"They glow, each soul, like a star."

He sounds sad.

Masque hums quietly, not quite agreement, but not disagreement either.

"I had a friend once, she wanted to see this most of all. The moonflow, lit up at night."

"And did she?"

"No. She cared too much to stop."

Another neutral hum.

"She...she wanted to end Sin. She...never got there."

-Masque has no idea how to respond to that.

"Ach, sorry. I get very nostalgic these days. I swear I wasn't always like this," Zveran says with a wry grin.

Masque shrugs. "You do you."

"I can be very overbearing. Be careful how you ask that," Zveran says, with a very rougish grin."

There's that impression of a smirk. "We'll see."

"We will indeed." The sun hits the horizon. "Oh, here we go."

Suddenly, the river becomes a long, stream of black, and the pyreflies upon it are like bouncing, playful stars. 

Zveran, as suddenly as the change, strips his shirt and shoes, and walks into the living night sky.

Masque watches from the bank.

Zveran cups a pyrefly between his hands, cradling it gently. He then lifts it above his head, releasing it into the sky.

He looks rapturous. 

He does at that.

It's pretty, but Masque has never really cared for this kind of thing.

"Not one for the water?" Zveran calls out to Masque.

They shrug. "Not particularly."

"Then I'll send you a gift." Zveran captures, and then with a soft breath, sends a pyrefly drifting towards Masque.

Masque makes a quiet sound - maybe a snort, maybe half-a-laugh - at Zveran's antics.

Zveran laughs too. "Oh, I know it is foolish, but I have a foolish heart."

"Your words."

More than they know. 

"Luckily for us, I do not have a foolish brain."

Eyebrows.

"I can be intelligent! I swear it on my mother's grave."