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It had been almost a trine now since the valley knew a quiet night, but tonight the wailing of our little child was far more frequent, as none of us could rock him to sleep. UrAc had tried but he would not quiet, and UrZah did his best to comfort him, and UrSol tried to sing him to sleep, but the poor little gelfling kept crying.
“He wants UrSu…” UrIm had said, “But UrSu cannot hold him tonight…”
Our master is too ill, and this the little child knew, he could sense it I think. Perhaps the gelfling could smell death on him, hidden beneath all the flowers and perfumes? Or perhaps he noticed how UrSu grew paler and weakened? Regardless, tonight the valley was filled with tearful mourning, and we all felt it in our very bones; dread, fear, knowing what yet comes, yet is not here.
But this is my first night with him, and I doubt it will be my last, here as we float on the lake’s surface, rocked by the flow of the waterfall and turning wheel. Thra sings a gentle song with all its creatures, the stars above glitter and the moons are our nightlights. Here, as I hold him with my two hands and keep him close to my chest, he begins to quiet, his weeping turning to gentle cooing, and from cooing to silence, and from silence to steady and rhythmic breathing of a quiet, still slumber. His little hand wrapped tightly around my finger, my eye stays on him, watching his little chest rise and fall in perfect rhythm with all of Thra.
Yet, now, it seems that I am the one who cannot sleep. It is I who am lonely, as my eye wanders the Uni-verse above, and wonders. I wonder many things, I wonder most of all, if Jen knows in his heart that this is his home, like how I know in my heart that this is not mine.
As my gaze drifts through the stars, I look, searching, as if I could find the one I called home and know it by its glittering light. Yet, I feel the closest to home that I have in a long while, here on the water’s surface, the tiny gelfling wrapped tightly in my arms, I feel as if somewhere in my mind lurks a memory long-lost, and it tells me, that I have done this before. I remember softly the trickling of water and starlight reflected off its dark surface. I remember endless seas of black ink, and I remember love, overwhelming and warm and aching, and it hurt terribly as it does tonight when I think of UrSu and when I look down at the little gelfling in my arms.
I have been here before, and something tells me about how he quieted, that I will be here for many more nights to come.