There was a small time of peace for the earthen wolf after he had left the Sanctity pack for the first time, leaving Dhaval behind to do as he pleased with the group that enjoyed sucking it up to a goddess he couldn't share his beliefs with. No family, no ties, nothing - freedom. It was the period of light-heartedness for Dover that would not last for long and would only be replenished later upon meeting the sprightly Leslie.
It was night, and once again the mercenary was testing his senses in the dense forest. Hidden within a crop of tall trees, Dover closed his eyes and perked his ears to the twilight tunes about him. Would it perhaps be a rabbit his way this time, bounding about the clearing before him? Or some unwary doe? A fox? He was a lone wolf, but this one prided himself on his expert sense of tracking and killing with swift and precise movements; it was part of his job, after all, though it had been a very long time since anyone had come to him with an offer. He blended well against the brown bark and stood stock still, tilting his ears this way and that and letting his nose flare to take in scents. Aaah, the night was young!
It was night, and once again the mercenary was testing his senses in the dense forest. Hidden within a crop of tall trees, Dover closed his eyes and perked his ears to the twilight tunes about him. Would it perhaps be a rabbit his way this time, bounding about the clearing before him? Or some unwary doe? A fox? He was a lone wolf, but this one prided himself on his expert sense of tracking and killing with swift and precise movements; it was part of his job, after all, though it had been a very long time since anyone had come to him with an offer. He blended well against the brown bark and stood stock still, tilting his ears this way and that and letting his nose flare to take in scents. Aaah, the night was young!
Where the night were young to those that lived in the day. A lone femme with a pelt that looked like a piece of the night sky (complete with shooting stars, or comets and nebulae) fallen to earth. Earth-bound white stars looked up towards the twinkling of those still in the navy blue sky. The evening still too young for it to be stark black so the contrast of the stars could shine with immense beauty and peace.
The female was known to her old pack as Astraea, the starry one, whose personality was similar to that of the cosmos. She could be calm and serene in her disposition (actually the peaceful side of her gained the white stranded large aqua blue jeweled necklace as a gift, for being gentle to a lost pup), but then again the female could do a sudden about face and snap like a rabid dog seeing everything as a threat.
There were a few things though that kept the Earth-bound night sky wolf in a decent mood. A beautiful night such as this one, gifts that were shiny or reflective in nature, a small group of wolves (more then six and she was edgy), and pups that were not afraid at the sight of her glowing white auds.
Listening to the sound of the crickets chirping in the background and the sound of a nightingale singing her night song, Astraea began to hum a soft tune of her own.
Did his eyes deceive him? No, they were as keen as his other senses as they should be, almost on par with a wolf’s very good sense of smell most of all. Hawkish eyesight was perhaps an apt term, but he never did like much birds of prey, or for that matter beings of the sky period. He was a wolf with his head away from the clouds, set in ways and begrudging of the natural, so the sight before him was both baffling and almost disturbing in a way.
The sky was moving. Worse, a sky of the wrong pattern. It was still afire on the horizon, smoldering into purple and black beyond that bright line. Yet clear as day – or perhaps night was the better term – were comets flying about with little effort! Dover’s jaw almost slackened until his inspector’s instincts kicked in, scenting the oddity. Most certainly a creature of flesh and blood like his own, he found; somehow, that made it all the more unearthly.
“What are you . . . ?” he found himself asking, ears tilted forward as the being began to hum a tune. Dover leaned forward a bit, curiosity piqued, and he lost the cover of his tree; well, unless the wolf thought him to be a very strange protrusion from the trunk.
The sky was moving. Worse, a sky of the wrong pattern. It was still afire on the horizon, smoldering into purple and black beyond that bright line. Yet clear as day – or perhaps night was the better term – were comets flying about with little effort! Dover’s jaw almost slackened until his inspector’s instincts kicked in, scenting the oddity. Most certainly a creature of flesh and blood like his own, he found; somehow, that made it all the more unearthly.
“What are you . . . ?” he found himself asking, ears tilted forward as the being began to hum a tune. Dover leaned forward a bit, curiosity piqued, and he lost the cover of his tree; well, unless the wolf thought him to be a very strange protrusion from the trunk.
