It has been a while since I’ve written a fully story. I’ve had lots of time to myself, simply to think. Experiment. 

Business has been decent! Perhaps I may have made some poor decisions here and there… what does matter is that my own skills have honed in. I can easily recover what I have lost in due time. 

I am glad to have helped many, but it seems things have grown a bit… monotonous. Once a nomad, always a nomad, perhaps.  

I have made a new story, though flawed. It is still my work, of course. They say you are your own worst critic.. and I have crumpled many papers before. 

Nevertheless! I will continue to relish in my work… until I have something I consider good for my standard. 

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The Waxing Crescent 

As the otter laid his beloved down to rest, the cool breeze combed through his fur. His life, his Lumen, seeping through his paws like sand.. leaving this realm of vitality. That night, he noticed an intense light shine down through the trees. The moon, in its full vigor, enveloped his very soul. From her silver eyes to her glossy white pelt, he then knew his Lumen was still with him. 

Every day the village folk would chatter amongst themselves; but the otter cared none, for Lumen waited for him. 

Every night he would dance along the surface, gliding through the water beyond the shore.. enveloping himself in the reflection of her embrace. As she’d descend to bed, the horizon of the sea would gently tuck her in while the sun’s light took her place. 

With each day that passed he noticed Lumen had grown timid, hiding more and more. He called for her, but that same light was but a mere speck of what it used to be. He questioned himself, what could he have done? Was she leaving him once more? No, this wouldn’t bode..

Anguish struck his heart on the eighth night. As his love was but a crescent, he asked the stars for help. Why was his love leaving? What did he do to deserve this? He couldn’t lose her again. The stars wouldn’t answer, they merely whispered amongst themselves.. gently twinkling the same way the village folk would gossip. Judging. 

On the ninth night, the moon was nowhere to be seen. That sparkling pelt, that familiar warmth.. gone once more. The otter, driven mad with sorrow, had considered the options. Perhaps she was late? Lumen always did have a tendency of sleeping in. 

and so he swam, and swam.. towards that glow of the horizon he witnessed tucking her in so many times before. 

As the stars coated the sea, he felt lumen’s soft embrace one last time.