Canaan

 He is so often among the stars beneath the midnight canopy, the breadth of his winged appendages outstretched to each side with a gentle gust cradled beneath them – so often so, that it nearly unnerves him to be rooted to the soft soil below.  Alas, the wanderlust that was so deeply embedded into the very marrow of his bones seemed to wane beneath eventide, and so for once, he is content to simply be - standing still under a tall, looming oak, with the soft rustling of leaves overhead to soothe him into a light slumber.

  The pale moonlight settles across his golden skin, highlighting the muscle and precisely shaped bone of his masculine frame, as it drapes across the bristling, finely preened dark feathers tucked closely along his flank. His breathing is shallow, and faint – but the tranquility of the echoing silence is soon interrupted with the light rumbling of a voice, and then another (and the nearly missed utterance of names). Roused from his dozing stasis, his hazel eyes search the dimly lit shadow of the thicket, eyeing the two figures that linger along its edge with their gleaming eyes searching the starlit sky.

  Quietly, he flexes the stiff muscles under his skin with a shrug of his shoulders, before ambling over to them. He is careful in his intention of announcing his presence; deliberately stepping on a twig, allowing its crackling to echo in the woodland. A faint, though tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth – a lopsided grin, one to match the light in his eyes.

  ”And I’m Canaan,” he muses lightly, observing each of them carefully. ”I come from the river, north of here. ”I couldn’t help but to overhear. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

and we never even know we have the key.