They followed their clockwork pattern, whittling away the hours in pulsing crescendos and luminescent threads’ one minuet, spiraling along the waterways and riverbeds, coasting amidst the grasslands, a song, a sparkle, a lilt on the horizon. Each breath was a cloud of awareness brimming over her sentiments (because she knew where they were going, where each step hastened them, closer and closer), and she didn’t want the overwhelming munitions of dread, of apprehension, to clutter over her vibrant mind. The days spent within the threshold of the Falls had been consumed in anger, in hostility, in absolute, cold bitterness, and she was in no rush to revisit those treacherous moments beneath Ink’s sable stare (yet, if she listened close enough, the nymph was certain she could hear the rush of war from beyond the jungle thickets and massive canopies, where blood spread and howls echoed, where the reverberations of her aching companions could’ve been heard, even in the triumphant course of victory). So she said nothing as they drew closer, didn’t proffer the story, the tale, of how she’d been here once upon a time, stolen and absconded, foolish and inept, waiting for a chance, an opportunity, to come towards liberation. Instead, her eyes floated to Imogen, nodding briefly, bestowing the vision of a staunch, stalwart Mender and her proud, pale vixen (who still held their latest bundle of herbs, tucked and wrapped tightly in her maw), before proceeding alongside Rexanna.
 
Then she glanced to the treetops, the hidden wonders floating within lagoons and streams, amidst tapestries of verdant greenery, pondering over the walls she never saw, the enigmas she never traced, yielding only a fair smile towards their Thief. This would be the same as their latest venture (or perhaps not – the world proved to be bewildering, strange, and compulsive all at once), with invitations extended, with celebrations of constellations and auroras to be shared. “Yes,” she answered on a strong note, layered with valor, with power, with strength, even if her mind whirled in too many directions. She cast more ditties, more strains, more beautiful, elegant melodies beside Rexanna’s trumpeting call, and waited for the salutations.