There was an obstruction to the calm that was settling in with the night and that obstruction made itself known in a rather rude form of a question. White burning star eyes slide to the side, only to be followed by the rolling of the navy blue and white/light blue/teal cosmic storm pattern spotted (that presided on the start of her snout, flowed up between Astraea's eyes and ears before it ended in the middle of her back) head towards the other's voice. Pressing her cheek onto the head of the comet that swirled upon the night colored shoulder, a small twisted, but somewhat knowing smile forming on her amused face the moment the natural wolf was letting his background go behind him.
"I'm a but one living creatures in the vast universe," the smooth voice flowed from her maw in a matter of fact tone. Although the moment she shared that theoretical view point, the starry pelted wolf shrugged, "Or in a simple answer, a lone wolf."
Lifting her head and taking to a standing poise the female angled herself towards the male, her size was average compared to another average sized wolf, but to a large one she would be small. Those white eyes taking in the natural wolf's stance and the curiosity that seemed to pique him, her smile was only amused now. "And what is it that you are? Are you something more than just a wolf?"
The answer took a moment to sputter to life in his brain, for the moment the she-wolf looked upon him, he felt as though the very cosmos was giving him judgment. Luckily, it seemed amused instead of menacing. Feeling a need to be impressive nonetheless, Dover concocted his usual rhyme and spoke in a lilting voice only heard when spilling poetry:
“A wolf I am, but of the earth not the sky
A simple one wandering, wondering why
The eve is still young yet the glowing of an eye
Reminds Dover so much of a firefly.”
This was the time in which the mercenary still sometimes spoke in third person, still young and less boorish and stoic than his current incarnation. It was a treat to see unnatural, even if he did have his prejudices against them: like poking fun at the freaks in a circus. The crazier colored pelt they had, the crazier they must be mentally, he thought . . . But by golly did crazies find pretty jewelry; he noted curiously that this one was wearing a complementary necklace, which he had to assume meant she had some sort of contact with humans. Guts all right!
“A wolf I am, but of the earth not the sky
A simple one wandering, wondering why
The eve is still young yet the glowing of an eye
Reminds Dover so much of a firefly.”
This was the time in which the mercenary still sometimes spoke in third person, still young and less boorish and stoic than his current incarnation. It was a treat to see unnatural, even if he did have his prejudices against them: like poking fun at the freaks in a circus. The crazier colored pelt they had, the crazier they must be mentally, he thought . . . But by golly did crazies find pretty jewelry; he noted curiously that this one was wearing a complementary necklace, which he had to assume meant she had some sort of contact with humans. Guts all right!
Her ears took turns staying locked upon the wolf before her as they flickered about taking in the sounds of the early night. But the moment the other seemed to find his voice, both of Astraea's ears perked forward catching the other's smoothly spoken words. Hearing one speak in form of poetry was intriguing and unique, though she had heard some whose tongue worked with only alliteration or some form of it. That had got on her nerves after a while.
Her smile didn't falter, but the comment about her glowing eyes got a light chuckle to move the large gem over her throat. She had to think of a way to respond to such a means of talking, those that had done alliteration normally had left simple things to reply to, but this male had confirmed his standing as a wolf of the earth, while placing her of the sky, and not knowing if he was inquiring about why it was her eyes were glowing white.
The femme rolled a shoulder in a simple but graceful motion. "Maybe the one wandering the earth didn't know the sky has a sense of humor. Just like the universe found a firefly to blink like a dying star, why can't eyes glow like the brightest ones? As it doesn't matter what time of the day it is, the stars still shine and the moon glows in the midst of the brightest day, one just has to know where to look in the sky. Or care to look for such phenomenon." She stated, tilting her nose skyward for a moment in musing, before adding.
"Or should it be more interesting to find out why a wolf is the color of the trees inside of the night? Such tones are bland and can't entice or lure in curious prey. But then again, asking such questions that only can be answered by the universe itself..." again Astraea paused in her ramble as if to listen again to the air around them. "And I don't hear it talking, do you?" Now her eyes were locked back upon the earthen wolf before her. Waiting for his answer, if he caught any of the questions she hadn't tried to answer with the open ended fact that no one really knew all these answers, and if they did, their head should explode because the universe was to vast to know every little detail about without breeching insanity.
