azrael
In the darkness there are only the two, far from the others, bathed in starlight instead of firelight. It is a coat which he wears well, for Azrael had always been one for the night, with his aurora glow and his mottled coat. Though it is night, the air is warm and growing warmer by the day, summer growing near. Azrael didn’t mind, for the winter had brought him not only cold but drama and emptiness… it hadn’t been exactly the holiday season he’d anticipated. And yet, the stars had turned as they always would, the seasons giving way to change, and his own circumstances had followed the path of the heavens which turned from night to day, ever cyclical.
He blinks at the mare, nodding to her words as the din of the festival seemed to fade even further away. “Ah, but it is not a night for sleep,” he shares with a twinkle in his eye. “But for celebration… a time for the courts to come together and to welcome the birth of a new spring.” Still though, he shies from it all.
For me, the true magic of Spring is in the stars – see, just there?” He points out a small cluster of stars. “He is Boötes, the herdsman… and his brightest star is Arcturus, the fourth brightest in the sky tonight.” What Azrael doesn’t share is his own interpretation of the fortunes they held, for the star-shed was a scryer more than a star-speaker. Still, he feels a certain kinship as he counts each of ten named stars, whispering their names in his mind. Arcalis. Izar. Nekkar…
“Do you have a favorite?” he asks, tilting his head to watch Euryale more clearly. “Star, that is…?” As he awaits her answer, a rush of wind falls over them, his owl companion emerging from the darkness to land upon Azrael’s neck, hooting softly as she lips at his mane. As they stand in the meadow, darkness grows thicker around them, married with the scents of the festival – spices and flame. He turns toward the music, motioning for his companion to follow, stepping back toward the festival with a quiet sort of reverence.
“We should be getting back… I am told there are fire eaters and torch bearers who dance within the flames… certainly not a sight which should be missed. Would you care to join me at the festival, miss…?” he trails off, letting her fill in with her name as they make their way through the flowers and back toward the thrum of energy which could only come from celebration. Around them, the music grows louder, the laughter of children marrying the flutes as they rushed through the crowds, streaking paint on those they passed by with little more than a brandishing wave of the brush.
His own coat is splashed with vibrant violet, hers with seafoam green, and through it all the shed-star simply grins at Euryale, letting the spirit of the festival wash over him. “Sleep? You were saying…”
@Euryale
