms, presented and aligned her warm eyes to the pale lad with the moonlit opulence and the wayfaring musings. If the Mender was anything at all, it was determined, a persevering whirlwind of resolution and tenacity, structured and molded into the art of spirit and courage, heart lines and bravery notched into the pinnacle of her essence. The nymph battled daunting warriors and valleys of mist taken from them, she’d faced down monsters digging their claws into their frozen tundra, and she’d awakened demons from their heretic slumber; she could continue conversing with one lad who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else than here. What was discomforting? What was unsettling, inconvenient? What could be changed to suit the beast, with his weary eyes and bothered brow? Was it her, kindness, beneficence, and virtuous, or Imogen, strange, new, foreign, and therefore, untrustworthy? Was it so daunting to be faced with charity and generosity, or was he used to the wicked wiles and brutal banter of another world?

For a few moments, as his gaze rounded back upon the ivory kitsune with her dancing and playing, she thought perhaps they’d be dismissed, asked to leave and travel elsewhere, embark another journey, another nocturnal stroll, abandoned, discarded, a leaf in the wind, far from the beast’s discomfort. But thereafter, it seemed Caneo’s curiosity propelled him into more voiced thoughts, granting queries she’d only be happy to answer. A brief flutter of relief rippled through her chest, and her persistence renewed, revived, conjured the divine attributes of her friend swaying from paw to paw, claw to claw, at Roland’s swerving hooves. So many things to say, so many things to tell, and all of them stilled within her throat, quiet, languid, willowy. The Thief spoke of naught to fear from Imogen, and Lena was inclined to agree – for she’d never been afraid of the creature in her life – but others, perhaps, who’d seen the fury, the ferocity, the fire dwelling through the domination, the supremacy, of the fox’s uncanny ability of embers, of blazes, of righteous, unholy rage, could say differently. She thought of the way the kitsune had protected her while she sang desperate coils of words and phrases to Kahlua’s monstrous form, she remembered the inferno engulfing ravenous raptors as they laid siege to demons and infidels. But the sylph didn’t tell Caneo any of this, kept it nestled within her chest as another brilliant, bright secret, safely guarded and intact, a reminder that for all the love they both gave, there were always moments of barbarity when thorns struck and stuck. Instead, she granted replies soaked in warmth, guidance, benevolent coils and shades of her most prized friend. “We’re bound together. I was led to her by another vixen.” Ghostly, unearthly, ethereal, springing from the air and leading her down bulrushes and primrose paths – the memory failed to fade. Her smile softened, her gaze traveled back and forth, from white stag to white vixen, recalling the vivid images of youth and jubilee. “She talks to me through our connection, and attempted to converse with you amongst chirps.” The healer winked, and Imogen enlightened another hearty greeting of mirth and joviality towards the newcomer, but didn’t stray from Roland’s feet. A moment later the gilded Thief was queried, and their gazes were laid upon the aforementioned: curious in their own right.