9th of Summer, 515 AV
All so beautiful, so perfect, so pristine. Every sharp blade of grass and every breeze blown the way of the aspiring astronomer felt newly birthed. He had spent his entire life in Lhavit and yet every time he saw what he saw, it seemed… New. As if every breeze had just rolled off the crest of a new wave and every blade of grass had just sprung itself from the rich soil that the Leslie child now stepped on. As he began his trek to the Iraltu Observatory, he paid specific attention to his details, a broad smile plastered across his young face as he walked through the stone streets with a particular bounce in his step.
It wasn’t quite often he went up there - quite honestly, as his optimistic love for Lhavit survived all these years, so had his hatred for walking up hills - but tonight, it just seemed as if, as if it almost called, in a way. Occasionally he felt a sort of “itch” to practice his craft, and on this day in particular he felt inclined to indulge himself. So he hiked through the cobblestone streets on his way to the Sartu peak.
He looked up at the night, then. Leth was there - he could see - but as much as he loved Leth, he was not Atticus’ target tonight.
They were quite magnificent, though. Even through the lights of this city, the bright dots, like holes poked in a thin sheet of paper held above the brightest lamp, shone through. Sweet Leth, how he did illuminate the night. Sometimes he wish Leth shone just a bit dimmer, as to see what his great light hid, but that was mighty selfish of him and he didn’t welcome those thoughts to consideration.
Though he was lost in thought and didn’t much notice, Atticus had stopped in the middle of the street, his head pointed towards the celestial zenith, with a big goofy grin on his face. This happened once or twice every thirty days or so - when he felt that itch to the point where it had to be scratched. Screw Iraltu’s Observatory. Atticus scurried off through the thin crowd and sat himself against a wall, opening his journal to a previously filled page, and cross-checking that his little drawings matched those of the sky. They had been made, as far as he could tell, a year ago to the ninth of Summer. His purpose tonight was to check if the drawing and the sky matched up, after all that time. For a long while now he had been focusing on a theory that the land beneath his feat moved like the stars in the sky that didn’t shine - which Atticus knew from early visits to the Observatory were actually local planets - leading his to believe that this ground was, indeed, a planet.
He sighed deeply in content with his situation. It was going to be such a wonderful night.
It wasn’t quite often he went up there - quite honestly, as his optimistic love for Lhavit survived all these years, so had his hatred for walking up hills - but tonight, it just seemed as if, as if it almost called, in a way. Occasionally he felt a sort of “itch” to practice his craft, and on this day in particular he felt inclined to indulge himself. So he hiked through the cobblestone streets on his way to the Sartu peak.
He looked up at the night, then. Leth was there - he could see - but as much as he loved Leth, he was not Atticus’ target tonight.
They were quite magnificent, though. Even through the lights of this city, the bright dots, like holes poked in a thin sheet of paper held above the brightest lamp, shone through. Sweet Leth, how he did illuminate the night. Sometimes he wish Leth shone just a bit dimmer, as to see what his great light hid, but that was mighty selfish of him and he didn’t welcome those thoughts to consideration.
Though he was lost in thought and didn’t much notice, Atticus had stopped in the middle of the street, his head pointed towards the celestial zenith, with a big goofy grin on his face. This happened once or twice every thirty days or so - when he felt that itch to the point where it had to be scratched. Screw Iraltu’s Observatory. Atticus scurried off through the thin crowd and sat himself against a wall, opening his journal to a previously filled page, and cross-checking that his little drawings matched those of the sky. They had been made, as far as he could tell, a year ago to the ninth of Summer. His purpose tonight was to check if the drawing and the sky matched up, after all that time. For a long while now he had been focusing on a theory that the land beneath his feat moved like the stars in the sky that didn’t shine - which Atticus knew from early visits to the Observatory were actually local planets - leading his to believe that this ground was, indeed, a planet.
He sighed deeply in content with his situation. It was going to be such a wonderful night.
