near the edge of the blooming valley the bells chimes, their echo carrying her majestic being and, trailing her is the shawl of mist, cold and reaching out to wrap her and hide her but she morphs, she laughs, a whistle of her presence escaping like the mischievous twinkles of her companion shone above the first of waves rocks below, roaring and twirling upon seeing her again her smile reflected by the blazing rays of Apollo it's a tale eons old, woven into existence among the chaos of mortality she ensures the living of a beautiful peace, a shining presence in the cool of the night.