yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
her purest of crystal and brightest of green

When the darkness does not fade and Isilya’s internal clock tells her spring is on the way, she takes matters into her own (metaphorical) hands. She had tried to move the moon, to bring back the sun, but it did not take long to accept that such a feat was far out of her reach. Instead, she can make changes here in her home. She can ensure that no child born under Tephra’s branches are born into darkness. The glow from the lava flows is something but not enough, to rival the absence of the sun.

She finds her way to the tree where Grove had grown, its presence is soothing and it connects her, quite literally, to the rest of the forest. The roots that had cradled him make room for her and she forms a nest for herself out of them.

From this spot, Isilya weaves together dozens of birds from sticks, flowers, and leaves. Into each of them she breathes the memory of sunlight and the glow that emanates from them after is golden and warm. Without any idea of how long this darkness will last, Isilya has settled herself in - knowing it will take most of her strength to keep these birds glowing for an extended period of time. Believing that this sacrifice of her time will be worth it.

Some of these lantern birds find roosts in the canopies of the tropical trees and settle in to be stationary while others fly in slow, set routes. Their light will dim throughout the day to mimic the cycle of day and night (and to give her a small break during the “night”). In her nest, she glows too - reaffirming the connection between herself and the creatures she has made. A soft, contented smile lights up Isilya’s hazel eyes as she sends the last bird away from her and she watches with no shortage of delight as light returns to the forest around her.

’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill
oh! no, it was something more exquisite still