Listening is one of the things that he is best at. Observing, watching, learning. He gladly soaks up her words, grateful to hear her tell tales and truths about the stars. He asks questions about others, tells stories of his own for ones that he may not see in this sky but he figures must be out there somewhere.

(And if they are not? Then these will be his new normal.)

It is near-dawn again by the time he yawns, eyes growing heavy. He is so very comfortable here, lounging atop her body. But he knows that he cannot sleep here, and it is with great reluctance that he moves back to where it is safe for him beside the fire.

He is certain to leave enough room for her to curl up with him (the blanket is easily large enough for two to lay atop, as well as the one that covers him) in case she finds that she is able to shift back to her more 'familiar' form once the sun breaks the horizon.

With his chin resting on his folded arms, he looks over at her. (The firelight causes the violet in her eyes to flicker as she holds his gaze.) "You are a fantastic storyteller." The images she has painted across his mind with her words will ease his dreams, keep any Darkness far at bay. There is so little of it left in him now, that his discomfort has greatly eased. He yawns again, then snuggles deeper into the blanket, his body curling in on itself as he loses his battle to stay awake until the sunrise.

(He would much rather have her in his arms, but he knows that some things cannot be rushed.)