She listened to the shore and the beat of the waves against its placid shoal, she stared across the endless bounty of blue, and she marched amongst the dampened sectors, searching, scouring, waiting for the moment when she’d be set aflame. A strangely passive muse, sunken into the rituals of augured moments and presaged lights, a flickering glow, a waning glimpse of her acceptance into more further hardships: she’d taken it readily, a seed planted, a blossom awakening, and the nymph would soon be tangled in its fiery path, in its seething, searing petals, in its illustrious, hazardous wake. The fragile vestiges wore off across the shore, and for brief instances she was a waltzing paradigm with endless enigmas in sight: virtuous and kind, compassionate and beneficent, hastened into vigilance, into violence, threading her needle into the callous abyss. A steady drum, a steadfast heart, a tranquil entity floating along dunes and across brine, tossed into the inevitable, frayed, shorn, mauled beyond honeyed recognition; aligned back into the malicious fold. Fate toiled and tangled with determination, with audacity, with boldness and tenacity, until she wasn’t sure which one she mired and tethered herself to: feeding the flames, kindling the fire. Once or twice the sylph beckoned a hum through her throat, listened to the singsong melody billow and pervade the surroundings, a siren, a beacon, to embers and coals, then permitted it to fade into the void, into the silence, quiet, foreboding. Drawn deep into herself, Lena’s movements and motions were only dictated into the realm when Roland broke the stillness, turning and twisting her head to capture the beautiful hue of his eyes and the laced concern brimming amongst the ocean’s current. The Mender looked away, back across the rippling surf, wishing for salvation and choking back her fears, returned to gazing with rapt fondness, with earnest graciousness, upon the gilded Thief. Therein, she forced the bright beam of a smile, the curled depths of her cheeks, a swell of optimism not quite reaching the inner contortions of her eyes. “Everything will be fine.” The notion registered into the unknown, coiled and wound into taut bits of ignorance and incomprehension, but she heeded it for his sake, nurtured the sentiment, tossed it into the air in hopes it’d stick – for wouldn’t everything turn out well in the end? Past the toils of agony, past the tribulations of terror and horror, wouldn’t she be christened with ways to protect, ways to safeguard?

Imogen chirped, a high-pitched wail flooding through her mind, a system of alarms blinking and registering – her attention was stolen away from Roland’s stare and upon the other creature landing nearby – and all at once her body froze into a rigid, inflexible frame. Apprehension slithered down her spine, anxiety pummeled through her chest, and her heart beat in rapid convolutions: the stranger approached, massive, antlered, winged, smelling of sand and cliffs (the Throat?), overwhelming, overbearing, hinting at derision and disdain with flattened ears, with a proclamation of their species. She, perhaps more on instinctual bravery than actual thought, raised her crown, her stare, to glance on the mighty, dominating steed, posturing affability despite Imogen’s warnings flailing through her head. “Hello. I’m Lena. Who are you?” Delving into the protective manner she’d forged and sewn throughout the measure of her existence, she moved to stand in front of Roland, deliberate preservation and refuge as she considered the other figure. Her gentle, well-meaning gaze, for she had no intentions on provocations, landed upon the ivory serpent woven through his antlers, and grinned at its appearance: for snakes meant wisdom, meant cunning, symbolized intricate designs and machinations. Was this stallion a great calculator, some wise, all-knowing Machiavellian? She didn’t press any further, merely smiled and commented upon his chosen beast. “Your companion is beautiful.”

[@[Gaucho] @[Roland]
- For Sun God quest. ^_^]