The night is a pool of indigo darkness. Still, hushed, not a dog bark or a fox cry, not a curlew, not an owl hoot. not even the murmur of the slow sea rolling. The only sound the barely perceptible hunting cry of the aerymice as they criss cross the dark.
Shooting stars and a river of light, but best of all the quarter lantern of the moon. Tonight she paints no clouds, but shines a silver path across the ink dark sea, marking with white gold beauty the far distant horizon, the curve of the world, the edge. Beneath the silver waters of the world dolphins sleep.