Such strange thoughts. Dover nearly shook his head to make room for the impressionistic words, more of a concrete-thinking wolf than anything else - which was strange, considering the poetic streak he had. Two very different aspects dwelling in the same body; maybe he was a little crazy himself from the conflict of knowing and speculating the vernacular. After all, he was speaking to the sky, the blue firefly of all things! Perhaps he was still hallucinating somehow, maybe because he ate something foul without knowing it earlier . . . well, at least the apparition was benign for the time.
"Dunno about phenomenon," Dover replied at length with a small shrug, his voice returning to the usual gruff, musclehead's sound so unlike what he had spoken in previous with the first rhyme, "but I sees the moon sumtimes in the day, sure. But keep quiet and you see -" - thus the wolf paused, ears erect for several breaths of a moment, or perhaps longer - "that the crickets are out, so I must disagree. Warm tonight. Night's alive. Insects thrive when the moon's bright. Very chatty."
Chirp. Chirp. Chirrup. He dared another step forward into the clearing, hackles lowering from the initial startlement; he even found himself bowing his head slightly, as if approaching a deity; ironic. "Not all've us get shines," Dover went on to say, "or pretty blues like you. Probably was born in dirt and dirt I'll return someday, but m'happy anyway. Blends easier, least, than them sparkles. Hide in the ground, by trees - they don't see ya comin'." The wolf gave a small smirk, not only speaking of just small game. "Guess it's the price for not getting handsome."
Someone had told him he was once before, but Dover didn't believe it. Then again, it was in comparison to a nearly immaculate white wolf, so what hope did he have against this universe-printed femme of all things? "You're smilin'. Mentioned humor? Guess looking at the dirt from way up makes you giggle, not getting shinies dirty. Wouldn't do it m'self either, if I wore the sky." Dover cocked his head a little, observing her from a different angle as the moonlight filtered through the treetops.
"Dunno about phenomenon," Dover replied at length with a small shrug, his voice returning to the usual gruff, musclehead's sound so unlike what he had spoken in previous with the first rhyme, "but I sees the moon sumtimes in the day, sure. But keep quiet and you see -" - thus the wolf paused, ears erect for several breaths of a moment, or perhaps longer - "that the crickets are out, so I must disagree. Warm tonight. Night's alive. Insects thrive when the moon's bright. Very chatty."
Chirp. Chirp. Chirrup. He dared another step forward into the clearing, hackles lowering from the initial startlement; he even found himself bowing his head slightly, as if approaching a deity; ironic. "Not all've us get shines," Dover went on to say, "or pretty blues like you. Probably was born in dirt and dirt I'll return someday, but m'happy anyway. Blends easier, least, than them sparkles. Hide in the ground, by trees - they don't see ya comin'." The wolf gave a small smirk, not only speaking of just small game. "Guess it's the price for not getting handsome."
Someone had told him he was once before, but Dover didn't believe it. Then again, it was in comparison to a nearly immaculate white wolf, so what hope did he have against this universe-printed femme of all things? "You're smilin'. Mentioned humor? Guess looking at the dirt from way up makes you giggle, not getting shinies dirty. Wouldn't do it m'self either, if I wore the sky." Dover cocked his head a little, observing her from a different angle as the moonlight filtered through the treetops.
Hearing the lithe tone turn gruff was a different change. One that could speak poetry so beautifully had a different voice for normal speech. Astraea found her head tilting as her neck stretched out to try and examine the male from the rock she had under her paws inside her empty clearing. The way the male's speech changed seemed to be much like an odd bird, one who squawked but had the most beautiful song to share with the world. Not a bland creature, despite appearances or first glance.
Thumping her tail once, the white orbs dimmed a little in their glowing as the femme watched the brute and listened to the shift in his tone as he seemed to recite his observations of the night's song starting. "Not only would the crickets be out but nightingales are starting their melodies to follow the chorus they provide."
Shifting upon her paws, the she-wolf moved down off her rock towards the gifted tongue stranger and narrowed her eyes slightly at what he further stated. She ignored the stance in which he seemed to approach her with. Such oddity, she thought to herself shaking her head in disagreence to what the poet ended his words with.
