Lena recognized his dance: apprehension, consternation, the shifting, the fleeting, the bounding for another world, another time, another place. The familiar pattern fell like stars, rippled through the darkness, fettered and shook into the brambles of vulnerability. With no wish to be his thorn, his nettle, his serpent, the nymph remained perfectly, stoically still, a stone in the sinking, midnight oils, hastening naught until he’d found peace (and if he could reach for it, discover it amongst the armaments, she’d love if he could share its hiding place). While he reigned in confusion, she composed serenity, layered amiability across her features, tried to echo refinement and sanctuary in the desolate, contorted corners of the shadowed world, a beacon on the rocks, a light in the storm. The earth was a wild, untamed land, grasping and clenching and posturing, never having its fill, always seeking more and more, and she had no ability to discern where he’d come from, what he’d seen, if he resented or if he guarded. The unknown could be a terrifying place, too wide, too vast, too consuming, threatening to devour, overwhelm, douse, but the lithe creature, with her opulent grandeur, with her beatific grace, didn’t want to channel anything but whimsical fortitude, anything but warm, compassionate alms. Her smile radiated, a blooming, unrelenting vow against treachery, against savagery – harpsichords bounding over calamity, melodies flushing away the echoes of acrimony. The sylph’s heart would be one of the many seeking laughter, instead of triumph, or merriment, instead of conquest. She waited, patient and resolved, a tenacious, lustrous, idealistic canvas painted across ruses, schemes, and stratagems, tilting her head the slightest fraction to read him in the darkness, in the flickering of repose. After he managed a few steps forward, suddenly unrestrained, expression morphing, altering, she drew a few, fine breaths of air from her lungs, watched the ample puffs scatter in the growing chill. To her surprise, the stag inclined his body close to hers, his features tracing over hers in a simple, greeting caress – eyes widened for the most minute of moments, then she returned the favor, presuming it was a custom of his country, a world she was unfamiliar with. Her cheek brushed lightly against his darker, sable one, and she attempted to press an assortment of sentiments through the touch: strength, endurance, fortitude for the augured future, courage and bravery for the incoming instances.

Then, the Songbird retreated, fanning the flame of her grin again, listening to the short, hushed decibels of his answer, Ashamin, billowing across her ear in blinding syllables. But he stiffened again, and her eyes fixated upon his newest tribulation, catching the impish delight in Imogen’s gaze. Perhaps he came from an empire with no companions, no bonded beings, no beloveds sworn and tied to more than just the heart (the soul), had never felt, had never seen, the strange and wonderful creatures allied to so many. She bent low, stroking her maw over the delicate, porcelain hairs of the kitsune, listened to her vibrant, welcoming, amiable chirp ascending towards Ashamin – pondered over how many times the bright, vivid being had saved her life, had coaxed her away from the dimmest of moments, and drove her towards strength again and again. Where would she be without her? The fairy lifted her head, aiming to complete introductions with singsong motions, with fey ambience, with whimsical ministrations. “A pleasure, Ashamin. This is Imogen, a kitsune. She is my companion.” In response, the anointed, consecrated, little beast bowed and chirruped, flicking her numerous tails back and forth. Lena’s smile brightened, enlightened, and the depths of his gaze told her he wanted to know more, but didn’t proffer the notion by voice, by song, by bellows. Where to start and where to begin; she could wax poetical on many foundations of this grand realm, from the sights to the sounds, to the plots manifesting in cruel, savage minds, from the wishes resting in dreamers and paragons. But she was eager, ready, fervent, willing to capture any essence of note, any wild topic, and proffer it at his feet. The Time Mender began with the harmonious whims of confidantes and comrades, and would allow him to steer the subjects, the themes, the rhymes and reasons that mattered to him the most. “They come in many different forms, bond and protect, remain by one’s side in constant harmony. I’m sure you’ll see all sorts of unique beings accompanying others on your journey.” She paused, sketching out the remnants and ruins of the chilling vapors, of the fastening night, then refined her stare deep into his, and persevered. “This land is immense, but I can try to impart pieces of it – what do you wish to know?”