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Serenade of Water is an ever changing puzzle, there are multiple facets of personalities woven against the facade of harmless calm one sees her project from a distance. She--much like the stillness of a pond--seems to take on the most pronounced part of a personality of anything she meets. She mirrors what she sees from all she meets, half because she doesn't know any better--to those around she doesn't seem to know herself--and because if one were able to get to the core of it, Serenade of Water doesn't enjoy the idea of anyone knowing her. Her heart and soul are hers to know--much like only the ocean itself seems to know what it holds, whether it be unknown creatures or a topography hiding millions of years of history's secrets.

After emerging from her sac, Serenade found herself enveloped into a herd of kimeti. She was raised by many and as all their ideas of what or who she should be seemed to change she began to mirror themselves back at them unable to know what else to do. She changed depending on who she was set against--a chameleon as was needed. She, like any living creature, is concerned most about her own survival.

The water appeared calm, reflected herself back into her eyes of murky darkness, and she wished to know what it hid--wished to know what hid inside her. She stared and stared begging it to show the answers to the puzzles she wished to solve. All alone she knew not what to do, she was blank and lost and this water was the only thing that saw her, knew her.

She took a step, hoof sinking down into the chilled pool, but gained no insight. She took another, front legs sunk as the water curled about her knees and hooves slipped a little against the silt laden rock bed. She stood and turned in small circles, watching her reflection do the same, until there was only one path left to take. The answer she sought must be underneath. All the way underneath.

She pulled a breath into her mouth and held it between her teeth like the scaly flesh of fish. All the way underneath then. She stared into the blank eyes the water watched her with as she traveled into the depths unknown. It was cold and her muscles protested, her throat pleaded for her to breathe. And yet she plunged onward, head sinking beneath the surface rippling from her submergence.

The water had lied itself for it showed nothing to her outright. Sunlight once bright became filtered into the dulled rays of fireflies. Nothing reflected back at her as she sought answers. And as she began to believe there was nothing about herself hidden without the pool, her hoof slipped against slick algae coated rocks.

She tumbled forward mouth opening to gasp in surprise and allowing water to invade her throat. She found herself falling, a stone's weight pulled down to the bottom. The thought to kick, to rise up, was swallowed as the water rushed into her ears. It sang to her, the lying water, as she drowned. And it calmed and comforted her, the further she sank to the ever lengthening depths.

And she knew then, the answers. To all the questions she had asked the reflection.

She was nothing. Nothing but the serenade of water.

Enveloped in a nearby herd quickly after hatching, Serenade grew up surrounded by various personalities, and quickly found she was not a sociable Kimeti. She used to shadow one particular Kimeti though: the group’s ‘bard’, an elderly doe who entertained the young ones with her life stories and gathered fables.

Haughty and aloof, Serenade of Water is a solitary traveler. She has an insatiable curiosity which can sometimes conflict with her superior demeanor. In the end she will always find a way to get the knowledge that satisfies that curiosity. She is icy, untouchable – one can barely believe that anyone can like her. The only time she is even tolerable is when she’s fishing for information, all polite smiles and sweet encouragements. And the moment she gets what she wants – bam! she’s back to her snarky and sharp words. She’ll insult intelligence, looks, parentage – you name it, she can dish it. Her temper is a fierce flood of anger. This doe is definitely two faced.

One thing can be said about Serenade, though – she has a fierce passion for traveling. Careful not to do such when others can see, Serenade becomes almost a filly on the move. She’ll skip and hop, sing and chase after butterflies. The wandering spirit runs through her veins; she’s truly joyful journeying. Yet the moment she can sense another Kimeti she falls back to her chilly persona. It’s only alone, with merely the Swamp surrounding her that Serenade feels truly at peace with herself.

Another thing this doe has a fierce passion for is stories. She collects them like a magpie hoards shiny things. As a filly she avidly listened in story circles, hanging on every word. Her mind holds hundreds of tales, all different versions. She will still take advantage of any opportunity – any opportunity – to listen to a fable. The way to this doe’s heart is through stories, tell her one and while she won’t automatically adore you, her stinging tongue will take a rest. If one could put up with her for a great amount of time, a stubborn personality and numerous stories could just melt this doe’s heart. She has a great respect for those who take on a storyteller role within a group.

Her most secret goal, one that she will never utter aloud, is that she wants to travel to the ocean. She has a deep ache to see the shining waters, and those tales of the ocean are the one she gathers with the most consuming fervor.

There is silence. It’s suffocating – she sees birds with their beaks moving, yet try as she might she hears no sweet song. Her footsteps do not whisper through the dry grass. She stumbles, confused. Without the sound she’s not even sure she’s walking and that’s not right – she can see the movement, that should be enough. But it’s not and the little doe keeps floundering for her balance, until she’s almost certain that the grass itself is trying to tangle around her legs. Black eyes seek out the green; the blades just gleam dully in the sun, innocent as can be.

She’s not sure why she keeps walking. Surely it would be better to just lay here, in this muffled place and wait for it to end than to keep confusing herself searching for the sound? There’s this feeling though – if she keeps walking she’ll find the sound and everything will be right again.

With a silent oomph! she tumbles headfirst into a rut. Black eyes blink as she truly looks around. It’s not really a rut. This little place is a depression, as bare and rocky as she feels. Perfectly etched into the land, a scar. Her eyes fall to a close. If she goes to sleep maybe she’ll wake up in a place where everything is true. Or maybe she just won’t wake up at all.

