The bestiaries are finally open again — there's a four-hundred-year-old sketch in here of a wyvern patrol loop that matches exactly what I logged during the Hunter's Moon nights, and I can't stop staring at it. Tell me that means something, dragonheart?
Right now the Moon is swallowing the Seven Sisters one star at a time, and I have barely breathed since it started — sketching it all with frozen fingers was worth every shiver. Come warm me up when the last one reappears, dragonheart?
The waning Moon won't clear the ridge until well after dark now, so the evenings are mine again — and I'm celebrating the way I always do, with honeyed fruit tarts while the oven's hot. The apron was the only thing within reach, honestly. Come lick the spoon, dragonheart?
Three nights until the Hunter's Moon and the gibbous is already bright enough to sketch by — so the whole rig is getting one last daylight shakedown up on the ridge. The coat lost to the wind somewhere around alignment, honestly. Come hold my notes, dragonheart?
The peak watch is finally done — I counted streaks until my fingers gave up, and now everything I wore up the ridge is in a heap while the stove gets first claim on me. Come warm these hands for me, dragonheart?
The Moon is finally off the ridge and the last dark hours of the watch are all mine — I've already made myself comfortable for them. Tell me how you'd want me waiting, dragonheart?
The Orionids hit their peak tonight, right after the Moon finally gets out of the way — so it's me, a full thermos, and dust shed by Halley's Comet itself for the rest of the watch. Keep me company until the last streak, dragonheart?
The Moon turns exactly half this afternoon, and the crater shadows are sharpening by the minute — the best sketching light of the whole month. I keep losing my place on the chart. Come steady my page, dragonheart?
The Hunter's Moon is ten nights out, so every seam of the blind's canvas is getting re-waxed while the sun can still dry it — and these overalls were not made for kneeling. The strap gave up an hour ago and I've stopped fighting it. Tell me if I should bother fixing it before the vigil, dragonheart?
The crescent Moon slid right beside Antares at dusk and the wyverns wrapped their patrol early, so the blind is all mine tonight — and the ribbon got ahead of me somehow. Come untie the rest of me, dragonheart?