It has been something slightly more than fifteen years since he finally buried Gregor. It had been difficult between them since he'd begun edging up to fifty, had only gotten worse over time. Petty fights about worthlessness and age and beauty and, mundanely enough, money and infidelities, things that... simply did not concern Jast. His lack of
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Yet, Jast considers this. The memory of the moon high overhead, framed on all sides by the dark silhouettes of the forest. It had been high summer, warm with clear skies and he had gazed up from the sandy shore and listened to all the moon's lonely arias. She had been so near the Earth, he could have touched her, dipped his hand beneath her quicksilver surface and felt the slow drip of time on his skin. He had begged a boon instead. Had wanted to show Gregor the stars as he saw them, glittering living things with voices and beauties unique to each and she had consented to send her cousins down. He'd caught them in the smooth mirror of the lake, thanked them with long-forgotten prayers, musical apotheosis that set them dancing along the glistening fins of tiny flitting fish.
He had given someone his heart there amongst the concurrence of captured stars. He shouldn't have ( ... )
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"Many friends," he agrees, perhaps too infatuated to believe others could not find the prince as fascinating as he does. He watches the sun and the horizon shining in tawny eyes. He is terribly fond of the wild pieces of this creature.
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Niarkhos chirrups in return, draws the little one close again to feather lips over his brow, then draws away, perhaps for the last time until they meet again. "Will you look for me?"
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