Her thoughts were an echo, a swirling, mighty crescendo of past events, of flaws, of triumphs, of glories pervading right through her very sights. The first sentiments were simple reverberations of a fairy’s whimsical delights, the shimmer, the sheen, of a red flower glowing right before her eyes, how she’d reached for it with just the slightest enticement, tempted, bewitched, spellbound by the unsaid intricacies, by the traces of the unknown. She’s not even going to ask what it’s for! The fey had cried out, and the Songbird admitted her foolishness, her impulsive inclinations to believe, to hold faith, to pay credence towards reverence and all of its wild plumes – but then she’d told her anyway. A passage to the gods, an invitation to the veins, to stand amidst their powerful, potent wares and walls, to listen to what they had to say, to inquire as to what she should be doing in life. She’d committed the act before, stood before the Sun God and wished, begged, and pleaded for a way to be blessed, and he’d thought her mad, thought her brave, thought her utterly bizarre, to allow pain and torture to skim over her flesh, to ignite along her skin. She’d regretted it once or twice, when the fires threatened to take more than just herself, but ascertained it’d been worth it in the end. Her pain and anguish might be enough to shields others from the same torment.
 
Presently, however, her notions were derailed, curling, coiling in too many perplexities. To which God was she supposed to converse with? What about? There were many variations and possibilities: she could always call the Sun God again, become enamored with the reign of his light once more. She could drown her sorrows in the Earth God’s renowned gentleness. She could drop her head to the Moon Goddess’s power, the foggy memories of days spent along cliff sides and mist, before she’d become a refugee of the ice and snow. Then there was their own patron deity, who sparked and roared and rumbled, with thunder, with ferocity, with so much dominion and power, the same healing incantations stored within her frame, given without hesitation. Perhaps she owed it to him – to be more than just a vessel with songs, dances, and smiles, to be more than a maneuvering contortion of fire, perseverance, and drive.
 
Or to simply be more - because she’d failed again, brandished her entity, her soul, her heart, her lungs, her potency, and it hadn’t been enough for the woman crushed by Kaos.
 
Her musings had brought her along the borders, where the mountainous pathways opened up to the heavens, to the world, eyes flickering over the midst and mist of silence. Imogen paraded alongside her, gaze varnished in kitsune intrigue, listening to the Songbird’s contemplations with soft chirps or dulcet murmurs, pondering no other answer but the one the nymph would have to reach on her own. The Mender bent her head to the Sentinels, to their guardianship, to the slanting sway of their rusting forms, wishing there was something she could do for them too. Her enchantments held no power over their tangible wake, however, only the ideals of the living – and so she sighed, patted the beast on the left gently, maw barely brushing over the cold surface, when her stare pinpointed on a fallen piece of metal lying in the melting snow. It was circular, rounded, a little jagged from where it had broken off from its brethren, and a decent size. Imogen sniffed at it, and chirruped, eager, bright, laughing.
 
This is it! The ivory fox danced, murmured, cunning eyes widening with indelicate fervency. This is what you need!
 
For what? The sylph responded, with naught but a sly edge from the kitsune. Uncertain, afraid she was committing some grave act of treason, Lena lowered her mouth towards the chilled, fractured portion of the titan, saddened by yet one more loss – but inclined her head towards them too, asking them for permission. “May I?” She knew she’d receive no answer but the steady stream of silence, the watchful, empty eyes never truly glancing her way, always towards the outside world, where danger lurked, where trouble brewed. “It will be another form of protection,” she promised, nodded, trying to reassure them or herself; a song meant to bolster confidence in the recycling and renewal of illustrious beasts, because the notion was as sudden as an onslaught, flickering over her speculations, an image, resplendent and undaunted: a shield.

 [Continuation from this thread. Lena is just gathering materials for her future collapsible shield. I've received permission from Reli to use a broken piece of metal from the sentinels. Anyone is welcome.]