Silver Creek moon dust in your lungs

The gale winds tossed against strained cedars, forcing the strength of their boughs to bend and creak against the torrent of air. Fresh lichen had formed against the trunks of a few of the sparse fir trees; this was a promise of warmer weather. The creek rolled lazily, albeit actively enough to cause an echo of moving water to carom off of the sturdy woodland growth. Fresh as it was, life had been restored to a winter-torn landscape. Though stars littered the inkiest of skies overhead, a distant flash of lightning on the furthest reaches of the world afforded a glimpse at the incoming cloudburst. The winds brought an irriguous perfume as it lashed through outstretched branches. The trees reached for the cluster of galaxy overhead, and the prattling of the stream flowed steadily toward a distant ocean. There was a throaty uttering of frogs on the banks of the watercourse; they sang over the sound of their native terrain, relishing in the cool grip of nightfall. Crickets joined in the chorus with a softened hum and strum of their spindly limbs. It was the melody of a late night and it called to the starchaser’s longing threaded heart.
 
Tattered tendrils of dark ink rose like wisps along the back of the prowling hunter. Luminous eyes like the beginnings of flame scorched against the earth. Long limbs carried the nimbus in a beaten path, following a distant scent of other hunters that had passed through hours before. The vivid flush of sallow moonlight had cloaked him in dancing shadow and navy. The lurid guard hairs that played against the brush of air glinted against the softest touch of light from overhead. He appeared to be spun with the magic of the clinquant orbiting starlight. Orion waded through the shallowest of the river before seeking his direction from what was mapped overhead. The light led him east.