Altair had found that he generally preferred the nighttime. It was quieter, calmer, and filled with starlight. As he shrugged his robe on, he breathed a word of thanks to whomever had made the night once again free of clouds. On a clear night, Altair could see forever. His bare feet moved swiftly along the stones, and he cursed. Cold burned along his soles and he thought about going back to slip his shoes on. Still muttering curses, he awkwardly hopped on, heading for one of the larger windows at the end of a generally disused hallway.
Wedging his staff into the window frame, he gripped it tightly in one hand and leaned out. The wind caressed his face like a parent welcoming her child home. Altair swore he could hear the stars. Although he would never leave the nursery without permission, a part of him wished the he could sleep only under these stars. It felt like something was missing. He closed his eyes, oblivious to anything else around him.
