Beams of light criss-cross across the sky, golden orb floating gently down, lowered on gossamer threads, before plunging down behind the snow-capped mountains, the sky gold and orange and rose, the after-images of the life-giving sun. Pale traces of water-colour slowly seep off the horizon, the softly luminescent after-images fading away to reveal a star-spangled sky. Constellations wheel across the mass of blackness, specks of gold in a solid block of granite, a softly eerie, silver moon proceeding over the arrangement.
Far, far below, the creatures of the night stir, lifting leathery wings, snapping tendons into motion. Others rise, with a brighter air, who do not belong to the shadows, but to the light, brightest in their deeds. Still more - those in between the two forces. Night passes, lives intermingle, before and when the golden star which earth calls it's own rises yet again.
Through rugged mountains, through deepest valleys, through rivers, lakes and streams, do the creatures roam, one creature dominating them all. A sorrowful howl rises up amongst the stars, intermingling and twining with air and breath and life, fusing with light and shadows alike.