[open] i took a sleeping pill and cant think of a title

[Gale]

Gale run away with me-- lost souls and reverie running wild and running free Intrigued, Gale follows the exchange between Midsommar and Malachi. His blue eyes are bright and curious, wondering if this is what it looks like when he converses with Erne. At the second repeated thought of himself, the distant bird overhead begins to descend. It is unhurried, but the bird means to have a good view of the situation . He watches the wolf – barely more than a reddish dot from this distance – move away from the pair of horses. The silence that passes between them is a long one, but Gale – staring intently at the setting sun – is far too absorbed to notice. Doing so causes an ache in his eyes, the constant damage and healing of his eyes. Eventually he abandons it to watch the shifting colors in the clouds. There are shades he does not have words for, soft blues and purpley reds, shot here and there with brilliant orange and gold. When his attention is drawn back toward the girl by her soft exclamation, he finds that the crystals along her skin reflect a myriad of sunsets. He watches them as she speaks, half-hearing the explanation of her companion’s departure.  “Perhaps Erne can teach him. He’s a fishing hawk.” His tone is distracted, even if his words are impressively on topic. They name their companions, and Gale thinks that perhaps he could ask Midsommar some of the questions he’s had about the bond they share with their animal counterpart. That stray thought and her introduction pulls him from his contemplation of the sunsets in her crystals, and he realizes that he has drawn quite close. He takes a step back, and tries to recall the last time he had watched the sunset for such an extended period of time. “I usually watch the sunrise,” he says, “The early bird gets the fish, and all that. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a sunset over anything other than the ocean.” He finishes, realizing the trusth of that even as he says it. Six years that he has called the island his home, time that has somehow passed all in flash. “My name is Gale,” he continues, introducing himself belatedly. “And this is Erne.” The osprey has made his steady way downward while Gale spoke, and he lands on the navy’s stallion’s rump with a flare of his black wings. Like all the native wildlife on the island resort of Islandres, Erne is pitch black with peering yellow eyes. His sharp talons dig into the thick white mane that extends down the length of the pegasus’s topline, sparing the horse’s skin from his sharp toes. @[midsommar] i appreciate your thoughtfulness!!!!