Phantom Hollow it's a dangerous business, going out your door

Phocion spoke of a friend, though whether her name was Poet or she was a poet, the boy could not tell. The way he said it implied a name— but it seemed an odd name to Cortland. He was nonetheless comforted to hear that his companion knew of a healer. That he didn't know where she was didn't give him pause just then.
The sunset boy lost himself momentarily in the stare fixed on him, his own expression written with gentle affection. And then— a name. It took him a moment, even as Phocion explained, to realize it was for him. He pressed closer without realizing it, delighting in the glow of feeling special as his gaze briefly followed his friend's gesture upward. The sky was not visible now, but Cortland knew he would search for the star another night.
He offered his own smile, shy and genuine, when Phocion asked if he wanted to hear a story. Yes. The boy murmured simply, resting his head so it was pressed, feather-light, against the other. A contented sigh escaped him, torn pad forgotten for the moment. There was something magical in the air tonight, he thought— none could miss it.