I loved nights in the Estersands. The biting cold was such a sharp and startling contrast from the garish heat of the sun, it made me feel more alive than surrounding myself with people ever did.
On that night, stars glowed from every corner of the sky, illuminating the desert in a dim blue light.
Balthier, who hated the cold every bit as much as I yearned for it, had immediately made a fire and settled by it, intent on keeping as warm as possible. Fran sat protectively near by, eyes focused on Balthier while her ears swivelled and twitched at the noises of the night.
He layed on his back, distended from the make-shift camp, staring at the stars.
We would share their beauty, later. We would gaze at the stars from eachother's arms, and we'd kiss in their sweet, faded light.
But for the time, though, I stayed by the fire, watching yellow-red flames gnaw at dry, dead tree limbs.