Refuge Dreams

Two travelers under a flame-torn sky. We’ve lost everything but our souls, and even those seem tattered. I slump against a stone, mind numb, head in my hands, weeping for all that I've lost. Oberon stands not far off, thinking, waiting, listening to my soft sorrow. Then, as if feeling my feelings, he too begins to cry. The tattoos on his cheeks glisten. As the moon sets, celestial fire lights up the sky, the same colors I used to watch with my father. I imagine a chorus of airless voices and a desert-light symphony, lending beauty to the scene while it lasts. Blue and gold, green and violet—when did I fall asleep? Before dawn, amid my semi-articulate yawning, Oberon picks me up as if I am no more a burden than the moonlight reflecting off my skin. Silent as a prayer, he carries me to the outskirts of the forest and spreads a bed of leaves for us. There I sleep—Oberon lying on his back very near, eyes closed in an expression that looks like dreaming, though it is not.