until every last star in the galaxy dies
T
hey came to him as clearly now in the light of day as they had last night, a million eyes that smile without mouths, as if hiding some great secret that they can hardly wait to tell. He can see them now, although others might not; the blue of the sky is not so bright to him, not when he can see the ghost of stars hiding within it. He had never seem them so clearly in the day before; it is as if they’ve seared their image upon his mind, so that he may find them more readily when he turns his gaze heavenward. And his gaze is always turned toward heaven.
It has always been easy for the stars to distract him.
He stands there in the meadow now, wings half-flared like he’s ready to fly, and all he’s waiting for is the sky to invite him up. If the heavens asked him to he would fly forever without stopping to land, or sleep, or eat, or do anything other than lose himself in the galaxies swirling around him. They swim around him, a mass of stardust and miniature suns too untamed to yet pull themselves into shapes. Nor does he ask them to, not yet; he can see the bright dog-star, the one they named him for, drifting near one of his wings. And past that one the three centauris chase each other across his back, around and around again. A hundred stars he doesn’t know the name of (yet) crowd his face, pressing against his skin until they look like so many glittering white spots dusted across his coat.
His tail twitches, but aside from that he doesn’t dare move, standing there with his wings half raised to heaven while the cosmos drift down to join him on the earth.
Sirius isn’t sure how long he’s standing there - he loses track of time when he’s like this, when he can almost pretend that he, too, is made of stardust - when he becomes aware of another horse wandering nearby. He waits until they come closer, and closer, close enough to hear the whisper of his voice above the wind, and then -
"Does hear them, you?" He asks the stranger, without turning to see them. And he lifts one wing, watching as a line of stars dance across the feathers. Sometimes, when he was quiet and still and focused on nothing else, he could hear them telling him each of their stories, the way they had when he was younger.
"The stars? Speak to you they do?"
He doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like if they did not.
I'LL BE WITH YOU
@Darkrise
for any of your kids! I’m still down for cast and sirius if you’d like, but whoever works best <3
@Darkrise
for any of your kids! I’m still down for cast and sirius if you’d like, but whoever works best <3