After a moment, the Kimeti’s brow furrows, her mind not certain how to process this feeling. There’s a deep thrumming, faint but there. She keeps her eyes closed – it’s easier to focus on this entity without the mocking sight of the world around her. She lets out a little sigh at the feeling. And then her mind jumpstarts, though her body remains still. Sound. She had made sound! The thrumming is louder now, and she realizes its beauty – the flow and rhythm of melody and wordless magnificence of this song. Song isn’t even the right word to describe it yet it is truly the only one that comes to mind. It fills her up, and she realizes it fills the world too; she hears the birds now, and the wind, too. Her breath is audible. The world seems so right now.

It’s joy, it’s bliss, it’s euphoria. It’s comforting and soothing and energizing and exhilarating all at the same time and the contradictions both confuse and fill her with the profound sense of rightness. She’s not supposed to be able to define it, confine it.

And as the melody reaches its crescendo, she realizes the undertone, a rumbling sound. The awareness comes to her even before obsidian eyes peek open. The river is rushing and roaring, claiming once more its place in the world. She really can’t bring herself to move though, because that first song is still there, that breath-taking serenade.

When the frothy angered water envelops her, it brings with it sound and peace. The river quiets, its place reclaimed and it pays no heed to the floating white and blue body that slowly comes to rest on its bed.

The surface stills, the water’s serenade hushes, falling to a muted hum. Yet the world is filled with music.

A darkly humored Kimeti, Nocturne of Shadows can be a bit depressing. She herself is not depressed, but she is fascinated with what can go wrong and the negative side of things. Many of her scenarios are so ridiculous as to be funny, such as a band of fireflies forming a hand and picking an unlucky Kimeti up to toss them in the air. It takes a hardy Kimeti to put up with Nocturne, and one who learns to not take her seriously – and that her pessimism is not an insult. She can be called cheerfully negative, since she always has a smile and a happy tone. Her tendency to exaggerate, even when not fabricating some ridiculous story, is enormous.

Nocturne is a very social Kimeti, always enjoying the feeling of being around others. Unfortunately, she tends to drive Kimeti off with her dismal stories and is always searching for others who can at least tolerate her sense of humor. She currently travels alone. Despite this constant rejection, she is flirty, a very physically affectionate doe. Her creativity can be put to good use when charming another Kimeti – though she does have to work a bit to put her outrageous tales out of her head, and sometimes she’ll spout an offbeat story out of habit. She always seeks out companionship, and is trying to find a group of Kimeti who complement her personality. Nocturne is a secret romantic.

Nocturne loves to sing, sometimes haunting melodies and sometimes happy ditties. When she’s not story-telling, she’s singing or humming whatever comes to mind. She loves to dance too, leaping and twirling gracefully from hoof to hoof, be it to her own music or the sounds of the swamp. Her usual walk is more of a prance, a stride of skipping steps, always graceful.

Her childhood nickname was ‘firefly’, because of her golden eyes – and her fascination with them. Nocturne can wax poetic for hours about their beauty, the reflection of their little lights off of water. She’s always preferred the night, becoming mostly nocturnal, and fireflies are definitely a part of that. The new moon night is a tradition for Nocturne, a time of introspection and solemnity. It is her alone time, the one time she actually seeks out solitude, because she finds comfort in the darkest night – she likes to talk to the Swamp, tell the Mother about her thoughts.

It’s so bright. Her golden eyes blink into the sunlight filtering through the trees and glinting off of murky water. And even as she watches the life-giving sun, shadowy fingers creep across the sky. The melody begins, the lilts and lulls somehow matching the writhing shadows. Tha-dum, tha-dum. She can feel the deep drumming in her very bones, relaxing her even as the world turns dark.

She wakes to a song, haunting and eerie. The swamp has lost all color, the trees their leaves. The only sound is the peculiar tune. Her eyes take in this strange new swamp. Where has all the color gone? The vibrant hues, the subtle shades? She struggles to her feet, legs wobbly and weak. One step –thum. Another - tha-dam. The doe begins walking and the drum beats match her steps. ThadumbadumthumthadumthadumbumbadumbadumTHUMP. She lets out a helpless giggle, unable to contain a little thrill of exhilaration as the thumps complement her movement. An experimental step forward- bum. A more forceful one – baDUM. An excited squeal escapes her throat as she bounces around, dancing to the melody her body is making, thrilling in the excitement and vitality of it. The shades which had earlier enveloped her once more began to match the harmony.

Who needs color when you have this beautiful sound?

So excited is the little doe she fails to hear it – a jarring tune, screechy and angry, slinking underneath her cheerful melody. The shadows dancing around the grayscale trees begin to take on jagged shapes, their movements becoming threatening. But the little Kimeti was lost in her exhilaration, twirling gracefully until one of the malicious tentacles latches onto her leg. Her golden eyes grow wide and a soundless screech works its way out of her throat. Once one finds ground, the others twist around her body in a gruesome parody of the doe’s dance. There’s no more music now, only the cacophonous melody of dying creatures and angry spirits screaming a sad imitation of the earlier beauty.

The sinister appendages make their way up her body, forcing themselves down her open mouth, gagging the doe. The beautiful tune starts again; the one that she had made, full of life and eagerness. Her eyes drift closed and she focuses on the song, her glorious song, desperately ignoring the creeping shadows as they slide across her fur. It’s a lovely little nocturne, isn’t it? Just a lovely little nocturne – a charming little nocturne of shadows.