WESSEX
She doesn’t see Aamu so much as see the glow stones and then see Aamu. Whatever place she had in mind is more or less swept away by the soft, pale light flooding the Glade - and as they were both near the Moth Man, she, too, is caught up in the evening’s unexpected spell. “Aamu?” A question already answered, the Wraith drifts towards the man and then lowers herself down beside him, folding her legs smoothly underneath herself and dropping the disc to the dew-covered grass.
“What are you doing?” she asks, though this, too, is obvious, as she reaches out to touch the mini-moons and gather a few in her pale hands. Together, her nanites and the rocks are luminescent. It strikes her as odd that after some forty-odd years and hundreds of night-wanderings through the Glade, that she finally fully appreciates the glow stones for their simple, entrancing beauty.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
