I woke up alone. Again.
The cold bed and empty space beside me were hardly new. How many dawns does three years encompass? Over a thousand, I suppose. So for the thousand-and-first time I woke and ran my hoof over the rumpled sheets. Cold, yes, but still bearing a hint of her scent, of rain and the sting of ozone that filled the air before a thunderstorm. I pressed my nose into the spot and drew in a deep breath.
Time to go fetch her. I rolled out of the blankets and onto the soft cloud floor of our home and started up the stairs. Outside, through the windows, the night had just begun its long surrender to the day.
* * *
“Aurora?”
I thought she might have fallen asleep at her post, but her head lifted and turned toward me as soon as I called her name. Even in the faint light of dawn I could see the delicate sparkle of her mane, the vibrant blue of her coat. There were streaks of grey in there now, and perhaps a wrinkle or two around her eyes, but she was still as beautiful as the day we met.
Or more, I sometimes thought.
“Good morning.” She stood from her nest atop our cloud home, stretched, and stomped her hooves to get the blood flowing. Pegasi were not bothered by the cold, but being outside all night like that could still stiffen a pony’s limbs.
“Any sign?” I asked softly. I knew the answer already – the same as the past thousand dawns, but she needed me to ask, just as she needed to answer.
“No. I thought I might have seen him at one point, but it turned out to be a bird.” She laughed lightly, and Celestia help me, it sounded real. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Maybe. Get some rest.”
She paused to give me a peck on the cheek before descending the stairs back to the bedroom. I hoped the bed was still warm for her.
Behind me, the sun finally broke over the mountains, filling the valley below with pink light. The cloud tops caught fire and began to drift apart as they slowly warmed. For a moment, I could have believed them an ocean, and me a captain, searching for land.
I settled down in the nest and waited. It smelled faintly of rain and ozone, like the air before a thunderstorm.
* * *
The sun was well on its way to its zenith when I left the nest. Despite what Aurora thought, a few hours absent from my post wouldn’t matter to anypony.
Alto was already up when I reached the kitchen and was munching on some oat cereal she had fetched for herself. I gave her mane a quick nuzzle and poured myself a smaller bowl.
“Is mom asleep?” She looked up from her cereal after she spoke. A trail of milk dribbled its way down her chin.
I nodded. “She had a long night. She’ll get you from school, though.”
That was probably not true, but Alto knew nothing would come from correcting me. Instead she returned to her cereal, and we finished eating in silence.
I took the extra time to fly her to school. In the grand scheme of things, it was no loss.
* * *
Aurora was waiting when I returned. Less than four hours of sleep, but she was up on the walk . I could see the anger burning in her eyes even before I landed, and I steeled myself for another confrontation.
“You left,” she said. It was more an accusation than a statement.
“I had to fly Alto to school. She needs more time with us.”
Aurora snorted. “She’s tough, she’ll be fine. What if Cirrus had come back while you were gone?”
Then he would have woken you, and we’d have rejoiced, and it wouldn’t have mattered that I was gone for a few hours. I didn’t say it, of course. I couldn’t, not when she was in a mood like this. I bit my tongue and turned back to the ocean of clouds and resumed my watch.
Eventually she grew tired of staring at me, and mercifully left.
* * *
“Daddy?”
Alto’s voice jerked me out of my reverie. The sun was dipping toward the mountains again, and below us the cloud tops were tinted grey with the incipient night. I cursed myself quietly and turned toward her with what I hoped was a cheerful smile.
“Hey, angel. How was school?” Nevermind that we forgot to pick you up. Hopefully the flight home wasn’t hard.
“It was fine. I, um, I made something for you and mom. In our craft class.” She reached over her shoulder, where a large package sat between her wings. Delicately, she set it on the clouds between us and stepped back. I could see her wings fluttering, and her left hoof ground against the cloud.
Huh.
I leaned forward and carefully pulled the lid up. Inside was a paper lantern, the same pale grey as his coat. Before I could reach it, Alto darted forward to grab the wire handle in her teeth and lifted it out for me to see.
On its side were three wispy feathers, laid atop each other like clouds. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“You made this?”
She nodded, setting the lantern swaying on its handle.
I stretched out a hoof to brush the lantern. “You remembered his mark. That... this is beautiful, sweetie.”
She set the lantern down to speak. “I used one of mommy’s pictures. The one with him in his uniform. I thought... I thought you could hang this lantern for him, and then you and mommy wouldn’t have to wait outside all the time.”
My vision blurred, and I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. After a moment, I nodded.
“It’s worth a try, angel.”
* * *
“What is this?”
I winced at the steel in Aurora’s voice. She had never liked surprises, and the lantern hanging from the nest was certainly a surprise.
“It’s a lantern,” I said, as though that weren’t blatantly obvious. The candle flame inside danced in the light wind, and if I stared long enough, I could almost believe the painted feathers on its side were alive.
“Alto made it,” I continued. “She put Cirrus’s mark on it, see?”
“Hm.” My wife’s expression softened when she saw the mark. For a time, only the sound of the wind and the swaying lantern filled the darkness.
I took a chance.
“She wanted to hang it for him, so he would see it when he returned.”
Aurora nodded faintly. Still she stared at the lantern.
“And we... she hoped you could leave it out, and come back in with us.”
The hope hung in the air between us. I waited, barely breathing, barely dreaming that this thousand-and-first night might be the last. That I might share a bed with my wife, and let my lost son rest in his grave – the wind.
She reached out a hoof and gently unhooked the lantern from its post. With a careless toss she sent it over the side, and it fell like a star into the clouds below.
“Go to bed,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”