Silver Creek moon dust in your lungs

“We may never find a way from this dreadful place, Starchaser…”
 
That day, the light had shimmered down from overhead and released a trillion diamonds in the fresh layer of snow. The hollow soul within him had felt bent and weary from days of unrest. And still, Orion had endured. Though there was a dying light in his companion’s eye, the withered wendigo of the night had known only to carry on. No matter what, he was to carry on.
 
Against the backdrop of the winding creek, a fleeting heartbeat of all that he had escaped. Even though the sun had fallen hours before, the dark nimbus was reminded.
 
It was a bitter feeling to reminisce without willing it. Even though the Mal’um could not be felt at his heels – breath burning hot against the flesh of his back side – it was as though he could not live without the threat of them in his mind. Rodents were more pleasurable companions in comparison to the acidic burn of regret. It drilled through the thicker portions of him and settled in a noxious pool against the lining of his stomach. So many lives had been cast away for the survival of a small few. So many of their traditions had been shattered in an act of desperation. Repentance would not account for the brashness, and it most certainly would not return the lost stars to their earthly bodies.
 
Amid the gale there was a scent; misplaced, but still prevalent. The Starchaser drank in what he could before the clinquant glittering of his gaze latched to her wandering body. He followed the rhythmic swinging of her limbs and combed through the moonlight hairs of her cloak. The scent was driven to him once more, but Orion knew it to belong to her, only her. She, who was tethered to the earth beneath their feet.
 
The Starchaser did not stir from his predatory stance. The swarthy nimbus heeded her.