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“‘Through light unfurled by the winds of time, my dust stirs to behold Your Face.’” Aven inspected the grayling shard closer, the strange material not reflecting the warm glow of his core. “More poetry.” He tossed the shard in the smallest pile they'd accrued from their research, then took the nearest shard from the unsorted pile and began the process again.
Edda bounced her leg as she read her own shard: a painfully dry business document. She should have chucked it into the surprisingly large pile of similar drivel, but despite her desire to take a break and at least stretch if not go for a sprint, she remained right where she was—lying supine on the peaty ground of the Seafoam Sanctuary with the shard still in hand. She felt… heavier. She didn't have any other words for it, just heavier.
Noticing her inaction, Aven looked up from his shard. He was seated on a nearby stone, the unsorted shard pile between the two of them. “You alright?”
“Mnh, yeah.” She tossed her shard towards the business documents pile and missed by an arm's length.
Neither said anything for a while. Then Aven stood from his perch, placed his shard in the diary entries pile, and placed Edda's shard with the rest of its kind. He peered down at Edda, who still hadn't retrieved a new shard.
“You sure you're okay?”
She shrugged. “I feel… slow.”
Traces of his concern rippled through that one corner of her mind linked to his. Her core fluttered at that; he was so cute when he was concerned for her.
Aven crouched next to her, brushing her cheek with his warm fingers, a gesture she nuzzled into. An echo of caressing a chilly face tingled in her own fingers. “Your light is dimmer.” His voice took on that nervous edge heard early in their transcendence.
“I don't feel—” she searched for the word, new and undefined, “—ill.”
He shook his head. “I don't think you're… ill.” He said that strange new word with a hint of revulsion. His fingers left her face, and while Edda longed for them to remain, she didn't protest. A long silence stretched between them. “I think the word you're looking for is tired.”
“Tired…” she echoed. That did feel more right than “heavy”. “Yeah… I'm tired.”
Aven's gaze flicked between Edda and the pile of unsorted shards. “We can finish this later.”
“No, no, we can keep going.”
“You sure?”
She twitched her head in affirmation—even something as small as that was an effort. She didn't like this… this “tiredness”.
Aven—blessed star he was, how did she end up with one so thoughtful and tender-cored like him—settled down next to her with his legs crossed. Edda found just enough energy to shift herself to her side so he could gather her upper body in his arms and curl into his lap. His warmth surrounded her, lulling her into the darkness that crept on the fringes of her mind. Not helping matters were his claws running through her hair. She sank into him, drinking in the feel of his smooth shell on hers.
“Would you like to read together?” he asked, stroking her temple.
Edda roused a little. “No.” At least talking didn't take too much out of her. “But I'd like to hear you read.”
A hum of acknowledgement. A moment later, he began reading. Edda couldn't make out what he read—let alone decipher the meaning—only that his soft, low voice was speaking. The darkness welcomed her; all she needed was to surrender.
“Edda?”
But not yet.
She roused to Aven nudging her shoulder. A small noise escaped her.
“Still with me, my spark?”
She hummed back at him.
“Another diary entry.”
It took her a moment to find her voice, but she did. “Put it with the others, then.”
She didn't even hear it clatter against its new neighbors. The darkness had swallowed her again. Warm, encompassing, gentle darkness. It cradled her in its hands, easing her deeper into its hold.
“My spark?”
His voice. She wanted to return to meet it, she so desperately wanted to. But she was in the arms of another darkness, one she'd leave in her own time.
“Edda, dear,” Aven called to her, voice low.
She did not respond. Her light had dimmed to a mere glimmer; were it not for the echo of ultimate relaxation in her corner of his mind, he would have assumed her dead. Her hair still stirred in an unfelt breeze—even at rest she was in motion. He couldn't resist running a claw through a stray silken lock.
How did this tenacious, jubilant, ferocious star of thunder and rime end up with him of all stars? His core gleamed at being the one to see her like this, to hold her in her vulnerability, to uphold her trust and protect her from all in her sleep. He wouldn't trade this for anything. She was everything he wanted.
Aven looked up at the piles of grayling shards. There were more unsorted shards than there were of the largest pile of identified shards, but not by much. He wasn't sure how long she'd sleep for—sleep, that was the word he'd been looking for—but perhaps he could make more headway in their personal project.
The thought of tossing shards over her sleeping form, while it tickled an underfed sense of humor within him, didn't seem right. He glanced around at the pale foliage about them. Some seafoam lichen draped from a structure within arm's reach. Careful to not jostle Edda, he stretched to slice the lichen off. Slowly, cautiously, he slid himself out from beneath her and cushioned her head with the largest slice of downy lichen. Her fingers twitched, her core pulsed gently, but she did not rouse as he added more to her sleeping spot.
With the last of the lichen tucked away, he stroked the back of a finger along her cheek, down her jawline. She stirred. He withdrew his hand. Did he rouse her? He shouldn't have touched her; she'd been fighting it and here he'd gone and woken her up.
“Aven?” Her voice was brittle, not fully there. Even now he loved his name from her voice.
“I'm here,” he said in a hushed whisper.
She tugged his outstretched claw, almost no force in the gesture, but he heeded it regardless. He clasped her hand in his. “Thank you.” Her light dimmed back down to the dull glimmer, then returned to the slow, near-imperceptible pulse.
Aven leaned over to kiss her forehead. Nothing he could say would truly express his joy. He sat back down next to her, still holding her hand, and picked up another shard.