The fluttering of wings, the twittering and unfolding of sonnets, the brief, warm decibels of melodic convictions, breathed against her ears and Lena stirred from her past sentiments, stared upon the small flinch clambering for her attention. It displayed grandiose movements and motions, swelling with pride for a magnificent twirl, for a wondrous spin, for a contemplative dive, and she wished to mimic its grandeur, its splendor, its radiance, but had no power to fly. Imogen chased after its flighty, lofty gestures, chirped and danced beneath the swirling waltzes, and the nymph laughed for the first time in ages, permitted mirth to bubble up from her chest, float into the abyss of constellations and midnight shades. Beguiled and dazzled, she trumpeted her own set of lark chords, sweetly stirring the ground with mellifluous hymns and warbles – the bird followed suit, courting the sweet nocturne into an array of song and warmth, and before long unicorn and kitsune were followers of its strain, entranced, swindled by the break of its aria, by the rise and fall of its ditty, by the tracks of vapor coiled in its flittering, hovering plumage. Over rocks and pebbles, over stones and ice, over glaciers and perilous walls, drifting into ashen melancholy, into bestial fortitudes, awakening the daunting press of their venturing pursuits. Stirred by the yearning, the longing, for a distraction, for a diversion, for an interruption in the twisting barbs of her heavenly annihilation, the mare never failed to accompany the finch’s tenderness. Led into the Heavenly Fields, bounding for the horizon, scorching the scars and stars, the trio wandered into dusk and hallowed bits of salvation, not asking why, not trembling beneath the weight of curiosity, not sliding her intrigue across the clouds and feathers. She allowed herself to be guided, escorted and ushered, varnished in the siege of warmth and generosity. A familiar form rustled and stirred her heart, for beyond the surface of the wide terrain there stood a figure of blue, as noble, as incandescent, as beautiful as she’d always been, and the bird uttered one final strain, shifted direction, bade her to stray upon this enlightening path. Sylph and fox flew across the terrain, united in speculation, excitement and familiarity, ethereal, elegant, returning to the hymns once broken, once lost, remembering days before shattered remnants were all that held them together.

“Huyana!” Lena crooned over the earth, flourishing strides and steps until they were elongated facets of glorious, petalsoft movements, gliding particles of honey, ambrosia and ivory, all seeking to greet a long lost friend, a cascading shower, a cooling bout of rain. Upon her arrival, a smile transformed her features, hiding and ghosting over the weary thoughts, the failures, the dominations, the sinister refrains and chilling accompaniments, coiling them into former rhapsody, merriment and whimsy. “How good to see you again!” Her excitement brewed into each invocation, and only after she’d maintained her semblance of reverie did she manage to notice the other standing nearby, young, unfamiliar, tender and wholesome. Tones echoed, renewed by the space of time and exuberance, wonder and delight, pushing past the seams of thorns and lacerations. “I’m Lena.” A playful bow ensued, Imogen following suit in entertaining rapture, tails bobbing amidst the long, waving grass, before the sylph was prompted once more, to speculate, to pry, to unravel in the heavy midst of silence. Were they all shepherded here? To what purpose, to what reason? For anarchy, or deliverance? For upheaval, or serenity? For insurrection, or sanctuary?