She waited by the fire. Her dimples danced to the flicker of fanned flames.
He could see her grinning, though was too far away from her solar system to ask such banalities as her name. He wasn’t even certain he had a name to offer in return.
He heard the trees around whisper Fristle. So, he presumed that was his name.
Armed with at least a title, he shuffled towards the heat to greet and meet.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Fristle.’
She merely nodded, as if she already knew.
‘Do you have a name?’ Fristle asked, in awe of her bearing.
‘Ask the trees,’ said she. ‘They gave you your name did they not?’
He nodded before adding a whispered, ‘Yes.’
Fristle opened his ample lobes. But he couldn’t hear the trees for the crackle of the flames on wood.
‘Crackle?’ Fristle asked without certainty.
‘For tonight it shall be Crackle,’ said she.
‘What about tomorrow?’ Asked Fristle.
‘Tomorrow may not happen, Fristle,’ said Crackle. ‘Let us see where this night ends first.’
And so they did.
Until Dawn arrived to snuff out the fire and lend a greyer blue view, Fristle and Crackle talked of heavy horses and their own courses. They set the world to anti-spins and everything in between.
‘Nothing lasts, does it, Fristle?’ Cackle asked.
She stood away from him and the damp dew grass, lifted his chin to kiss his lips and left for the heaven of his memories.
She was right. Nothing lasts.
Even Fristle died that day to leave a Norris to walk in his place.
He missed his Cackle sometimes.