Silverlight Terrace charm’d magic casements

set some time before this thread

while lómëvása does not believe the roimë would dare to follow him this far from the territories they cycled through like they were following a migration pattern of their own making ...the nightingale remains both flighty and alert; painfully so. his muscles ache from the tensions that has pulled them taunt like the draw of a bow string held and poised.

the caress of a hawk's wings as it soars overhead; spooks him. nervously and weary, lómëvása's disfigured doe-like tail gives a harsh swish; lacking the elegance it once held.

too bitterly, he remembers what it meant to refuse the arquelion — taking majority of his tail was both a humiliating and shaming stigmata ...and lómëvása is left with the chilling fear that to be caught after having left them would call for his lifeblood to be spilt upon the earth and for his soul to join those among the stars.

the feeling of safety eludes him in the shadowing blanket of night; and he constantly peers over his shoulder as he investigates the terrace, pausing at a small rain-made puddle to drink from the water mirroring the sugary sweet moonbeams that the rockwall to his left captures and reflects; selflessly.