Saturn

When you circled with me in that clearing during the cold slush of December I thought you must have been a mirror mad. You told me you were a nocturne, servant of the Shadowbinder, and that you came to me in peace. These were not words easily swallowed. It is hard for me to trust in these times.

Even as his bones turn to dust beneath the dirt of the Zephyr Steppes I left behind, I quake with quiet anger. The wars with the Beastclans rage on, and I see dragons every day that choose to ally themselves with the likes of those that slew him. They are traitorous wyrms without respect for the fallen. Would that I had the power to make them know his suffering.

The way you slid in and out of the shadows in silence reminded me too much of the Serthis, and thinking you one of them, I almost saw you off to an early grave. But my seer assured me the Lightweaver saw no ill in you, and as she is not oft wrong I invited you back to our lair to rest out of the cold for the evening.

I did not expect to grow so fond of you in such little time. Your overnight stay stretched into a few days. Those days into weeks. Those weeks into months. And when you made that rumbling sound from deep within your throat, like a giant guardian contained in a tiny shell, and asked if you might make this your home for a time, I found myself promising you a forever.

You are so different.

Where Barlomaun–may his soul be ferried up to the Windsinger he faithfully served–walked with authority, you flit about in secrecy. Where he stood heads and shoulders above the nestlings, you sometimes blend right in. Where he made me feel as though I could take shelter beneath his grand wings, you make me feel like I am strong enough to weather the storm on my own.

And so I will walk this path of shadows with you, that I may lead my beloved clan into the light they so deserve.

For though you walk in darkness, my Saturn, you are the light of my heart.