I heard a whispered dream of you

in the prayer of the stars and the hymn of the rain

Through the night the rain girl walks, Erthë by her side while Tilney dances ahead, his lantern a guiding light in the darkness. She listens to the chatter and offers brief response, but she is desperately tired and for the most part content to follow, the cloak across her shoulders a warm shelter from this strange land. Sometimes in moments of silence she hums, her voice soft and clear in the night, a wordless rendition of one in a myirad of prayers taught to the girl. Though she longs for the rain the paint wills it away; this is not the land of her gods, and she dare not use their gifts in the presence of infidels- kind as they may be.

At last Tilney calls back to the girls, proclaiming their proximity to this mysterious Edge of the World, and Noe sighs with quiet relief. Her warm eyes peer through the rising trees, taking in fir and fire, but most of all, mist, silver and sparkling in the various light. The girl's heart flutters at this welcoming sight; relief floods through her, and she nearly gasps. The Gods must be smiling on her, sending her heralds of such a lovely place, and the Lady Moon who patronizes it benevolent indeed. Noe makes a point to offer orison to this mysterious matron, perhaps compose her a brief hymn; though her own Gods remain paramount, there is no reason to disrespect the deities of this land.

The bat who has ridden on Tilney's crown suddenly rises into the sky. Noe gasps at Peatree's antics, ducking her head in sudden surprise as the mammal approaches her, though her honey eyes remain fixed on his fluttering, dancing form. Her ears perk up as Tilney explains -"Seagulls?" she questions, but they are already moving on, striding through a crumbling wall, and the stallion is asking Noe what work she wishes to take on. The rain girl bites her lips, uncertain, conflict rising within her breast.

"Well," she begins, her voice a tremulous aria of piccolo and clarinet, "I am... was training to be a Voice of my Gods, the Sky and Stars." For a moment more might be said, and the girl nearly lets her voice, her tale fall like rain. But the moment passes and silence falls back, dark and occluding; she does not say more, because there is too much and too little to say, a story too long and cliche to tell this night. Noe's gaze drifts away from the stallion's bright eyes; she grows smaller, somehow, quiet, a constructed figure of smiles and stone, impenetrable and unknowable, cold and distant as the twinkling stars.