Scribes & Archers

A summer evening breeze brushed through his hair and sounds still traveled in from the city. Hoofbeats on pavement, the calling-out of merchants, rowdy laughter from some nearby pubs. Detren took a seat on the gravel-accented rooftop and watched the city as the sun sank low on the horizon.

Before too long, the stars began to twinkle and the city lights came on, burning as if reflections of the starlight in a massive pool.

He sat there for a long while, through two more tolls of the city clock, just watching the city below, before Nissa landed beside him. She startled him, shifting forms.

“Waiting for someone?” Nissa asked.

“That was really weird that close.” He looked out over the city again. “No, actually. I was watching the city.”

“Riveting.” That one word held gallons of sarcasm. She sat next to him. “Why?”

Detren shrugged. “It’s just interesting, particularly when you watch it from sunset till now. The sounds dim, the lights come on. A stillness falls over everything, only broken by occasional laughter from the taverns.”

“You should be a poet.”

Detren couldn’t tell from her tone if she was being honest or sarcastic. He turned to her. “Why do you like it up here so much?”

“I like sparkly things.” She pointed up at the sky. “The stars are possibly the sparkliest things around.” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “They’re certainly the sparkliest things I ever get to see.”