Each night, different.

Each night when we walk, clockwise around the village, each and every night, is different.
Tonight the stars shine bright. There is no moon.
Tonight there are no bats. It is too cold for the sky-mice to fly.
Tonight the rising wind plays with the dry bones of leaves that still cling to the trees.
Tonight the windcat hides around corners then springs as we walk through the dark.
Tonight the light-house at Strumble Head still sweeps the sky, a ghost of yesterday's light as there are no clouds for it to shine from. We stand between three houses of light, The Bishop, The distant Smalls light-house, and Strumble Head, each with a different rhythm of light.
Tonight we see no falling stars, but Orion strides across the night, fierce hunter.