Redhawk Caldera nightshine

His eyes hardly left the sky.

Oh, why did they have to go outside? Boris worried the tree tops with a shifting gaze, having kept himself under mama’s legs as shadows became wings, teeth, monsters in the night. He jumped at every rustle. Shook with the shaking of the trees. Ponyboy seemed a’ight, but Ponyboy was always a’ight. Soft blue eyes turned to him once, before shooting sky bound again, but once was enough.

Why couldn’t he be more like Pony? Always gettin’ into trouble, but finding adventure. Or more like Bronte? Brave and strong. She’d been ready to fight the bird. They both had.

He remembered how he’d cowered, like he cowered now. Under the shelter of his parents as the night turned.

Boris was aware of others approaching, but instead of greeting them, he pressed himself into mama’s soft chest and continued to look up —

And his deepening eyes widened at what he saw.

One by one, little lights sparked up the darkness. Brilliant, though not bright like the sun. He could look at these lesser lights. And even more, mama named them. One by one.

He shuffled up a bit, peering heavenward from within the crook of Teya’s arms.

How d’you ‘member which one is which? he asked quietly, subdued in wonder and the smallness of himself.

His eyes never left the sky.