Lena hid her disappointment behind an otherworldly smile, a soft beam still maintained amongst the dusk and runes of regret and dismay. She couldn’t fault a creature that was not ready for herd life, she couldn’t sanction or condemn a soul that knew of their prospects, chose a path better suited to their future. Within the world of brethren, kin and companions, she’d found substance, purpose, motivations and aspirations, drenched her rancorous sights in vivid color, carved her desolation and despair into benediction and hope. She’d discarded the forlorn entities of her heathen scars, enriched the portal of her homeland with the foundation of her strength, of her will, of her might and endurance, the resilience sculpted along her veins, her pulse, her lungs, sent them reeling to captivate more into a kingdom that could nurture, guide and provide. Perhaps this was not what the stag needed, and she could live with this ideal, could grin and bear the notion that she would return empty-handed and the gilded brujo would wander upon his own token trail, gliding amongst the fine stars, shields and stars destiny proffered to him. She would not be bitter, would not fret, would not clamber and echo her dismay, only quietly encourage him to find what he ailed for, yearned for, longed to do in his Romani bliss, in his gypsy travailings. She regaled him faintly, the silken whispers of a gentle, compassionate soul, remaining steadfast, staunch, valiant in the flesh and wounds of another complication that would have, in some other time, left her sundered and wounded. “All is well, Roland. May you find a world along your journey.”

But he surprised her, pondering, querying, over the stature of her home. Her brow raised elegantly, then became airy, pixie, fairy all over again. To wax poetical upon her sovereignty would be giving her permission to warble to her heart’s content, sing and trill upon grand graces, amazing fineries, springing opulence and chilling decadence, all the flaws, all the virtues, of a world still so vastly unknown. It was not the Edge, with its high cliffs overlooking the crashing, rolling ocean, and it was not the warm sands of beaches she’d crossed, but it was beauty, alluring and dangerous, rapture, a dream conspired from defeat, and it reveries, chasing noble traces of a victorious haze. Her eyes drifted, downcast towards the trickling pool of water, with all its earnest sentiments, lovely reminders of tender springs and mysterious, enigmatic caverns, colors that glistened from the sky and ebullience that sprung from paradise. So, with all her mellifluous threads, she poured the heartfelt chords of her indulgence, stare scattered to the golden tresses of his form. “We are surrounded by mountains, frost and valleys. It is a sanctuary of ice and bliss, wonderful, majestic, and perilous.” She paused, tilting her head as the winds lingered along her fey essence, extended another enticement to a stranger that lulled, listless, in the realm of uncertainty. “You are welcome to visit, if you wish.” Another smile, another hum, another hymn, before silence overcame the threshold once more, scattering ruminations, settling unspoken quandaries.