05-13-2020, 11:53 PM
Icarus hears the approach of pawsteps in the soft shuddering of the heath under another's weight, shifting and settling with a sigh as the other seats himself. The tom does not turn at first — he, too, lets the comfortable silence draw out, eyes fixed to the sky above. He hadn't anticipated having company, but he welcomes it just the same, allowing the other to speak first. Little thought is spared to exactly who it is that's joined him (there are only so many options, after all) until the lion speaks. Emerald-green eyes glitter just a bit brighter with recognition, ear flicking in a wordless greeting; so the winged newcomer from lands beyond the moors is up late, too? In spite of his general nosiness, Icarus knows better than to pry at what's kept Aurum out at such an hour. Everyone has their reasons for lack of sleep, their own burdens to bear — few can say to be sleepless of their own accord as he is, so he'll savor his time with the stars.
He gives a hum in quiet agreement with Aurum's words. Even without saying it explicitly, Icarus knows what he refers to — what else does he gaze at so admiringly as the stars? There is something about seeing them here, with nothing but the open plains flanking him to remind him of how very distant they truly are. To many the heavens are a reminder of their smallness on this earth, but to the golden feline it's a reminder of how grand and unlikely their circumstances are, that this light would travel for hundreds of thousands of years in the cold expanse of space just to shine upon them. Maybe if he weren't so blissfully ignorant to recent events just at the outer reaches of their territory he'd think how fragile their existence here is — but he is blissfully ignorant, and such thoughts never cross the optimistic tabby's mind. Icarus almost wants to ask Aurum what he thinks, wants to come up with something poetic and glorious to say, but in the face of all the great majesty that is seeing the universe unravel before his eyes all he is left with is a simple, breathless, "Yeah. It's amazing."
The tom shifts where he sits, finally turning to cast a glance at the fellow Knight, face only lit by the gentle glow of starlight. His own eyes seem to sparkle beneath the moon's rays, and still in the shadows that fall across his face there is an inscrutable nature to the deep contemplation written over his features. "You know any constellations?" he asks mildly. Icarus knows his well enough; the major ones, a few notable stars, some miscellaneous facts to accompany them. He's picked up a fair amount from his books, but the man is a nothing if not a poet at heart — he's less interested in the science than the stories behind them that bind each star by an invisible thread, pulling together seemingly-meaningless dots into sprawling works of art painted across the evening sky, like a map leading to a destination unknown. In the end, Icarus doesn't wait for a reply. "Virgo's especially clear tonight. She's lovely." A white-dappled paw follows his musings, pointing into the distance where another collection of scattered stars lie, tracing the lines like those on his fur. It's familiar in a way little else in his life has been, comforting and warm like the embrace of someone he once knew well. Icarus falls now into a lull of silence, allowing the subtle sounds of the night air wash over them as he concentrates ever-curiously above.
He gives a hum in quiet agreement with Aurum's words. Even without saying it explicitly, Icarus knows what he refers to — what else does he gaze at so admiringly as the stars? There is something about seeing them here, with nothing but the open plains flanking him to remind him of how very distant they truly are. To many the heavens are a reminder of their smallness on this earth, but to the golden feline it's a reminder of how grand and unlikely their circumstances are, that this light would travel for hundreds of thousands of years in the cold expanse of space just to shine upon them. Maybe if he weren't so blissfully ignorant to recent events just at the outer reaches of their territory he'd think how fragile their existence here is — but he is blissfully ignorant, and such thoughts never cross the optimistic tabby's mind. Icarus almost wants to ask Aurum what he thinks, wants to come up with something poetic and glorious to say, but in the face of all the great majesty that is seeing the universe unravel before his eyes all he is left with is a simple, breathless, "Yeah. It's amazing."
The tom shifts where he sits, finally turning to cast a glance at the fellow Knight, face only lit by the gentle glow of starlight. His own eyes seem to sparkle beneath the moon's rays, and still in the shadows that fall across his face there is an inscrutable nature to the deep contemplation written over his features. "You know any constellations?" he asks mildly. Icarus knows his well enough; the major ones, a few notable stars, some miscellaneous facts to accompany them. He's picked up a fair amount from his books, but the man is a nothing if not a poet at heart — he's less interested in the science than the stories behind them that bind each star by an invisible thread, pulling together seemingly-meaningless dots into sprawling works of art painted across the evening sky, like a map leading to a destination unknown. In the end, Icarus doesn't wait for a reply. "Virgo's especially clear tonight. She's lovely." A white-dappled paw follows his musings, pointing into the distance where another collection of scattered stars lie, tracing the lines like those on his fur. It's familiar in a way little else in his life has been, comforting and warm like the embrace of someone he once knew well. Icarus falls now into a lull of silence, allowing the subtle sounds of the night air wash over them as he concentrates ever-curiously above.
lightning in your eyes, you can't speak
falling from the sky, down to me
( icarus — knights of concord — judge — tags )