Silvertip Mountain i like your eyes wide

The touch startled him. It wasn't as if Cortland hadn't touched him before, but this seemed different, more intimate, a far cry from the casual friendly brushes they'd given each other. He shivered, fur prickling, and bent his head to run his tongue over the side of the boy's ear, resting his chin upon the top of his head. He stood on the tips of his toes to do so, looking both at peace and slightly uncomfortable.

"Tell me a story," he murmured gently, throat vibrating against Cortland's skull with each hushed syllable. The words came without warning, and they weren't necessarily appropriate--but Phocion found himself spinning so many tales these days that he yearned for the days when others would speak, and he would listen.

He knew much about the moon and stars, and farther back in his history, the crash of waves against the sea and the dawning of a sunrise upon the mountain. He knew much about all these things, and he knew that Cortland must know about things he had little knowledge of. He wanted to draw that knowledge from the boy, and if the newfound trivia came wrapped in the honeyed voice of his dear friend. . .well, it would be all the better.