the moon only shines with the help of the sun
Marcus woke to a low, rumbling huff by his ear, followed by the heavy thud of talons on the wooden floor. He blinked groggily, squinting through the dark until a pair of golden eyes gleamed back at him. Eira lifted her beak and nudged his shoulder insistently.
Marcus mumbled, incoherent as sleep threatened to reach for him again. Throwing the blankets off with a grunt, he twisted himself out of bed. Eira then turned to Margot, working harder to wake the young girl. His bare feet hit the cold floor as he stumbled upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Marcus wondered if his parents were home early as the edges of his mind started to focus, his steps uneven as the dregs of sleep clung to him. The lodge was quiet, save for the soft creak of floorboards beneath his weight. He stepped into the sitting room, and the warmth of the fireplace hit him like a wall.
There, bathed in the flickering orange glow of the firelight, stood his father. His silhouette was sharp against the crackling flames, shoulders broad and posture still. For a moment, Marcus hesitated, feeling small in the quiet intensity of the scene--seeing there the Sentinel of the North, wrapped in the presence of the Forsaken. "Dad?" Marcus' voice asked, unsure, his hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The evidence of the hour was on his voice in the way it crackled and croaked. "Eira woke us up." He said, just as the griffin rubbed against his leg and Margot stumbled down the hall behind him.
Marcus mumbled, incoherent as sleep threatened to reach for him again. Throwing the blankets off with a grunt, he twisted himself out of bed. Eira then turned to Margot, working harder to wake the young girl. His bare feet hit the cold floor as he stumbled upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Marcus wondered if his parents were home early as the edges of his mind started to focus, his steps uneven as the dregs of sleep clung to him. The lodge was quiet, save for the soft creak of floorboards beneath his weight. He stepped into the sitting room, and the warmth of the fireplace hit him like a wall.
There, bathed in the flickering orange glow of the firelight, stood his father. His silhouette was sharp against the crackling flames, shoulders broad and posture still. For a moment, Marcus hesitated, feeling small in the quiet intensity of the scene--seeing there the Sentinel of the North, wrapped in the presence of the Forsaken. "Dad?" Marcus' voice asked, unsure, his hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The evidence of the hour was on his voice in the way it crackled and croaked. "Eira woke us up." He said, just as the griffin rubbed against his leg and Margot stumbled down the hall behind him.
it's not as safe when your walking alone
