The last thing you could call Rubythroat was a stargazer. He wasn't philosophical or quiet or still, but sometimes when the thick canopy over the swamp thinned a little, his Ache faded, just a little, and he could breathe deeply. That was nice. It was then that he could see the stars, and then he'd think: wow, that's pretty.
He'd told Sweet Talk that he wanted to see him at the watering hole by the peach tree he'd found recently, or, well, he'd told someone that it was what he'd have told Sweet Talk. He didn't expect to see that glittery blue coat any time soon, though. Perhaps next Sunspeak, he thought, and then they could isolate themselves.
Probably not.
Either way, the stars glowed tonight, and it made the air feel clear and sweet. Here he could take deep breaths and bask in the pleasure of open sky, which was of course something entirely unique.
Melancholies