He distracted her from the rust, the onyx abyss, the sinuous glide of bravery and spirit with the conjuring of foolishness. Were she allowed to gaze out over the endless labyrinth, she would have remained coiled, relentless, strong and determined, instead of returning to the ambient, glowing qualities she’d mustered and blossomed over passing tides. For slender snippets of time, she relaxed, loosened the hold over her muscles, proffered whimsy and fancy to the strangled minuets of sable and gloom. Her motions were dance steps and her elegance was composed by fey whispers, collected and joined together in the oeuvre, the masterpiece, of merriment – gambling with the distorted runes, the flailing paradoxes, the nettled barbs and strings of never-ending dusk. His words echoed across her ears, varnished with amusement, contorting and cavorting without hesitation, and in awe, shock and surprise, her head swung back to meet his suggestive brows, his mocking, narrowed stare. Had she been a coquette, exotic and wild, she may have pranced and smirked, simpered and coyly embarked along pathways with pride and fixation, a swaying, sultry, serpentine bolero. Had she been a shy damsel, she may have blushed and sunk into the floor, embarrassed and dismayed by the scandalous, wagging portions of his tongue, innocence misconstrued and pilfered, a solo wail, a saddening lament. But since she was none of these things, no seductress, no ingénue, only fairy, nymph and sylph, her jaw dropped, her temple aligned to match his wily, artful machinations, and laughter rang from the mellifluous cadence of her throat. “You’re quite mistaken, sir.” Lena curled her muzzle upwards once, signifying his rash decibels, before proceeding in another mischievous bout of giggles. Her sovereign was a steady, loyal friend, one of the many souls she’d fight, sacrifice and die for, heed the call of command and stroke the idle villainy of battle (she’d already committed such actions before and she’d do it again despite the savagery, despite the commotion, chaos and unraveling pinnacles).

Lena proceeded no further in their teasing intrigues and the world quieted beyond their voices, beyond their thoughts, beyond their movements across ice and twilight, slid into repose. Her noble cranium shifted back, ghosted along the shadows with the rest of her frame, Imogen a snippet of ivory beside her, shifting sometimes to ease between them, delighted in the twirls and pirouettes of snow rustled by their footsteps. Only when his vocals started again, rekindled by his vacant thoughts, did the femme cease all motion, twisting her gaze to settle along his taut frame, perhaps captured by great, cumbersome means, grand burdens unseen, incorporeal, discarnate and spectral. Her head tilted, curiosity ignited but not compelled across hushed lips, silent and stoic, composed and noble, while he ushered confessions. Perhaps she’d known all along that he was not Blue Duck, but their Threshold journey had been marked and mottled by secrets, unexposed mysteries that captivated minds, that threatened to unravel, tiny pieces assembled together in quick fashion, to disguise, to camouflage reality buried beneath the surface. Just as he’d hidden his wares, she’d covered hers, and there was no guessing as to who’d become the master of concealments, tucked away under cloaks, daggers, mantles and shields. But she would never be the one to reveal, to guess at masked faces and peel away the masquerade, she would never ask him the queries that sparked across her mind, and she would never travel across the earth to untangle the knots he’d snared around his strong form. The sprite simply listened, absorbed his divulgence, and stored it along her beating heart, her fluttering, ethereal soul, locked it away with all the other keys she used to sequester and obscure. Her smile reappeared along the corners of her mouth, soft, dulcet candor, guidance and deliverance, liberation for the soul that may have struggled to piece together the shambles of his existence. “You may tell me when you’re ready.” Warmth and tenderness, compassion and beneficence, ushered in one smooth gesture of kindred spirits. I was somebody else… The notions didn’t fade away from her thoughts, straying into her membrane like a hot knife, carving its way through her past, through a bloodied history, a lonesome, vacant wood, divinity never within reach, scars scratched below a grinning veneer. They struck close to home and stayed there, nestled and encroaching, beguiling snares clawing and rasping. She looked away to the snow, to the ice, to the familiar chambers of mighty peaks and wide monoliths appearing in the glow of the lanterns’ lights, and wished that she couldn’t remember.

But when she tried to press on, to gather herself deeper into the sanguine shades of the Aurora, amiable familiarity, he spoke again, told her to wait, ceasing her movement with the singular, splintered, fragile command. The terrible ache in his demand, the ravaged baritone in his request, left her nearly rigid. She watched the vapors curve from her breath, felt Imogen stir beside her, and the temptation to flee suddenly sprang upon her, a deer in the darkness. I can’t live with them…I’ll kill them all. What was real, and what was fake? Who was this creature? Not the Blue Duck lacquered with merriment and teasing, not the wry beast with his stubborn pride, but a different alteration altogether, formed by taut workings of a world she’d never ventured within and didn’t know how to cross. But she didn’t want to show him distrust, wariness or misgivings, she didn’t want to bestow or present trepidation, distress or foreboding, she didn’t want to be seen as the little girl withered by tainted phrases. Hadn’t she wished to prove herself as indomitable, honorable, stalwart and reliable? Steadfast, unwavering, faithful and determined, persevering through the quickening sands of anarchy, of insurrection, of iniquity boiling, bubbling and brewing through the infernal intoxications of these lands? Air fumbled from her mouth, as if it would be her only stumbling moment, the rocky aperture of her trepidation, flung from her body. When her stare met his rancorous, hostile, frigid sight, her honeyed depths were only entities of beneficence, bright, luminescent, radiance in the writhing, wrathful chill. She didn’t stray, she didn’t flee and she didn’t wander off into the nighttime escapades to escape from the stag’s fallen disguise. Instead, she bestowed and displayed her selfless ardor, her caring, tender grace, stretching her maw to meet his shoulder in one silken stroke, brandishing his growling tones with the formidable stature of her spirited poise, her ethereal brawn, her tenacious grasp on confidence and soothing reveries. Lena’s rapture and repose danced on her solid, refined voice, distinctive, spiraling like a song into the depths of his desecration. “Your enemies aren’t here.” Truth, resolute and adamant, sprung from her lips, the aria of her serenity, the warble of her tranquility, the harmony of her invocations. She didn’t know his adversaries, opponents or rivals, she could pledge ignorance to the bounty of his tale, but here, in the caliber of mountains, comrades and loyalty, he was secure. Another croon passed over the wind, ruffled the breeze with its calm, assuaging notes. “You’re safe.”