The nymph peered into the depths of the lake, admired its brilliance, its steadfast valor in the arts and covenants of darkness, relished its beauty, and revered its staunch, stalwart bravado in the face of frozen peaks and valleys. To share shelter amongst its sanctuary was another blessing she’d yet to become thankful for, and so accomplished this in silent rapture, closing her eyes amongst the webbing, the tangle, of its rippling rivulets and currents. The arctic wind ruffled her tresses, combed through her mane, tangling it into the enigmatic twists and turns of the Basin, plaiting the roughened barbs and thorns into further wonder, further intrigue, further mystique. A content sigh passed through her lungs and hung in a tender vapor amongst the chilling air, because this was peace, this was tranquility, this was serenity, companions, new and old, joined and endeavored towards the warmth, the solidarity, of their kingdom. The ivory kitsune batted at the water, foolish and carefree, adrift too in the majesty, the splendor, the resplendence of reticent, intrepid, undaunted sovereignty. Lena opened her cordial, honeyed gaze to cheerfully glance at the youthful Tiamat, whispering her secrets and furtive, sweet nothings to the breeze, to the shoal, to the reservoir bound in her heart. She refused to listen to the muttered words, allowed the girl to encase those newfound promises into the kingdom without the notion of prying, of eavesdropping, of scattering ancient runes to discovery and exploration. Only when addressed did she utter phrases and sonnets, curling the repose into song and spirit, languishing the earth with its perilous elegance, its luminous power. “Yes, it is.”

She listened to their brief conversation, however, when it changed to interests and studies. Lena had found hers in swift, quick alterations, had fathomed and recognized her calling from Emissary, and when diplomacy faded from their pursuits, to mending. Only when pushed, only when bound, only when shoved into battle could she become a warrior, and she lacked the ambitious qualms, the satisfactory mind to enact weaving tendencies. There was only assuaging, only healing, only soothing armaments for her now, carried by waves of song, satin and lyrics, stanzas carefully woven through hums, warbles, trills and ditties, concocted to an aria that lavished the grandeur of her aspirations, goals and dreams. The child wanted this too – the ability to help others, to cure, to repair and restore, stitch and patch until renewal was glorified, breathless and forgotten, donned and dawned for a new day, a new venture. The sylph smiled again at the cerulean youngster, played the harmonious harpsichord fastened to her vocals. “You may always seek us for guidance.” And when the Time Doctor hastened a sturdy retreat, she almost thought to laugh, truthfully, he had stayed a great while in their company, had been inviting, welcoming, and every bit as genial, obliging, and gracious. Perhaps they’d conjured and held too much of his passing hours, and likely he had more pressing things to conquer and consume. The sienna Nurse offered him a friendly bow, and Imogen chirped in turn to the Hellhound, a fond farewell in the midst of comrades. “If you must go, we won’t keep you. Thank you for accompanying us.”