Eventually the days were spun away from dunes, from jungles, from varnished everglades and gentle, rolling pools, and back into the throngs of open meadows, garnished and varnished by the spread of greenery. Soon, even the vibrant stalks would fade, a perennial effect of Orangemoon’s chill and fortitude, but for now, they would relish what the world before them had to offer. They took a piece of the sands and vines with them, savoring what was said, what was proffered, and presumed to do the same amidst the peaceful location, with its flowing rivers, violet outcrops, and diligent oak trees. A whole collection of equines could’ve collected here, those that took the time to spiral away from their home, enjoy a journey’s jaunt into thistles and shallow streams, and others that pledged no loyalty to any singular herd, just to their hearts, just to their minds. In a way, they hoped to capture, entice, and beguile the beasts and seraphs meandering and wandering amidst the shores and brooks, yearning to enthrall them with enchantments and invocations, promises of dazzling lights they’d never be able to forget – a series of beguilements that ensured they’d never yearn to leave, to root themselves into the ice and snow, to become part of the mountains and valleys. For others, it’d be to simply enjoy themselves, to wonder, to ponder, the lengths of the festivities, to awaken enthralled by the legends spilling around them, by the games and diversions, notched and sculpted into amusement. She wanted the world to understand, to realize, that the aurora summits were more than all the myths and stories – and soon, perhaps, some would be willing to comprehend those sentiments.
 
They glided, close to the tallest oak gathered on a rising knoll, staring out over the vast, unwinding domain. Surely they’d be able to reach someone, anyone, here, yearning to listen to the proclamations of thieves and menders, of songbirds and golden flames, eager to extend the hospitality they’d always been privileged to have. She sang again, beautiful and invoking, parting her mouth to serenade the valley, the flowers, the leaves, allowing it to flow in a steady thread of soothing, assuaging tones, wishing for others, those known, those unfamiliar, to listen to their requests, calls, and summons. Once more, they'd give pieces of themselves to the restless souls of beyond.

[Rexanna and Lena are here to invite Outcasts/anyone else wandering around to the upcoming Aurora Basin Festival! If you'd like your character to know of it, please attend. :D We'll spread the word!]

  She hadn’t anticipated the heavy air of silence. They’d been addressed and received quickly elsewhere, but those moments had been within kingdoms and empires, with beasts and soldiers used to patrolling their borders. The Thistle Meadow was wild, open, and free, obtained for anyone and everything, owned by no one and nothing at all, and didn’t adhere to the structure of herds. Perhaps some loitering within weren’t curious about the two femmes notched along the knoll; maybe they had other things to do, heralding names and phrases from another time, another place, or another inhabitant. So she waited, diligent and patient, for something, someone, to join them, to listen to their call, to be encouraged by the ways in which their earth had changed; but naught seemed to settle over the depths. Her eyes would scan the horizon, and Imogen would raise her head, try to find distinct, unfamiliar scents sprinkled throughout the void, and then Lena would merely glance at Rexanna and shrug, uncertain, unsure, if interest could be gained here.
 
A gentle bleating caught her attention, a swiveling of her ears, a casting of her refined head swinging towards the sound; some seconds later, a mare emerged, cast in red and adorned in shells. Her smile immediately drifted back to her features, an amiable, beneficent grin sculpted for deliverance, acceptance, and benedictions, as the stranger roamed closer. Before Lena had a chance to drop her head in greeting, a soft inquiry billowed along their depths, and she gave a merry little laugh. “Perhaps for you!” Then she winked, gentle and forthcoming, a merry wind emblazoned with bird song and aria wiles, delving further into their reasoning with a little less fairy essence (as if she could flutter back into the midnight oils, amused and diverted for a time, for a snippet, before she was whisked back to her garden kingdom) and more of a Mender stature. “We’re from the Aurora Basin,” and here she nodded towards the mountains in the far-off distance, where they’d undoubtedly be laden with snow and ice soon. “I’m Lena.” Then she looked to Rexanna, the smile still arched and pleasant, before glimmering back to the ruby-laden fay. “We’ve come to invite everyone to our upcoming festival.”

  Her heart swelled again, tender and buoyant, praying for salvation and interest in the coming tides. She wanted them to succeed, to triumph, in the honored glory of repose and peace, beneath the twinkling stars and the dashing comets, the beautiful, brilliant array of light against darkness; the vivid blues, the florid greens, the sweeping golds and silvers. They waited again, bright and looming in the forthcoming meadows, dazzled by thistle, arrayed and arranged by mountainous determination, the kind that glistened in the afternoon sun, the kind that poured from those residing amidst ice and fortitude. As they finished with one, another followed, and her eyes cast on the honeyed outset of wings and youth, a smile flickering back to her lips as the girl trilled. She did back, a Songbird’s embrace of sonnets and wonder, proffering a gentle chirp of glee and delight, Imogen responding in kind (a chirrup, glistening and fond). “Hello!” Then she bowed her head, respectful, polite to those she knew and those she didn’t, marveling at the different beasts finding their way throughout Helovia – kingdoms of open, verdant greenery. She briefly pondered over the wiles of the filly, where she’d come from, what she’d be, who she was, but the particulars remained out of the way for now – the intention behind their visit along grass and blades was evident and tidy, timely and cordial.  “Our herd, the Aurora Basin, will be hosting a festival soon. Would you like to join?” Lena’s grin, insatiable and beatific, wound further into her lips, threaded through a divine covenant and glimmering fascination, otherworldly despite her plain hues and amiable qualities, grown in too many thickets and groves, too much fairy, too much fey. “We’ll be having a variety of events, like storytelling, games, fireworks, and fortune reading.” Her hope dashed and floated, pervaded the loam, heart sewn directly on her chest. With each stranger arriving at their call, there was a chance they’d prosper after all. The depth of her gaze swiveled towards the distant peaks, and her head accompanied the motion with a nod, indicating the way towards their glacial kingdom.