azrael
There is an easiness to the way the stranger speaks of her stars, and it is something which pulls at his heart. For Azrael knows what it is to love the sky, to feel drawn away into the heavens, to know each star by name. He cannot imagine a world where the skies are dark, and so it is little wonder that he lives in Caligo’s cradle. Denocte was not his home – and yet, it was… for it was Caligo’s kingdom, and the People had worshipped Caligo long before they knew of her mortal kingdom. They had followed her teachings and cried over the wars she waged with the sun, relishing in the stars she brought to their mountain home each and every night.
He likes the way she smiles at his question, the subtle laugh in her voice. It mirrored his own nonchalance at the festival, though he quickly fills in the blanks. “The lands were at war for some time, the borders closed to outsiders… but now, summer comes and Denocte is alive with celebration once more. Peace has come to Novus – and I can think of no better reason to celebrate.” He pauses, offering her a knowing smile. “Despite the motive, festivals aren’t really my thing… too much noise and bustle. Still, there is much to see – dancers, baubles, and indulgences.”
He focuses back on the mirrored lake, spying peeking bits of moonlight which ripple the surface, bringing him more peace than a party ever could. It was quiet here, away from the din of celebration. And in the silence, Azrael could be left alone with his thoughts and his stars. “I am not from Denocte – not originally. The People come from a place which has no name, somewhere far beyond Denocte’s mountains. For generations, we lived in this place, worshiping the stars and following Caligo’s religion…”
Pausing, the stallion chews at his lips, obviously uncomfortable at the memories which came next. “We came to Denocte only when our land was destroyed, fire raining down from the breath of dragons, as it had been foretold. So this is home now. There are no remnants of the place where the shed-stars once lived – only ash and memories.” And the bodies of those who had defied the gods, he thought, but the memory of the fallen should not be tarnished by his own bitterness.
With a sigh, his turquoise eyes brighten once more as he pushes away the pains of the past, reliving them far too often in recent weeks. They were coming up on the anniversary of when the caravan had come. For it had been during the time when Cassiopeia and Lacerta watched the mountains – during the time when trees had washed with reds and golds. With summer days growing shorter, it was only a matter of time before the nightmare would hit full force, Azrael's dreams growing more vivid with every passing day.
He clears his throat. “You are not from here either. Your dialect is lovely and foreign – what about your homeland, Stellanor? Tell me about your stars.”
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