There is love in your body but you can't hold it in,
It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin,
Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks,
And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

The evening had brought many interesting cavalcades, from fellow aspiring rank-holders speaking, voicing, ensnaring their desired positions, to the brimming, frothing, foaming interludes of Korra and another femme Lena was unfamiliar with. All the while, she took in the sights and sounds of the meeting, of the mysterious auras intermingling, strength layered and lacquered upon strength, heart and devotion wound into the taut strings of desire, yearning, pride, and honor. She’d been silenced by the tumultuous, clamoring waves of voices yet unheard from her ears, of the endless sea of members arriving, cherishing, brandishing arduous swords and shields. She’d listened, witnessed, and ultimately proclaimed her own sentiments, a rank that could possibly earn her merit, could ensure she was committing nurturing methods for her herd. Lena had not been the only to acquire such a bearing, this noble, dignified, diplomatic surge of Emissary, though she was once again unacquainted with the golden individual (how many went unrecognized - a shameful attribute that rang in her ears, resolution proffered in another hour and day). Then Aurelius too, ram horns, charisma and appeal, brushed upon the earth and volunteered his able presence to their political league. A warm smile enraptured her lips, gracing the soft sentiments of her seraphic indulgences, extending to each individual gathered, King and loyal subjects, a nudge sent to both Aurelius and sovereign, a friendly wink inclined to the other.

She only furrowed her brow, momentarily, as Mauja’s words cut across the air. The other herds are suspicious of us… - did these ominous beliefs stem from certain actions by their members? Were these deeds and endeavors the cause of his daughter’s abduction? What were these exploits to spurn another cadre’s concern of their own? She mused and puzzled these quandaries, ultimately wondering over the enigmatic behaviors and conducts of her fellow herd members, how they’d garnered these pressing notions of anxiety and misgivings. Had Mauja already reflected upon it, fully aware of nefarious exploits, but not telling or scorning others? Despite her imminent queries, she voiced none (would the answers come later, surfaced and streamlines, or forever waste in the abyss of arcane design?). Instead, ever composed, ever sanguine, ever ardent, her fervent vocals gave rise to the silken elegance of a tranquil consul. ”What shall we do first?”