Had Lena’s mouth not been occupied with the seaweed, it likely would’ve dropped open at the wonder and awe surrounding her. She’d always been close to the land, to the earth, to leaves and groves, to fairy elements swarming in effervescence and grace; her eyes had never graced the depths far below, down into fathoms, down into crags and rocks, into bright, colorful reefs and beholden to sprites of fish. Imogen kept asking through their connection (What see, what see?) and the Songbird could only supply the beautiful images before her – splashes of hues streaking by, coral clambering towards the surface or sticking out amongst more rubble. She didn’t notice the cold – she’d lived within the Aurora Basin for far too long to even mind the chilling notes – and her thoughts were wholly riveted, occupied, by the splendor unfolding before her. The femme followed the outlines left by others, hooves digging into sand and surf, staring at dolphins and otters, gilded sparks, luminescent creatures she couldn’t even begin to name – everything was spellbinding, wonderful, and illuminating. The Mender began to relax, to swim amidst the glow, dazzled, ignited, incensed by the wonders of the deep. She listened to the chimes and echoes of Kisamoa, still not understanding the means and measures of their sojourn, but attempting to abide by it all the same. His request echoed through her ears, and though they were spun into silence, though they were meant to remain hushed, all she yearned to do was sing, to trill, to chime and echo along the walls of water and sea with harmony and melody. Her word was automatic, sublime, and simple, because it resonated with every broken little barb left in her soul, and every timeless act of beneficence christened, anointed, and granted by her altruistic essence. Sanctuary, she whispered through her mind, strong and enduring, formidable and eternal, lines sketched over mountains and ice, glaciers and summits, the glistening walls of enduring caverns and the stretch of an expanding, resolute valley. Did they have a haven down in the reaches of darkness and light? Did they have something to protect and safeguard its beatific hold? Did they consider it precious – become beholden, grateful, for its constancy? She hoped, across her heart, through her muscles, along her soul, that they had cherished, treasured things here too – uniting the earth and the sea with its principles and designs.

[Lena thinks 'Sanctuary'. :D]

Fault lines tremble underneath my glass house
But I put it out of my mind long enough to call it courage
To live without a lifeline