"One with your coloring has an ambush aspect that ones like myself cannot accomplish without aide from the dirt. So you are right in that musing my earthen brethren. Though you are mistaken. Those with wider minds don't just look at handsome on the outside, but the handsome on the inside. Or so is what those who know more seasons then you or I, would seem, care to share." She interjected her opinion as her paws lead her to approach the male by a couple more flowing strides. She wasn't approaching him in any shape of hostility, the male was tickling her interest too deeply for the darker side of her moon to show.
But the smile was dulling as her mind played the last words spoken in the odd manner or accent in which this one spoke. "Humor or not, I'm not impervious to the dirt, it touches my paws now. Does it not?" She questioned, stealing a look down to make she wasn't floating above the ground but standing on it. Looking back to the male her eyes slid partially closed in an analyzing gaze her galactic storm narrowing between the navy sky eyebrows.
"Even though my name, Astraea, does mean starry one, I am not a creature above you. Maybe, if you stood up straight, the world seemed to make it where I would be looking slightly up to you. Odd how the universe plays with its creations, but then again, like poetry it has its rhyme and reason." She seemed to mull the thoughts over stopping in a pool of moonlight as the night sky was gaining clouds and the moon with its children would be lost to the Earth's surface before midnight.
Handsome on the inside, huh? He was pretty sure he wasn't quite that either, not to most at least. The lifestyle of a mercenary had its own beauty in the art of quick, economical kills, yes - like finally wiping away that one bit of smudge that ruins something clean. Except always, always, there was more scum to be dealt with once the broader picture was viewed, the canvas still with sickly browns and blacks to track down and wipe off . . . But here he was on a break from that dark, enticing job, and it was being spent with a lady fo the cosmos! Definitely not a smudge at all, but a lantern to light that canvas . . . Or a firefly, if you will.
"Astraea." Fitting all right, if her definition was correct. Again he inclined his head slightly. "Dover." And at her request (wasn't it? her dialect was so odd, it was hard to tell), the wolf straightened himself to his full height, not impossibly tall by any means but certainly gifted with muscles - yet somehow, he seemed a little awkward upon the land he often tread to follow his prey. Like a fish out of water indeed, in more ways than one. His tail hung low, relaxed with the peaceful night.
"Rhyming and reasons are only for the seasons," Dover quipped, the additional darkness from above causing him to tilt his head up to view the skies.
"Because there is no reason to deny
Moonlight to you, firefly." He sounded almost crestfallen, though the shade of the clouds allowed her bright eyes to glow even brighter: twin beacons, so unnatural, so captivating.
"Y'touch the dirt, sure, but even the darkness y'can wear with grace."
"Astraea." Fitting all right, if her definition was correct. Again he inclined his head slightly. "Dover." And at her request (wasn't it? her dialect was so odd, it was hard to tell), the wolf straightened himself to his full height, not impossibly tall by any means but certainly gifted with muscles - yet somehow, he seemed a little awkward upon the land he often tread to follow his prey. Like a fish out of water indeed, in more ways than one. His tail hung low, relaxed with the peaceful night.
"Rhyming and reasons are only for the seasons," Dover quipped, the additional darkness from above causing him to tilt his head up to view the skies.
"Because there is no reason to deny
Moonlight to you, firefly." He sounded almost crestfallen, though the shade of the clouds allowed her bright eyes to glow even brighter: twin beacons, so unnatural, so captivating.
"Y'touch the dirt, sure, but even the darkness y'can wear with grace."
Upon the confirmation of the male's name, Astraea smiled again. "You said that earlier. How unique it was to mention ones name in such a fashion. Speaking in the third view point, how peculiarly fascinating and in lyrics too." Now she was indeed in a ramble, but upon Dover standing up tall. The pelt with the cosmos upon it moved to a yard's difference between them. White eyes looking at the slight difference, yup. A hair or two difference in height, but one wouldn't quite know unless they were scrutinizing from the side.
The side, she could see his muscular neck, but what did his profile look like? In an orbiting fashion the female moved around the wolf truly born of the dirt. The muscles were well built, no doubt built for the burst of speed needed to take down his prey, where hers were lean and her legs were long and could flow like her tail. She was definitely a creature one would think needed the sanctuary of a pack to survive, but her void like eyes seemed to entrance her game and this is what allowed her to be in her state of build. The black tip navy tail flowed silently behind the she-wolf as she made her full orbit of the strange male.
