He is overtly fond of the night. When the moon begins to rise, Sabrael casts his faint shadow against the shore and watches its heavenward trajectory. He’s not a spiritual man, not devout or taken by ritual (he’s not sure what kind of man he is, really; he’s only just become one). But something about witnessing the death of one glowing orb and the birth of another keeps him grounded every night. The fractured pieces of his heart are momentarily melded in the fresh moonlight.
There is little else to look forward to, besides.
Their island is as much a prison as it is a paradise. And while the few elders they have tout its isolation as a boon for security, sometimes he thinks he wouldn’t mind a breach or two. Sometimes, he thinks he might even welcome a touch of trouble on their perfectly peaceful parcel.
Gloom settles between the dense leaves of the jungle. It is his cue to head for the beach, to watch the sun drown in the deep-water far from shore. He lifts his angular head, but it tilts towards the center of Ischia rather than its ringing shores. The sound of movement pulls him deeper into the darkening forest as he gives chase, albeit slowly. There is no wildlife to speak of here. Usually, the parrots take to roost hours before the sunset. It is quiet and still as the night gathers around them, so this extracurricular activity leaves the young man intrigued enough to follow.
The rich smell of freshly pressed dirt invades his nostrils as he weaves between the trees. Eventually, the sound fades ahead of the young man. Only the chorus of the evening insects and his quickened breath fills the air. But he keeps on, keeps walking until he comes upon the lake and the lounging stallion. “Ashley,” he says when he is near enough. It is soft, but cuts across the surface of the clean-water beside them anyway. There is still some amount of youthful reverence for the other trapped in him as he regards the red. He entirely forgets that he’s missing his moonrise. “Careful you don’t get too comfortable out here. The beach has fleas, sure, but their bite is nothing like the jungle’s ants.”
Sabrael