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Lena the Songbird They were just echoes again; more of the same paradigms, conjectures, and diatribes – discourses meant for warnings, declarations, and ill omens. She took her time, biding along the outskirts of the darkness, humming beneath her breath so anyone nearby could be tranquil, could be serene (not apprehensive, not fearful; despite all the right reasons for being so). Her eyes were drawn to the mass of forms and figures, trying to decipher who and where and how they’d all come to be – looking for particular individuals she knew, trusted, cherished, and loved – and when part of her Basin comrades still remained, the Songbird breathed a potent balm of relief. More and more blended in, until she couldn’t tell which was which any longer, and the barest traces of a smile glimmered on her lips (the hushed sedition once more, forged between so many other wars – they could, would overcome this malice just as they’d done in the past). They might be refugees now, lost to the particles of Helovia, the places, the palaces, the world they yearned and craved for – but there would be a time when they’d found a way to root, to settle in, to dig into the trenches and come out the other side. They knew how to survive. She’d do that – and help everyone else along the way. When nothing more was said, no entities come to converse, no more proclamations uttered, she turned into the shades of darkness, intending to learn what she could about this terrifying, treacherous new villa.

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