Silverlight Terrace it rattles the bones of our fathers, carries whispers from the dead

It takes only a moment for his situational awareness to kick in and slow him to a halt, the troubadour’s eyes searching for the flash of another color in the dim. Lullaren’s tongue flicked out to curve, salmon pink, over the quivering black of his nose, once his eyes found what had caught his attention so readily.

Gilded golden, the sun had set their paws upon the earth, and the night found himself summarily awestruck. Lullaren blinked, and then blinked once more, before tipping his head to one side, an ear following gravity’s command to turn towards the earth below his paws. He moved, a flickering shadow, a scar in the silver light of the moon, to watch. Wait, breath held a tremble in his breast, for what was to come next.

At the very least, he could write a very good song about this moment.