Otter Creek it was alright just to be alive

he smiles at her as she yawns, shifting closer to offer himself as an oversized pillow. it's nice, being like this -- it's home to him, and he missed it. he follows her gesture toward the unruly sky and tries to pick out something he recognizes, but, well: there's a good many stars and not all of them, as far as he knows, mean things. or maybe they do and that's part of the fun, trying to learn all the stories.

running his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully, he says, "not sure, but i can make it something. that's all it is, i think, stories that someone made up once and they stuck." he'd not inherited olive's (or seabreeze, to a lesser extent) stedfast trust in myth and spirituality, but he likes the stories well enough, he can invent something. after a moment he selects one particular star, bright and glittering, and says, "see that one there? that looks like its winking? if you squint, it looks like it's an eye -- a wolf's eye. cerulean's eye," he tries, hoping using part of ibis' name will make her smile, "and cerulean is a big, beautiful wolf, i bet, keeping watch over us. maybe she's looking for someone, so she has to keep watch all night, a long lost lover..." he trails off, leaving space for ibis to add if she wants, or point him somewhere else.