The stars were burning brands of white fire; strewn liberally over the heavens as if by some giant, careless child. Their scattered reflections winked back up at them from the gently rolling sea, a blanket of sable pinpricked with diamonds beneath the yawning expanse of the heavens.
At this hour, the ship was quiet. Her crew was sleeping below in the holds, or pacing the rocking deck with silent, measured strides in the rounds of the night watch. At the high prow of the ship, a single light flickered fitfully in the salt breeze, casting its warm glow on the two figures sitting within the circle of its warmth. Neither of the figures were watching the merry flames in the brazier, however. One's gaze was fixed on the strings of the lute being softly played. The other's eyes were only for the bright stars as the last strains of music died away, and the song came to an end.
"That was beautiful, Lyra, and very...unlike you. Not in its beauty, but in it's content. I am curious. What is the source of your current melancholy?'
Lyra brushed the fall of dark hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ears, not answering the young mage for a moment. Finally, she looked up; the light of the little fire seeming to hold her attention.
"I don't know, Yadros. I guess I'm just feeling tired. And very, very far from home…"
Yadros nodded slowly, turning his head to watch the bard as she sat staring at the flames.
"Tired? That, I believe, you can attribute to the ardors of our journey. But far from home? I think not." He lifted a hand, sweeping it across the sky above them, as if including the whole glorious span of the heavens. His hand paused, pointing to a graceful collection of stars.
"Look. You see there? The Fist of the Prophet. And over there? The Rose. The same stars shine over your home, Lyra. Even though your path takes you away from the things you cherish; there are always some things that never change." He smiled.
"Granted, this is no fine tavern with stout ale and a warm hearth. But is it not pleasant to sip a bit of drink with a friend that has come this far with you?" He raised his brandy snifter as if illustrating his point. "Your song speaks of the paths of the stars, and you are right to look to them. But remember, they are only roads. What you seek is a destination. A place to truly call home."
Lyra watched him in silence a moment before shaking her head and turning away, the light catching the faintest glimmer of tears in her eyes.
"The stars are fine for guidance and poetry, Yadros, but they are cold. Where do I belong, then? In Kelebrind? I ran from there six years ago with the blood of the man I called 'father' on my hands. I have no home now."
Yadros let out a soft sigh and reached forward to gently tilt her chin up. "Ah, but that is not true. Your home his here… And here…" He gestured to the sea, and then to the cabins at the far end of the ship. Leaning forward a touch he tapped her softly on the chest. "And here."
She raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. "On my collarbone?"
He sighed expansively and tapped her on the chest again. "Lyra, home is not a place. Or rather, it is not a location. For those like us that have been called to do great things, home is where we are. Home is our friends, a warm cloak, a good flask, a crisp smoke and a gentle fire." He leaned back again, contemplating the stars reflected in his brandy and murmuring softly. "Do not think that any who rest near here would think twice about standing to be counted as your friend."
The young bard sitting across from him straightened almost imperceptibly. Silently, she looked up at the stars again; but this time with the first beginnings of hope rather than despair. Yadros smiled.
"Shall we play it again? I loved that melody…"
Lyra picked up her lute and laughed quietly; the music of her elation once again enough to shatter the stars with joy.