The Sentinels it is ours to hold the banner, is ours to hold it long

the witch continued to look upon the flower, the woods speaking to her, singing to her with a clarity she had ignored in her days of terror. always had she heard the song, for it played on and on; it had been a comforting lullaby, once, and next it had terrorized her. but it had never been the forests doing, she understood. for it was not an evil thing, even when evil had come to grip it and tear one of its most precious budding flowers from it. she felt she understood this, now, though certainly not to such a resounding extent. safe, you are safe... none can see you...

except when someone could! she heard his gentle wingbeat. the creature was always present. deirdre had known of its watching, and though she had desired to speak with the being who called themselves 'we', she maintained her silence that had lasted some days since tachyon had gone. the girl did not wish to speak to anyone but him, but his disappearance wounded her, and this one seemed to know things that she did not understand. i have seen this flower before, in a dream—last night, she shared this with him in her sweet voice, her accented tones filling the air as she thought of his own voice, and its low resonance that hung heavy.