Andalin's house reminded her of a prison. Or, it would, if prisons were small and messy and cramped with papers and bookshelves.
The house had eggshell white walls and no decoration or pictures. The living room, where they sat, had unnerving white lights that bore down on them like they knew all their darkest secrets (though Analune didn't have many, and Andalin even less). The only thing distinctly homely about the place was a window at one side of the wall, which had a rather unremarkable view of rocks and slightly shriveled plants.
She greatly disliked the place. But, of course, she kept that to herself.
Andalin smiled down at the little creature before him. She was called a Faegs Bird, which Analune had always thought was a deceiving name because it looked very little like a bird.
Lua jumped up and down on her short, thin legs as her "hat," a large, rock-like slant on the top of its head, bobbed up and down. It had a round body and cape-like wings that couldn't fly. She was as pretty and colorful as a slightly muted rainbow.
Analune leaned forward and scratched her head, smiling. Andalin wasn't much of a talker, so they hadn't said anything in a bit. That suited her just fine usually, but she was feeling sort of talkative.
"So," she said to her cousin after letting the silence hang in the air for a few more seconds, "You're a thinker. Do you think we can put the moon back in place?"
"Oh, I don't know," he said, eyes clouding over with thoughts. "This situation sounds very unifying. I feel like if all the towns and cities come together, we'll have a standing chance."
"What do you think we'll do?" Analune asked. She licked her lips. "Do you think we can solve it magic?"
Andalin jerked his head up toward her. He saw where this was going and recognized that look in her eyes, and he did not like it. "Do you?"
Analune shrugged. "Maybe."
"That's barking mad, Ana," he expressed. "Even a Sun linguist couldn't do it– and definitely not a Star linguist, even if they had lifetimes of training. You know?"
"Well, isn't it better than laying down and dying?" She countered.
"I mean, we're all going to die in eighty ears anyway," he said. "Do we fight that?"
"This is different," Analune vented. "This isn't just about us. This is about future generations– the future of the world, Andalin." It looked like Andalin was in one of his moods. Usually, he had rather doglike earnestness and enthusiasm. She wanted to snap that part of him awake-- although she, of course, loved every part of her cousin.
He shrugged and patted Lua's side. "Everything will end eventually," he said. "That's the way of the world. Things are born. Things die. And then something rises from the ashes. I can show you a book I read about it if you'd like."
"You can't be at peace with this," Analune said, hoping he knew that she meant no disrespect.
"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I probably sound awful. I... have been through a lot. It does something to you."
Analune sighed. "Can I show you something?" she asked.
"Show me what?" he asked.
"Anything you'd like, reasonably," Analune said.
"I could really go for a pot that doesn't run out of ink, but you won't actually..." The words died on his lips.
Analune closed her eyes and checked her magic reserve, which was decent. She tapped into it, envisioning a small brown pot with midnight ink. It appeared in her hand. Her cousin let out a gasp.
Analune had never tried a magical object before. But she couldn't back down now.
She concentrated, hard, and whispered, "I command you to never run out of ink." Thick coils of starlight wound around her wrist, and then flooded the liquid midnight. It didn't shrivel up, which she found amazing.
She smiled, feeling like she'd run a marathon.
Her cousin took the pot from her hand delicately, then flipped it upside down over a bowl to his left, where a few leftover popcorn kernels from their snack lay.
It kept pouring. Andalin stared.
"Could you always do this?"
"No," she said with a laugh. "I've been practicing. Don't tell anyone."
Andalin flipped it right side up. "This is amazing, Ana," he started hesitantly, trying to keep himself from smiling, "But isn't this a little dangerous? Even for you? I mean, you could get into big trouble for this."
"Well, do you know what's even more dangerous?" She said, smiling to show she meant no harm. "The moon crashing into our planet."
He didn't laugh. "You think you can stop this?" he asked.
"I can try," she said
He sighed and scratched his floppy hair. "I–"
Suddenly, an alarm started ringing from the church building. Analune jumped to her feet and opened the door. Outside, water had just begun to flood the streets, gushing down the mountains that hid the vast blue ocean.
"Stardragons," she whispered.