"There are four seasons; Fall, winter, spring, and summer. Does each one have a rhyme and reason? Possibly they do. With winter being cold, the time of death is what most reflect upon the wonderful time, when the earth is frozen covered in white. When spring is comes around many look at it on the earth as a time of rebirth, when new lives and greens are popping up with the rains that come. For summer, it's hot and muggy one looking at it metaphorically could see it being the middle of ones life time, as it is the time where things can be peaceful or hectic like crazy storms. Then there is fall, the time with life begins to wither away or go dormant before the winter time." The words just flowed from her maw, if Dover made sense of anything she had just said, it would be surprising to her; as there was little of her words that made sense to her. They just flowed from her unjudged or bound to any logic, even if she tried to make it seem like there was.
Hmmm...Now that was probably the reason some wolves found her to be of the same mental standing of a seer, though she had none of their gifts, besides seeing without having pupils in her radiating eyes, but not many understood when she said they were mistaken. Her musing stopped when she was standing still back before him.
Dover's latest Rhyme made her look skyward and shrug. It was the sad truth, a reality that the clouds hindered the moon and the wonders in which she lived from being observed by those bound to the earth, and refused the gracing of her light to the ground below. However, there was a devious spark that came into the iridescent eyes at the kind words.
"Darkness is one thing as long as it is provided by the natural means of the universe. But like the moon, there are darker sides to even this star, the chaos of the galaxy is more evident when one doesn't have there eyes just turned to the pretties it provides. Twinkling stars are hypnotizing, shooting stars are excellent for wishes, but one should watch out as some can be brought to down and cause a major catastrophe." In her odd tangling tongue this was a warning that the grace he saw could be vicious too.
However, after her ogling of Dover's body, she was suspicious this wolf knew killing more brutally then she did. The darker half of her brain wondered if this male was saturated in blood, her mood was changing as the night seemed to be. Maybe she should wish this male a farewell while there was high amusement still in her and not something that was cold as the icy heads of comets.
Well that was a first: he'd once been attacked by a grammar nazi of a wolf for "butchering the language with his petty spoutings" and "improper use of the tongue given to him". Dover didn't like that one bit and, cocky at the time, had it escalate purposefully into a fight; not even a satisfying one at that. He still wore a reminder from the event, the darkened patch imprinted around his right eye. It seemed to tingle like a fresh wound as Astraea encircled him, and though it was for her scrutiny only, he felt almost as though he was a meal being sized up by a predator. Or perhaps his head really was beginning to lose itself in the night's reverie.
But as the femme spoke, he found that he didn't mind her appraising white eyes. Never before had he heard poetry without a meter - free meter, Dover deemed it belatedly - nor with such certainty within the abstract. "Does each one have a rhyme and reason?" Astraea has asked. The earthen wolf found that he had not recognized the rhetoric question, his mouth already beginning to form some sort of nonsensical answer before she thankfully continued, cutting him off. Indeed he found himself not exactly drowsy, yet not completely awake at the same time the long he watched her, eyes drawn up to her face like a moth to firelight. She moved in a circle; that pair of dull yellow eyes followed faithfully. He barely comprehended Astraea's words as they spilled forth like a river, washing over him and leaving murmurs, imprints, notions - but nothing solid to leave in his memory. Maybe he wouldn't mind telling her about his double life after all . . .
Thus, without knowing it, he was beginning to follow her into the darkness. A slight chill seemed to rise up his spine despite the night being warm, a strangely pleasing sensation. The being before him spoke of shadows like they was as casual as the weather patterns. The moon, yes, the moon that clouded over . . . Such a shame. Worse was that for some reason, a small part of his brain was trying to tell him it was time to leave and it was growing with each passing second. "I like t'wish," Dover commented like a puppy, not right in the mind. "Sometimes stargaze too. Do them stars really fall out of the sky? Heard it was pretty t'look at, not dangerous."
A sly grin spread across his muzzle, vaguely gray with so little light. "Maybe you're one of 'em. M'a lucky lil' wolf, huh?"
