city of stars, are you shining just for me?
The stars had called him to this place, to the wetness and the dark, a place which is quiet and eerie on the summer’s night. There is a stillness here, as if the world took pause and stood frozen in time, so different from the bonfires which burned just beyond the shadow of the trees. Here, along the dark water, his thoughts quiet as peace washes over him. Azrael stands beside the sea, dragging the salty scent of seawater and kelp into his lungs, while a cool breeze washes over him, caressing every curve of him and tossing in his hair. Upon his shoulder, Noctua sits still and quiet, looking more like a statue than a real creature in the moment, if not for the blinking of her astute turquoise eyes.
They are still and quiet, the two of them, staring out to sea. Azrael imagines a different place, a different time, a simpler time. For long in his life, the man had been a simple creature, happy left to his stars and his wandering. He had not belonged to a court, not understood the complexity of relationships – of love and of jealousy. He had simply been, existing as one with nature and with the stars, content to be Caligo’s vassal and belong to her alone.
“Azrael” The owl’s voice breaks through his peace, and he turns to her, blinking quietly in response. “We aren’t alone…”
She turns to gaze along the beach, toward a wet and shivering creature some distance away. Kassandra is not close enough to see clearly, but Azrael follows his curiosity and the impulse to know more. His pace is calm and steady, and as he walks, the stallion casts a glow upon the golden sand, shining as a beacon in the darkness. Noctua shivers on his back, seeing the Borzoi before the mare, unsure about the canine as she bristles with caution, whispering a warning to her master as she rises to the sky and her freedom. But the shed-star is not afraid.
He stops beside the mare, his voice a whisper of concern as he notes the wild look in her eyes – the way she seems to look at him, but also beyond him, staring into the darkness as if she were lost to somewhere else. It was a look he understood, for Azrael often found himself caught in a daydream (or a nightmare), unable to escape the grasp of memories which beg for release. “Are you alright?” his voice is quiet and concerned, gentle as if he spoke to a child – but it is not a condescending voice. Instead, it is like seeking like, empathetic and warm, as he waits to hear what ailed the lost mare on the beach.
@Kassandra
