Angels on the moon

Nightingale tilted her head, stopping her crying and replacing it for a sad smile. Usually, Nightingale was childish, flighty. It took one to realize she was often like this to hide hurt or uncertainty. This morning, however, she seemed to be more on the mature side.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous... Or scared, for that matter... Funny, you take something as beautiful as this morning for granted, until you realize that this could be your last morning... The last sunrise, the last lark song, the last morning dew smell..."

The tiny wolf took in a deep inhale, closing her eyes for a moment. Her smile broadened a little.

"But I will admit, if this is my last day, I'm not gonna be wasting it. I never watched a sunrise before..."