Her gaze drifted down from the star speckled skies as he came into view, and a swift wag of his tail was the answer to such an action. His gait became high stepping, excited to see she was not in some kind of moon daze (if there was such a thing), and that she would want to talk to him. Unceremoniously he plopped down in front of her, reaching up to relieve an itch before he even introduced himself. But as he sat up a little straighter he gave her his name and asked for her’s in return. Anemone, she said. He rolled the name around in his head for a moment, thinking it was very unique and that he wasn’t really sure what it meant. But then again, what did Rhaegal mean? It meant him, just as Anemone meant her. His ears pricked forward at her greeting and he remembered that even though it was the middle of the night he was still a prince and he should be a respectable one at that. “Its nice to meet you too.” Was his reply, and it was an honest one at that. At least he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t sleep.

That was when the cold wind ruffled his fur, sending a chill down his spine. Absent mindedly he commented on the coming season, his first winter, and she laughed. His tail wagged across the ground where he sat. His mother had told him about winter, and he was excited for the first snow fall. She had told him about banks and drifts of snow, and Rhaegal already had plans to sink his brothers in them on a regular basis. He nodded at her words, agreeing with her even though he had never experienced the coldest season of the year.

Rhaegal tipped his head back, gazing up at the stars that she had been so fixated on until his arrival. The moon was bright that night, but the stars still shone impeccably. As he leaned back the white patch of fur on his chest was exposed for a moment, before his multi-hued eyes fell back to Anemone. “Do you know any stories about the stars, Anemone?” Rhaegal loved to hear stories, it was what had made him like Sorcha so much. And uncle Taliesin always had a tale to tell about their family’s history. Maybe the stars held their own stories, and Anemone could read them. But if not, he was certain they could find something else fun to do.