 It is far from the first time that he has been caught unawares, celebrating when those he loves suffers. It is not so different than the night he spent dancing with Aislinn, while Lysander was beaten to unconsciousness with only the silent pines to watch. His people had returned to Terrastella with hope at last in their hearts - but as Asterion reads and then re-reads (again, and again, eyes snagging on a different line each time but always coming to rest on with love) his heart tumbles like a stone to hungry waves below. His own response is scrawled in minutes, the ink dark and glistening across the thick paper like blood on snow. Each scratch of the nib is a tear at the soul of him, and when he is at last done he glances at the mourning dove, dark-eyed and watchful. But it is Cirrus he turns to, and she accepts the letter to her leg without comment, though she reaches to glide the edge of her wing against his cheek. “Help them look,” he says, knowing she does not need told. Be wary, she returns, and then after a pause - it’s good you’re back. You’re needed here, Asterion. He says nothing, only watches her go first to the window, and then to the sky, a small distant beacon against the pressing night. Before she vanishes entire, he turns away to gather his people and once more press them to service. Moira Tonnerre, I am so sorry. I did not know. If I had I never would have left - I will send Marisol and Theodosia and some of their command to aid in your search. What else can I do? Anything you ask of me you will have. I do not tell you to be strong, for you already are. So is Denocte, and so is Isra. If I have any faith left it is in you and she. With love and hope, Asterion |
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