Norðrljós

Inga was old.. but truth be told, so was he. Katja wasn't exactly a spring chicken herself, either. Kaprasius couldn't help but feel drawn to her; she was a kindred spirit, despite their differences. He was certain they had much in common, even if it wasn't readily apparent, and he knew they shared similar ideals. Slowly he stirred awake, aroused from his slumber by the gentle lights that flickered to and fro across his closed eyelids. They lit up the night sky in a lovely palette of colors, purple and green and blue and everything in between. Jaws would unhinge, parting in a wide yawn as he slowly pulled himself upright and slipped from his den.

The night was refreshingly bitter and he shuddered at the sudden cold as he moved into the night. Inga's call was clear and inviting, and with ease he would begin to make his way up the slight incline at the base of the mountain, his nostrils flaring as he searched for her.

"Evening, Inga," he called out amiably to her, his voice heavy with the remnants of sleep that clung to him. "Enjoying the display?" He flashed a toothy grin at her, lazily moving to sit near her and gaze up at the night sky.