She came on the trills of the early morning, when the frost leapt to her throat and curled against her chest, when the wind swirled along her wild tendrils and made her relentless, when the mountains howled in vast emptiness. She thrived on the peaks and valleys of a gilded age, with a lustrous song quivering past her lips and a determined vow on her tongue, springing from one sonnet to the next, lingering within time and space for only brief, cordial snippets, before sliding to one more desolate thicket. The maiden reached into the elements and traced their gifts with infinite dreams and barbed reality, calling to them in thriving hallelujahs, painting them in bright, laminating fixtures and racing to the edges; granting peace and serenity as the world returned to cold repose. Were she capable of taking flight, she would’ve soared past the empty canopies and the burdened fir, layered and lacquered with snow, obliging liberation and deliverance through the warbling dance and waltz of her melodies. Instead, she lingered and sketched over the granules of earth, a piece of its fixture, like a sienna sparrow, like a honeyed nightingale, caught in the tethers of yesteryear’s ferocity, promising virtue when others couldn’t find its appeal. She stayed in the midst of Frostfall’s glory for a stead, reaching past paths laden with stones and rubble, singing because she could, because she wanted to, because boldness savored and polished her bones, because her heart stirred, because restlessness tied its strings to her knots and cast her out into the wide world again. Then Lena chased, and Imogen pursued, and the whole realm seemed bright, seemed brilliant, seemed capable of a great, many things if they put their souls into dreams again, if they fought for sanctity instead of watching it wither and die, if they forged their names into tranquility and might.
 
They entered the locked ward of the Threshold as they’d done so many times before, with extended limbs and whimsical smiles, mellifluous tunes enamoring, enticing, finding, searching for those who’d wandered. They bounded as flames, as brambles, as thorns, as fairies – regarded for their passion, for their regality, for the strength and guidance nestled in their imaginary wings. Only when the ivory kitsune lifted her nose to the air, sifting through the unfamiliar scents, and followed an unknown trail, did the Songbird track too, laughing, silly and merry, buoyed and ebullient on the tides of what could be – unaware of mirrors and reflections, of times long since past, of seasons recycled, of renewal and benedictions paying fees for their reverie. Imogen ceased movement, and Lena saw the stranger then, marked in a dark sable cloak, in golden spires, drenched in bold hues against the stark white, against the arts and tapestries of desolation. “Hello!” She called out, too far away to do anything else but offer her greetings, stepping lightly over brush and twigs, picking her away closer and closer, not despairing at Imogen’s silence, at the uncanny tilt of her head, at the beckoning, suspicious gaze of a fox and her wiles. Her eyes remained locked on the ground, attention too diverted by the terrain to pay the stag much heed – she only noted his bulk, his mass, his stature when she drew several feet away. He could’ve been intimidating, menacing, and formidable through sheer existence, but Lena’s careful study, quick perusal, granted her a chance to bestow her guidance and support as he reached out for snow. “I’m Lena! Would you like me to show you where there’s some-" She paused, gasped, stare finally locking onto his gaze – and the color carved its way down into her memories, stoked and incensed, fired and flamed, because she knew those eyes, their depths, their benevolence, and then, their bewitching, haunting silence (it couldn’t be, she said to herself, despite the bitterest of hopes clawing their way through her chest). Something in her heart quivered, and the femme, who had always tried to carry on despite pain, despite torment, despite the leagues of trials and tribulations she’d faced, felt her vocals quake again. “-water?”