Redhawk Caldera The night is still young

thankful that peregrine did not pursue the gesture, and yet mildly regretful that he did not press for more, lasher settled into comfort, his own eyes traveling to the sky. he did not recall that peregrine and himself had ever spoken of aether -- perhaps once -- but he enjoyed the insight all the same. "where i am from, donnelaith --" and his heart hurt even at the very mention of the accented name -- "we call them réaltaí, and our ancestors are thought to be dancing on nights when the stars are particularly bright." 

he fell into a gentle silence, mesmerized by the darkness with its pinpricks of light, and peregrine's nearness. for a moment, all felt as if it had always been this way, and he was content.