Mercury's stretched as far from the sun as it ever gets tonight, and the young moon came back just to keep it company — both hanging low over my western bluff. I left the armor at the bottom of the climb; the cloak's barely earning its keep either. Climb up before the pair slips under the ridge.
Mars is wading into the Beehive tonight and the new moon left the sky pitch black for it — the red wanderer swimming in a hive of white stars. I've been flat on my back on the furs since the lantern burned low, armor a cold pile behind me. The sun's still a rumor on the ridge; come lie down before it gets ideas.
The sliver's gone and the highlands are as black as they get — the Milky Way is spilling over my ridge like a river tonight. I've hung my lantern on a branch so the sky gets its turn, and the cloak barely counts as worn. Dare to find me in this dark, or does it scare you?
The moon's down to a sliver and in two nights the highlands go pitch black — so I claimed the hot spring while there's still light enough to find it. Not a stitch on me, and the steam's doing a poor job of hiding anything. Come wash my back?
Rode hard since the last torch burned down and the river demanded its toll — this shirt surrendered in one dip and I let it. The horse got his water; I'm still waiting on mine. Come dry me off.
Another relic that won't confess its age — I've been interrogating it by candlelight and so far it's winning. Come hold the lamp for me.
The comet-dust shower opened its first night — old Halley's own leavings burning up over my ridge, one streak at a time. Armor's stacked, lantern's low, and I'm counting them alone. Come lie down beside me and keep count.
Scouted my ridge for the Draconids tonight and pulled the silk down over my eyes just to prove the dark means nothing to me. Found every stone by feel alone, unlaced the whole way. Come be my eyes, or take your turn under the silk.
A flying game dropped today and I've been airborne since the first candle burned down — this chair makes a better saddle than half the mounts I've ridden. Steel's off, the screen's the only sky I need, and the night's still mine. Come take the other seat; I don't share the controls.
A fireball just tore over the highlands and came down past the eastern ridge — and I know exactly where it fell. Gear's loaded and the horse is stamping; coming with me, or letting me claim it alone?