“I don’t think they’d eat me.”
“That’s not the point,” Gem snarled, and Rusty snickered as he hunkered down onto the grass beside him.
“What are you even doing awake?”
Was the Pyclon really this dense?
“Um, I was worried about you.”
Rusty frowned. “Why?”
“Because I care about you,” Gem said, and Rusty’s brows rose. “You just wandered off in this alien world at night. With murderous pierogies stalking you. And then you never came back. Hence, the worry.”
“Oh,” he said, and Gem harrumphed as he brushed dirt and grass off his exposed legs. “I would have come back sooner if I knew it was keeping you awake.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I also ate many s’mores, so it’s probably the sugar,” Gem snapped.
A rough hand landed on Gem’s middle arm. “Sorry for worrying you. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” Gem mumbled glumly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Silence stretched between them, and the sounds of chirping creatures in the fields pressed in on them. The night was chilly, and Gem rubbed warmth into his arms as he shivered.
“I guess I’m not used to people worrying about me,” Rusty said at long last, and Gem huffed.
“Well, you’re worth worrying about, so…” Gem drifted off, and Rusty ducked his head.
“Thanks, Gem,” he murmured, and Gem wordlessly leaned in until their arms pressed together.
With a sigh, he let his head fall back, and he stared up, marveling at the bright dots smattering the sky. They didn’t have those in the Pentagram.
“What are those?”
Copying him, Rusty looked up too. “Stars. They’re made of gas and other matter held together by gravity.”
“They glow.”
“Shine,” Rusty corrected.
“How do you know all that?”
Rusty shrugged. “Read it once.”
After another prolonged silence, air whistled through Rusty’s nose as he exhaled, and he reclined back until he was lying in the grass, hands foldedon his stomach. Gem followed him, wriggling closer until their shoulders and elbows brushed.
“Some humans believe that we’re made of stardust,” Rusty said as he lifted a hand and drew invisible designs across the sky with a claw. “I thought that sounded nice.”
“It does,” Gem said, watching Rusty paint the stars. “Sounds like magic.”
Rusty’s hand faltered, then dropped to his stomach. “Magic’s not real.”
“Some magic is,” Gem whispered, and Rusty turned toward him, pale eyes reflecting the moonlight.
“I guess I stopped believing in magic a long time ago,” he finally said, soft as a secret.
Gem reached up and dragged his knuckle along Rusty’s furry jaw. “I’ll help you remember how, if you want.”
Throat clicking on a heavy swallow, Rusty stretched out his paw, and—knowing what he was about to do—Gem angled his head, baring his neck. Rusty inhaled sharply, hand hovering for a moment, but when Gem smiled in encouragement, Rusty pressed the pad of his thumb to Gem’s jugular and dragged it down.
