Sawtooth Spire how do you title a swarm of thoughts

Set in the garden near Wylla's current den, night to morning. Tags are for reference/paging if anyone would like to join. Basically a lot of The Nutcracker shit going on. :,D

Over the span of three fortnights and half, Astraeus conclude that love and safety was reserved for the charmed. He was not felicitous for it all. The star-imp could only but spurn unconditional love without condition. Gaze, wanting, at dousing the rapid and fiery waters of the devotion between a father and his bairn. He had felt a mother's love radiate on him once, sighing rays of the brilliance of intimacy, starlight. Her tongue sweetly blemishing his cheek. She would trade a thousand lives to know what brewed in his mind . . . What did it denote, to be the lamplight of someone's life? And was really so difficult to acquire? The feeling was felt so long ago . . as if it were a faded dream. His mother had passed his sentence, a childhood devoid of passion and happiness. Happy childhoods could make more dull company anyways.

It wasn't plausible, either! What did the gargoyle (@Mahler) see in the imp (@Phaedra), greedy for all his milk? her brother (@Thade) was almost just as perturbing, nagging him one lick and snoring the next. If anything, they were excuses of royalty. Still, the princess and prince yearned for something, and they got what requested. Motherly love (@Wylla), fatherly companionship, each other. Astraeus possessed nothing, and nothing was fine. Grumbling, he stamped on a pebble, the once smooth coat now a writing of his frustrations. They say the author carries out his best works when executing the methods of pathos and emotion, and from the gravel under his hardening pads it proved suit.

The metallic tang of blood startled him. Disgruntled, cleaning the minuscule scratch, rocking on his paws as he grunted alone. Thinking was tiring, but what did he do but starve and think? Starve and think, starve and think . . . cry . . . grunt — then starve and think some more. His life wasn't very eventful (and made it very motherfucking hard for some to write him).

The night breeze of the mountains were wet yet arid. It was harder to sink into repose when the body heats of three cast pearly beads of sweat on the crest of his head. Tiptoeing from the crescendo of snores and dreamless grunts — he focused on the sky. The seas of mystery that was the infinitive expanse, the sky, his idolatry. The garden whispered soft nothings as he mooned over the dancing violets and cerulean that eluded his touch. The mountains kissed the sky as she danced without a care, all eyes were on her. The spires could move as she. Elusive, great, a natural beauty of her own. All envied her. Astraeus could state the same. 

Maybe his mother had retreated up there! No wonder, it was a magnificent place to behold, much more to surmount. Queen of the Stars they'd call her — all she sighed for was a belated but much needed arrival of starry imp prince. Astraeus was a duck in water in his mind, streaking and charting the sky. Seeing the world and all it had to offer, to please. He'd be much higher royalty the the prince and princess of Sagtannet. If only he could ask how she called a star to her like a falconer to his falcon. The he was a nyas to his her (@Agana)! All he had to do was to find the gargoyle and mountain to queen to call her back down to fetch what she left behind. It wasn't that she didn't want him, she was awfully distracted by the stars and allure — it only made the most sense.

A (rotting) fox-plum tripped him up as the galloped closer to the trees. Tilting his head rather in inquisition than agitation, he sniffed and provided a lick. The cautious bite. Half was gone. Then whole. Suddenly, the sky felt duller and his steps limited. The remnants literally came back to haunt him as he emptied his stomach on the ground. Sniffling as bile rose in his throat, Astraeus lay exhausted from hoping, sweating and eating. If rotten plums were a sign then maybe the worst had come to the worst. Maybe his father (@Kavik) waited for him instead in the stars, but maybe less so with his show of idiocy. At least he knew what rotten foodstuffs and child blood tasted like, check it off the bucket list. 

"Dah?" he warbled, teary-eyed."Come take me too?"

He wanted to go home. But where was home? Not here, surely. Not in the stars, not with his father, not with his mother. Then, who? Himself? Maybe a happy childhood would be preferable after all. Sleeping finally paying an owing visit, Astraeus welcomed it like a brother-in-arms. He awoke; however, shivering like a wet dog. Dew creased his lashes as the groggy sense of diffused light kissed his face and brow. He'd spent the entire night alone, curled like a unused rope on the ground, parallel to his . . . tummy troubles.

Was it just, love?