That night, when the day had ended and the sun had lost its luster, revealing the pale moon, Altair silently laid over his bed with his chest bare, more tired than ever. Ever since he got the Fallen Moon Imperfection, Altair had found himself sleeping more often than he liked.
Sleep had always been something he'd found to be a waste of time, now more so that he stood in the lion's dead of assassins, soldiers, and mercenaries. But sleep was near despite protest. Yet he didn't mind it, not today, as Ren rested her head on his chest.
She felt warm. And despite Altair finding the night air unbearably hotter than before, he found himself craving her warmth.
"I miss the hundred feet of snow, Ren. I miss the winter winds cutting through my hair." He said, within the darkness, looking up. "It's hot. Earth is so unbearably hot." He glanced at her, looking back up with her silly smile.
