Iskra
I'm chasing starlight to find it's died away
It was an interesting thing, Iskra mused, as he traced the words being scrawled by starlight with his eyes. He supposed, similar to when he wrote messages, that it was not as quick or as easy as speaking. That each letter fitting into each word had to be crafted, and words carefully chosen from the myriad among the language in order to be certain the message was kept clear. Tone of voice carried a lot of this weight usually, but given that Vesper hadn't murmured in the slightest, Iskra took it that these heavenly scrawlings were all the man could muster. He didn't blame the short, pointed words then, as he too tended to keep his writings brief.He nodded at the home Zenith claimed, but did not speak further on it, not when reading it sent a pang in his heart. "With your practice, I'm guessing you've written a poem for Vox already?" Iskra asked with a slight smile. He did not wish to invite the Family's attention, so as irregular as it was, Iskra reached into his pocket and withdrew a bit of paper to do as was required. "I have not. Perhaps you could pass judgement on my attempt." Iskra reached forward and pulled a small, burnt stick from the fire pit. His hairs curled where the fire licked him, but he was quick and accustomed to such warm bites. Using the charcoal, he scratched out a sorry attempt.
Woods so lovely dark, and deep
Seems the place you'd creep
Yet in the mind
There you'll find
Vox
Iskra passed his paper to Zenith, ready for his scoring.
