NERON
the hailstorm
One of the things Neron rarely gets to appreciate about the Tundra is the beauty of the night sky. Since Morgan’s ever-so-generous decision to keep the shrine in the Fangs, and to allow him to go alone, he has taken great pleasure in the walk there and back. The cold doesn’t bother him and the solitude is pleasant.
So, now that he’s replenished, he strolls the causeway back towards the Citadel, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes on the stars. It’s bright and clear, almost stunningly so, and a crescent moon hangs overhead. If Neron reaches up, he imagines he might be able to prick his finger on the edge of it.
Softly, he starts to hum under his breath; an old, old tune, back from Northaven. Probably played at one of those insufferable weddings he attended with Edrei. He misses her, having never had the chance to reunite before she was eaten by a land shark. Shame, really.
So, now that he’s replenished, he strolls the causeway back towards the Citadel, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes on the stars. It’s bright and clear, almost stunningly so, and a crescent moon hangs overhead. If Neron reaches up, he imagines he might be able to prick his finger on the edge of it.
Softly, he starts to hum under his breath; an old, old tune, back from Northaven. Probably played at one of those insufferable weddings he attended with Edrei. He misses her, having never had the chance to reunite before she was eaten by a land shark. Shame, really.
