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When the sun goes down, the sky turns to a brilliant orange. After nothing but teal and purple and green and blue for hours inside the depths of the ruins, the boy welcomes the color change. It’s lucky that he and Trico found this grassy platform, since they’ve been inside under tons of stone for hours. There’s a fruit tree growing from a precarious perch, and so the boy has a small pile of fruit beside him to eat while he watches the sunset. It’s a tasty fruit, crisp and sweet, more than filling after hours of walking and climbing and running through these vast ruins.
Trico prowls the edge of the platform, eyes reflecting the sky in an even more brilliant gold. “Do you like sunsets?” the boy asks, swinging his legs and kicking his heels against the chunk of stone on which he sits. The great beast swings its head to look at him and barks, then looks back up at the sky, sitting back on its haunches and gazing upward. Sometimes, it reminds the boy of the cats and dogs back in his own village, and other times the beast seems much more intelligent than that.
A chill twilight wind whispers through the trees and Trico’s feathers. The boy shivers. “Perhaps we could make a fire,” he says, and pops the last bite of fruit in his mouth and licks his fingers. Then he hops down from the stone to look for sticks under the trees. Trico watches him curiously, but doesn’t bother approaching. It’s as if the beast knows that the boy isn’t leaving.
At last he has a fair pile of kindling near the base of the stone he’d been sitting on. The boy doesn’t have flint and steel, but he knows that in theory striking rocks together hard enough ought to have the same effect. And if that doesn’t work, there might be a still-lit torch back in the corridor from which they’d emerged.
The abyss over the edge of the balcony has gone dark. Though the sky is still light, down here among the towers it is as dark as the inside of a monster’s mouth. Trico comes away from the edge and lies down, arranging its massive limbs and tail in an arc with the campfire at its center. It purrs when the boy pauses to scratch its enormous nose, procrastinating his hunt for appropriately-sized rocks for making the fire.
“You can see in the dark, but I can’t,” the boy remarks to Trico. He glances over his shoulder at the heap of kindling. It probably isn’t a very good fire, but it’s better than nothing. “I need some light!”
The beast’s ears prick up, and it leans its head to one side, looking past the boy at the heap. It chirrups inquisitively. “Yes,” the boy says. “And it’ll keep us both warm!” He doesn’t always know why he talks to the beast, but it seems as if it really can understand him.
In this case, perhaps Trico does understand. Its eyes narrow in concentration, and a spark of lightning leaps from its tail onto the pile of kindling. The boy yelps and topples backward in surprise, landing on Trico’s feathery forelimb. It chuffs at him, nudging him almost as if in reproof. He scrambles to his feet, careful not to yank at any feathers, and laughs with delight when he sees the embers flaring to life in his little pile of kindling. “Thank you!” he says, ineffectually hugging Trico’s nose. The beast’s purring redoubles in sound, thrumming so loudly that the boy can feel it in his bones. It pushes at him and he stumbles a little, just barely holding on enough not to fall over again.
The boy sits and leans against Trico’s side, feet stuck out toward the growing fire. He can feel the beast’s breathing and hear its heartbeat. It’s perfectly dark now except for the glow of Trico’s eyes and the dull shine of the fire, and if it weren’t for the fresh breeze tousling his hair and Trico’s feathers the boy might think they were still inside. He yawns, jaw cracking. Overhead, higher even than the tops of the towers, the stars shimmer. It’s a perfect night.
Trico rests its gargantuan head on its forepaws. The fire dances in its eyes, and for a moment the boy is mesmerized. Then it, too, yawns, tongue sticking out comically, and the boy can’t help but chuckle. Trico looks at him and shakes its head, purring again.
“You’re a good companion,” the boy says, stroking the closest limb. “I’m very lucky.” Trico growls its agreement. The boy sighs happily and tilts his head back, staring up at the sky. He can feel his eyelids growing heavy, and he closes them for just a moment.
Suddenly, a weight settles across the boy’s lap. His eyes snap open and he looks down, almost alarmed. But there’s no reason to be afraid: Trico’s long, soft tail rests on him. He turns his head and sees Trico watching him, the fire glowing low in its eyes. It chuffs at him, and instinctively the boy knows what that means. He can sleep safely here, protected this great beast he is privileged to call his friend.