Whatever We Do It's Too Little, Too Late [Jigsaw]

Sleep wasn't coming. Áskell lay tossing and turning in his den, unable to find rest. The moonlight filtered into his den as bright as sunlight and it seemed to charge the night air, setting him on edge and making it even harder to find peace. Eventually Áskell gave up and slipped outside his den into the hum of the night. A rich violet sky stretched out above him, streaked with stars that were echoed by the dancing fireflies below. They seemed to shift and hum in and out of the trees. He sighed. There wasn't much he could do about the weirdness of the night other than to endure it.

"Áskell?"

Áskell skidded to a halt at the voice. "Dad?" There was no way… he heard the voice again and started following the fireflies toward the direction of his father's voice.