[attr="class","isratalk"]

The breeze is slight, gentle in the early spring air. It drifts out over the walk ways of Slateport, trailing stray fragrances from the various events being held in the warmly lit buildings of the port city. Vibrant and buzzing with the affairs of a night many look forward to, couple thrumming with energy as they walk by hand in hand. The wind finds an abandoned pair of heels at the base of the steps that lead to the beach, left behind to slowly collect sand from the steps until their owner returns for them.

Half steps have left a trail in the sand, moving away from the stone of the city steps. Though the heels were abandoned the shape of the steps hasn't changed, tip toes leaving almost nothing behind. At first the trail is steady, reaching out into the stretch of beach that span out before the city, drifting towards the edge of the shore. Then they become seemingly sporadic, jumping from one place to another across the sands.

If one looks close enough they'll find a pattern there, being embedded into the grains of sand with every step. It starts with something simple, the wide steps painting stars into the sand with every move. Connect the dots and they start to become recognizable as things most everyone can see in the night sky. Ursa major, minor, Scorpius and crux, the stars flit across their grainy sky, slipping in between the umbrellas pinned down into the beach.

Further into the sands sits the likes of Cetus and Draco, finding the space for constellations of increasing complexity. Scattering them across the sands with reckless abandon and clear favoritism. Some are done delicately, others in messy half steps for the sake of filling the space before someone can walk across it and ruin it.

Just like the stars in the sky, her ones in the sand are doomed to falter as beach going couples and the tide washing ashore seek to eat her little whimsies and stash them at the bottom of the sea.

For now Isra treads along the shore line, dancing with the tides as it washes ashore and ebbs back out to sea. Toes tickled by seawater when she fails to avoid it, breaking away from the numbness of the cold water before it comes back in again. The breeze plays with the mess of her braid, pulling at the blue flowers still settled in its nooks and crannies, playing at being a delicate pool bellow the plum moon that sits at the top of her braid. She hums a tune, The Gartan mother's lullaby something she remembers from a past life gone astray.

It's still fresh on her lips when she turns to find a familiar face somewhere on the surface of the sand night sky she has been painting.

Remiel Calcifet