He has been here before. He had come looking for answers to a question he hadn’t been sure he’d understood. And he is still uncertain if the answers he’d gotten were the right ones. He has not made the journey back to the Mountain to find out, content for the time being to ponder the things he has learned. Or has not learned.
He moves easy through the darkness. Touched as he is by galaxies, he has never had reason to fear the dark. (And anyway, a fear of the dark would certainly be considered a weakness by both his mother and his father and he has no interest in finding out how they would react to it).
He tips back his head to study the stars streaking through the atmosphere overhead. He does not allow himself to study them long, though. He has found (quite by accident) that, when he does, the stars have a habit of bending themselves out of the sky to rain down around him. He does not know why they are so desperate to touch him that they fling themselves out of the sky in an effort to reach him.
He watches the earth underfoot instead. It is safer this way. He sees her this way. Does not go tripping over her this way. Stops well short of her this way.
He tips his star-strewn head as he studies her upturned face, quiet as he watches her watch the stars. And then, wordlessly, he tips back his own head. The stars do not listen to him. He cannot command them. But, as he watches them, several deviate from their courses to careen toward earth and rain down around them, burning out just before they reach the ground.
@[Moonlet]
He moves easy through the darkness. Touched as he is by galaxies, he has never had reason to fear the dark. (And anyway, a fear of the dark would certainly be considered a weakness by both his mother and his father and he has no interest in finding out how they would react to it).
He tips back his head to study the stars streaking through the atmosphere overhead. He does not allow himself to study them long, though. He has found (quite by accident) that, when he does, the stars have a habit of bending themselves out of the sky to rain down around him. He does not know why they are so desperate to touch him that they fling themselves out of the sky in an effort to reach him.
He watches the earth underfoot instead. It is safer this way. He sees her this way. Does not go tripping over her this way. Stops well short of her this way.
He tips his star-strewn head as he studies her upturned face, quiet as he watches her watch the stars. And then, wordlessly, he tips back his own head. The stars do not listen to him. He cannot command them. But, as he watches them, several deviate from their courses to careen toward earth and rain down around them, burning out just before they reach the ground.
@[Moonlet]