Sitting in her steller mezanine, grey and high, gentle whispers of tears came from Moon
Tendrils of light reflected in the teardrop pool forking its way through the dust near her feet
Stormcloud gathers his strength, at a odd loss to know the ways of the hearts of the Longen
They live so long, see so much. He thought as he edged his way towards Moon. He knew he had but hours to live. It made his tummy rumble and he remembered his own brief youths. Every day he died. Every day he was born. Grew old. Grew up.
Till he dies just before Sun, his mother gives birth to him again. One of many sons and dughters of the Longen.
Would he ever reach Moon?
Every day he tried and every night he failed. These gentle wispy tears falling. Falling.
Stormcloud would never know why.