Broken Antler Fen i've got fire for a heart

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Liri. It was a simple name and easy to remember, which was good for him as he was still in that stage of pup hood where he had the attention span of a squirrel. Ok, well maybe it was a little bit better than a squirrel’s. He had the attention span of a cat. Liable to be drawn away at his own whim (and one day with the sass to match) but also capable of intense moments of prolonged attention. His focus on the stars was one of those “intense moments of prolonged attention”; but this was likely because in the canvas of the sky he was able to paint and write stories in his mind. It kept him occupied for hours on end because he could unleash his creativity and the possibilities were limitless. An ear flickers to her as she responds to his question and his gaze slides demurely to her once more though it does not linger long before he is looking back out at the night sky as his tail drums a short staccato rhythm on the rock, sweeping up the light, powdery snow that is swept upon it by the soft breeze before he stills it.

“No way,” Mato mumbles suddenly embarrassed, the skin of his cheeks beneath his fur warming with the flood of heat and the boy ducks his head. Though he does not dare to contradict her he has a hard time believing that he knows more about something than an adult. The idea leaves him feeling quite skeptical. The truth is that he is only self taught thus far: he does not know official constellations and their stories: only the ones that he has made up in his mind. “I mean, I don’t have a mentor or anything.” He explains himself because he feels obligated to. “I like the sparrow. He carries a throned crown in his feet —” Mato’s paws flex as if he is kneading the rock for a moment as if to let Liri know that he doesn’t know the official word for a bird’s feet/claws (for some reason talon escapes him). He lifts a too large paw and clumsily attempts to trace it with a toe though he is not sure if she, too, can see the sparrow or not.

“— but he didn’t steal it!” Mato is quick to emphasis. “He made it for a prince —” Yeah! That sounded good. “And each night he travels across the sky to crown the prince and that’s where he goes during the day.” It didn’t explain why Mato could not always find his “sparrow” (and likely each time it was a different cluster of stars that he saw it in) but he had yet to come up with a little story for that (maybe star traffic is bad? Who knows). “What about you? Which one is your favorite?” He asks her, eager to hear and attempt to find her favorite constellation.

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