Silverlight Terrace arts

One day she would be as large as her father, but as lean as her mother.

For now she gangly and awkward. Faced with a spirit that made her feel tiny as he crested the hill. The mass of him on display and all at once she had regrets.

She should not have dared to speak a language this spirit would hear.

What if he followed her back to Moonglow?

Here she could see the ruddy coat he bore and how he seemed like the dying embers of the sun. He was a handsome spirit. This too spoke of danger and curiosity.

A trap.

I give you the name of Dying Sun, spirit. This name will only be said here and heard by none others.

She exhaled heavy, unsteady.

She crept closer and closer to him.