Silvertip Mountain you only hear the music when your heart begins to break

It took awhile for him to come around to it, but finally, Cortland settled in beside him--though not without a few whines, of which he couldn't discern a meaning. Nevertheless, Phocion snuggled closer, pressing his nose against Cortland's for a brief instant before resting his head against the ground, looking at the Mayfair. Studying the gleam of silver in his eyes.

"You know," he said after a short while, because the silence was starting to drive him mad, "that star in the north, the very north, that never moves? All the other stars move through the night, but not this one. Ypsilos."

Oh, how he wished it was night! This story would have more meaning if Fengari shone down upon him now. He stifled a yawn, continuing. "Ypsilos was one of the first children born to Fengari and Erastia. Like Iliana, he was big and bright. . .but unlike his sister still to come, he had no envy in his heart. Instead, he wanted to help others.

"So instead of running around with his other siblings, engaging himself in other pleasures, Ypsilos stands like a statue in the sky. High above, never moving. He points us, the children of the night, in the right direction, even when we are hopelessly lost. He is the tireless navigator in the stars."

Phocion chuckled, cheeks flushing with heat a bit as he looked down, slightly abashed. "Don't know why I thought of that, just now," he remarked, stretching a little. He stifled yet another yawn, blinking apologetically at Cortland. "My mind's not the sharpest, when the sun is up."