Nightingales
The pale light of the softly smiling moon filters down through dark green leaves, dappling his fur with patches of bright silver among the shadows. He lies in perfect stillness on a carpet of moss with his muzzle resting on his forepaws, his ears pricked and his eyes closed.
Above him the nightingales sing, their voices rising in spark-breaking laments of loneliness and love-lost nights. He wonders if she hears the same songs from within her solitary lair and if she thinks of him, just a little, as the small planet that has brought them together spins quietly towards dawn.
A/N: 100 words; written for the prompt 'Nightingales'.