Sunset Valley Beata Maria,

Astraeus vehemently favored the vale and it now became one of his haunts;
and everyday, he pretends that he can leap and gripe for the sun! — fervid, dismal; wanting, praying, molten and weld into a daily dance that was a flight for familiar warmth. And everyday, he crouches defeated in the copse, a torch flickering in the wind as the saying goes. 
(you cannot touch the sun, son.)

Harvest; quietude; pining;
his hobby of sun-catching goes one throughout the rollovers of the seasons, the impending frost-limned gales made him all the more adamant on drinking from the sun's honey-amber ewer. Tastes like honey? he oft wonders, as everyday he strikes a verdant and glazed eye towards Helios and his chariot-driving mares, you ought to be here when I venture tomorrow.
and then tomorrow, still playing the bratty boyish act, and spiteful as ever when it concerned taking from Sagtannet's caches and not returning any thanks via game (ha!), he vaingloriously crows he will be the one to taste the sun first.

The hellspawn'd woman was reaching for something else, however fathomless, vast. His cloudthick eye proceeds to fail him as the autumnal rubied colors and and well, everything of her coalesce into the bleeding overhead. He finds himself shot from the brush and ramming into her ribs.