Redhawk Caldera do not talk to me of dragon fire

the approaching footfalls do not draw roswell's attention but are acknowledged in a small swivel of his ears atop his skull. it is his brother's voice that draws his gaze and attention away from the night sky. hey b-jay, roswell greets him with a welcoming thump of his tail.

i'm stargazing. roswell offers, giving a small pause before gesturing with his muzzle. if you look close enough you can see shapes in the stars and if you know how to read 'em they'll tell you epic tales. a wily grin tugs at the corners of roswell's lips; leaning easily into his belief and love of magic.

the stars were their own magic.

eh, a little rain never hurt anyone. though it made for damp ( if not drenched ) fur and he can reason why their mother would not want any of his younger siblings out in the night rain.