Half Moon Waxing

Silvan Arown Elendal

He waited under the half moon, a darker tall shadow in the darkness. Around him, the supple branches of the weeping willow moved in the subtle breeze. His breath rose from his mouth in white clouds. Shifting from foot to foot in the cold, long fingered hands pulled his long coat tighter about him, turning the collar up under his chin. He glances dispassionately up at the glowing half moon and flicks his long jet black hair, muttering under his breath.

“C’mon Zai, where are you? It’s bloody freezing out here. C’mon Zai, hurry up already…”

Blue eyes, the colour of the zenith sky on a pure summer day, look back to the moon, as bright as he is dark. He considers it, his head on one side slightly, his worry mounting. Has he got the day wrong? Is the moon a perfect half, or is he early? Worse, is he late? Is his lover wandering off in other reaches now?

The traitorous, un-suggestive moon has moved another half inch across the sky, the dark stranger beneath the willow tree stamping his feet impatiently in the cold. He is just about ready to turn tail and go home. Home to warmth and light, food, bed and warm company that will welcome him with open arms. But his heart misses his erstwhile lover.

And there he is, dancing softly in the shadows, his robes bloody and moon-stained, starlight in his hair and on his fur. He moves closer with his twirling and the stranger in the shadows starts. His heart leaps in his chest, a little golden bird beating its wings against the slender black bars of an elegant cage.

“ZAI!”

Cat-yellow eyes turn at the joyous cry, robes still settling. He quick steps to the tree and slips between the curtain branches. Clawed hands cup the waiting strangers black furred muzzle. Two sets of fangs gleam white in the darkness before they kiss. Tails intertwine. Fingers find the parting of blue-eye’s coat and slip under stroked the concave of furry abdomen.

“Ah! That’s cold!”

Zai giggles darkly, his laugh more of a growling purr. Both smile, purrs rising from slender throats as they move to a dark embrace.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Ah, Kier…” the only English the other knows slips out before he kisses his companion soundly.

“I know, I know, you’re here now,” interprets the other.

Zai smiles a smile that says so much more than words.

“Kier…”

“C’mon,” he says, tugging at his lovers bloody robes, an arm around his waist, nuzzling his hair, “Let’s go get warm.”