This short piece was inspired to be composed after I bought the book today with my dad at a nearby bookstore. I don't own The Host or any of its wonderful crew of characters. Enjoy.
Wanderer. Wanderer. My precious, sweet, Wanderer. When I held you in my hand, you were so beautiful. I couldn't help but chuckle lightly as I felt your small, silvery body wiggle in my palm. The tickling sensation joyously ran up and down my spine. You can't leave this planet behind, Wanderer. You are wanted here. I want you. I want to cradle in my arms and murmur sweet nothings into your ear. My beautiful Wanderer, you are no longer a wanderer in name because you are mine. Ian O'Shea's.