But as the femme spoke, he found that he didn't mind her appraising white eyes. Never before had he heard poetry without a meter - free meter, Dover deemed it belatedly - nor with such certainty within the abstract. "Does each one have a rhyme and reason?" Astraea has asked. The earthen wolf found that he had not recognized the rhetoric question, his mouth already beginning to form some sort of nonsensical answer before she thankfully continued, cutting him off. Indeed he found himself not exactly drowsy, yet not completely awake at the same time the long he watched her, eyes drawn up to her face like a moth to firelight. She moved in a circle; that pair of dull yellow eyes followed faithfully. He barely comprehended Astraea's words as they spilled forth like a river, washing over him and leaving murmurs, imprints, notions - but nothing solid to leave in his memory. Maybe he wouldn't mind telling her about his double life after all . . .
Thus, without knowing it, he was beginning to follow her into the darkness. A slight chill seemed to rise up his spine despite the night being warm, a strangely pleasing sensation. The being before him spoke of shadows like they was as casual as the weather patterns. The moon, yes, the moon that clouded over . . . Such a shame. Worse was that for some reason, a small part of his brain was trying to tell him it was time to leave and it was growing with each passing second. "I like t'wish," Dover commented like a puppy, not right in the mind. "Sometimes stargaze too. Do them stars really fall out of the sky? Heard it was pretty t'look at, not dangerous."
A sly grin spread across his muzzle, vaguely gray with so little light. "Maybe you're one of 'em. M'a lucky lil' wolf, huh?"
In her ramblings and orbiting of Dover, Astraea had missed any tale-tale signs of discomfort, than again not socializing a whole lot with other wolves made her judgments a bit off most of the time any ways; or while she was in a light mood at least.
White globes locked upon the dull yellow eyes of the earthy male as she quirked an ear towards his speech. The pup like comment getting another smirk to play with the cosmos that made up her dark maw, a soothing coo slipped out of her dark lips. “Every wolf likes to wish, Dover. Even if it is for death, healthy birth of litters, food to fill their stomachs, a pack to rule, a war, or maybe just a pleasant night; every wolf likes to wish.”
Her eyes, though they were darkening, seemed to spark with mirth at his continued words. “Stargazing is relaxing.” She found her self easily agreeing and without a whole lot of words to follow. That was until the starry female gave her opinion as an answer to the honest question. “Stars fall from grace all the time. Not particularly dangerous is it to look skyward, but it can be. Just like walking across the forest floor, trees don’t often fall upon wolves, but they can. So why should one not also have the tree wary eye also be wary of the nightly sky?” She questioned, though wasn’t really looking for an answer.
Astraea found herself chuckling again, though the chuckle seemed to become darker as her mood digressed. “The galaxy doesn’t spit out the good stars. So you may not be a lucky lil’ wolf, could be a black hole you are mistaking for a star.” Yes, the words were of an insult to herself, but again, the female spoke words that were non-judging or mindful of what ones feeling could have registered.
Fine words coming from the star-holder herself! At least, Dover could have believed that she was, naïve as he was at the time. The night was growing upon them like fungi, it seemed, for he could have sworn that her mirthful sounds were growing little shadows of their own in their hidden brevity. More and more, the thought to leave crept into his mind, a tiny firefly blinking its silent warning in the caverns.
“Well, it if sucks me in, can’t be too bad. S’one hell to the next, but at least in there it’d be nice and dark. Solitary. Not too much light t’blind ya,” Dover pointed out softly. “In the dark, don’t matter what you look like, who you are, who you were, what you want t’do. Everyone’s the same in the dark – in death. Guess it wouldn’t matter to me when I came down there or not, suppose. Gone ta hell anyway.” He gave a shrug and proceeded to yawn; again the firefly lit up, encouraging him to start leaving, before . . . before what?
“Y’don’t watch trees ‘cause they usually stay rooted. And y’can tell when they’re ‘bout to fall. Can’t with them stars, miss, that’s the problem. Too far up. Land’s stable while the sky always changes; that’s what I keep in mind. ‘Cept now my head’s all foggy, and I feel like snoozin’ even though it’d mean leaving a pretty lady by herself again . . .”
