No. The moon was a queen, not a king. She was full and gold, the crowning glory of the nightly court; she watched as guardian and sentinel, her ebullient light washing the world in silver and gray. In her arms she cradled the thieves and the wicked, the devout and the faithful. All were safe beneath her gaze. These were blasphemous thoughts—thoughts that did not belong here in the Falls, where flowers wilted and trees shed their leaves come autumn. Here was very far away from the sky's dark embrace, and the wind was converted into a mere whisper by the blunt force of the trees. Nymeria wanted to apologize to that far-off goddess, to ask to be forgiven—but that goddess did not watch her. That goddess probably did not know she existed.

Lilómiel twisted his claws tighter into the artfully tangled curls of her mane, chiding her and her blasphemous thoughts. Moon watch, he promised to Nym. The worst part was that he honestly believed that a goddess would waste a moment to look upon the obsolete and the lost.  

She may watch, but she doesn't speak, the grullo said in turn, with a twitch of her ear and an annoyed whisk of her tail across sooty flanks.

Their thoughts momentarily entwine, a broad and loose exchange of emotion. It settles both their unrest; Nymeria bends at the knee, lowering her weight to the ground. Her back pressed up against a tree trunk, Lilómiel cradled along the dip of her spine, she lays and watches the stars. As always, she is entranced by their celestial swirl across the sky, unpredictable and hypnotic; but she does not feel the same kinship to those cold and distant bodies as she does with the falls booming in the distance, or the ebb and flow of the sea. In some way, she wishes that her magic would not be so earth like in nature... but she would not trade away her given gifts for anything in the world.

Nymeria wondered why she wasn't able to innately see the moon as a symbol of the Moon Goddess. When she looked at it, fat and gold—it looked to be a parasite, swollen with ill-given blood. And then, she closed her eyes, concentrated, opened them again: and it was a crown again, a smile, a promise.

It's an illusion.

It was all an illusion—all she had to do was give it the right context...