Moonstone Quarry And I pray that I'll make it before the night's up

the moon, he murmured, voice low, carrying a hint of something he didn’t need to explain. his gaze remained steady on her, though his words stayed vague, slipping through like shadows between them. it keeps me awake.

he shifted slightly, the muscles beneath his fur moving with ease, yet he remained distant, careful not to let his words give away too much. the night, and the moon—those were his companions. his burden, too. yet, as she lay beside him, there was a comfort in the quiet tension between them.

perhaps it is not something worth sharing, he added softly, his voice low but steady, a trace of a thought unspoken hanging in the air. but sometimes, words are heavy.

he let that silence grow between them for a moment, letting the stillness speak. he didn’t offer more, but there was a tenderness in the way he watched her, the way he stayed near. it was enough. for now.

the distance between them was brief, but it lingered. and though it wasn’t a dream, there was a quiet understanding in that space, a shared moment of something just beginning to settle.

the rest would come in time, if it was meant to.

his gaze drifted toward the moon again, his thoughts as quiet as the night around them. sleep, if you can, he murmured, his tone gentle, almost reluctant to break the quiet. or tell me what it is startled you.