Elboron, handsome in his first Court dress, sat opposite the dark-eyed Haradric princess. The shy thirteen-year-olds had apparently discovered some means of communicating, for now they were laughing, eyes flashing, hands gesturing.

 “May we be excused, Father? It is a clear night, and we wish to compare the names of the stars, and their stories.” Hand in hand, they slipped out into the garden.

The stars, and their stories. In years to come, their memories of a single starlit evening might build a bridge of story and song more powerful and enduring than any emissary’s words or gifts.