Hoshor Plains We picked up the shards and formed them into shapes of stars

‘Mac’s form shuddered a bit as he startled, his ears erect and eyes wide as they fell upon the most welcome form of Easy. He relaxed. It was true - they’d met under similar circumstances at a different time, upon the crest of a hill: two dark silhouettes against an open sky.

A wistful smile crossed the Mackenzie’s maw as his solemn amber gaze returned to the galactic tapestry above them.

“Ma’s singing that lullaby she always did to the little ones… Sycamore, my younger sister, is laughing at our younger brother, Yarrow, because he got himself into trouble again…” he mused, an almost dreamy expression crossing his face.

A gentle breeze blew it away, abject sorrow now tracing deep valleys on the landscape of his face. He pointed his maw down, and when he spoke again, his voice was much deeper, laden with agony.

“Do you know what Da said to me, Easy, when I found them all on the wrong side of the fire?” He paused to bring his eyes back up, finding her own, “He said, ‘Sumac! You gotta get outta here; you gotta live, son! If you live, we’ll live on, too.’ I wanted…” he trailed off to clear his throat as his voice cracked, “I wanted to throw myself into those flames. I wanted to do everything I could to save them… or die, too. But something made me run the other way when he said that.”

Then, he went silent, his eyes cast downward once more.