“Well, it if sucks me in, can’t be too bad. S’one hell to the next, but at least in there it’d be nice and dark. Solitary. Not too much light t’blind ya,” Dover pointed out softly. “In the dark, don’t matter what you look like, who you are, who you were, what you want t’do. Everyone’s the same in the dark – in death. Guess it wouldn’t matter to me when I came down there or not, suppose. Gone ta hell anyway.” He gave a shrug and proceeded to yawn; again the firefly lit up, encouraging him to start leaving, before . . . before what?
“Y’don’t watch trees ‘cause they usually stay rooted. And y’can tell when they’re ‘bout to fall. Can’t with them stars, miss, that’s the problem. Too far up. Land’s stable while the sky always changes; that’s what I keep in mind. ‘Cept now my head’s all foggy, and I feel like snoozin’ even though it’d mean leaving a pretty lady by herself again . . .”
The dark head of the she-wolf cocked to one side, the words Dover spoke sounded like a judgment upon himself, and for some reason it didn’t sit right with the struggling mind of Astraea. Stepping closer towards the earthy hued one made the depart piece of the galaxy analyze her comrade.
“Absolute darkness is what black holes harbor, the lights that disappear out of the sky come from being devoured by that hell. Not a hell that should be wanted. You should want to have some light, not a lot, but not absolute darkness either.” Maybe the words of Hell were causing Astraea more trouble, but she shook her head and stepped back. The thought of an underground domain was uncomforting to the star-bound soul; her den even had some silver veins in the rock work that caught even the faintest of lights to illuminate its darkness enough for her satisfaction against complete darkness, her image of hell, and maybe the only thing that made the cosmos shudder. Darkness was not found in the universe for the stars, suns, planets, comments and other sources of light fought off the absolute darkness…unless the black holes formed to kill them.
Her eyes closed hiding their iridescent-ness behind white speckled navy lids; she had to not think of that devouring darkness, the darkness that was coming up from her insides as well. “Trees topple too. Sometimes startles one when it happens. Seen it and the land claims those not fast enough to react. Sky similar in that fashion.” White abysses popped back open to look at the brown brute and could see the fatigue in his yellow eyes.
Eyes the color of a dull sun…no, a Hunter’s moon, the yellow hue the full moon held on its first night was known by this name, and they were shaped like it too. Hunter’s moon was always something that was now, Astraea knew, would be a comfort to her. A sincere smile quirked in the last of the fading light the female held on to. “The night is never alone. Many things to keep it company, even when the moon is hiding with her children. Safer though to be alone when darkness comes.” She was fond of Dover, something different about the natural born that fascinated her. “Maybe stars will align again and paths shall cross.” Astraea murmured, though her paws were already stepping back, giving the male his space again, pulling away from his gravity to something much more stronger. Something that would allow her sanity to be safe for a moment more.
“Maythem . . . stars . . . do that . . . yeah.” He yawned again, clearly no longer full awake. His mind was slowly going to shambles for some reason, even though at most he had stood, taken a few steps, or maybe walked a circle . . . What had he done again? Damn, he couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe the conversation had taxed him a lot more than he had expected, all those fancy words and forms of introduction and musings of heaven and earth and hell and all in between, swirling and connecting before disconnecting just as quickly until he might as well have been looking at mental bubbles floating around – there, yet touching them even the slightest would make them disappear. And he didn’t want to forget tonight, no matter how tired he was.
Thus Dover made a semblance of a bow, wavering slightly on his limbs before standing up . . . and there he was alone again. A dream? Maybe he truly had hallucinated . . . If so, it was a very nice dream, and he hoped it – she – would visit again as promised. With a cheesy sort of grin plastered to his maw, the mercenary turned to get back to his makeshift bed for the night. As he sat down beneath the tree’s branches, he stared up at the stars with half-open eyes, their bright dots seared into his very eyelids and sneaking into his dreamscapes that night.
Thus Dover made a semblance of a bow, wavering slightly on his limbs before standing up . . . and there he was alone again. A dream? Maybe he truly had hallucinated . . . If so, it was a very nice dream, and he hoped it – she – would visit again as promised. With a cheesy sort of grin plastered to his maw, the mercenary turned to get back to his makeshift bed for the night. As he sat down beneath the tree’s branches, he stared up at the stars with half-open eyes, their bright dots seared into his very eyelids and sneaking into his dreamscapes that night.
