Between the sun and clouds a veil of crimson melted into the atmosphere. She stood in the place where red turned to night, stone became rain, and the land embraced the universe.

There at the edge of indigo, the Stag nudged her shoulder and said,

“Arc of the sky, you pull on the moon.”

She gently wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his.

“Time keeper, how long has it been since the arrival,” she asked in a whisper.

The breath from his nostrils turned air into mist.

“More than a thousand generations have passed. The survivors are imprisoned in a hollow world, disconnected from the land with no memory of the time before. They rip at the life of the planet, lay molten stone across the land, and use metal to reach into the sky. All we hold sacred has nearly disappeared.”

“Not all,” she breathed, noticing the tear at the edge of his eye.

Her heart filled with the despair of those hidden in the darkness. Shrouded in terror, they existed inside the outer haze of a dying world. They waited in the shadows, knowing she lingered between the trails of stars. Bound to the hope of her, they watched the quasar that appeared in the sky.

The guardians of the ancient ways began to mark the precession of stars.

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©2025 by Rachel Tribble™