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Darkness was starting to clutch the eastern edge of the sky, its nebulous fingers embracing the vast expanse of lightened sky as it climbed higher and higher. The night was still a very mysterious thing to the young boy, and he was starting to push his bedtime further and further back just to get a glimpse of its precursors, the tinges of violet light that streaked across the sky as they were caught up in the death throes of the sun. But what Gotham learned of death from the endless cycle of night and day was that it was temporary, and almost trivial in the grand scheme of things. Each morning the sun would be resurrected, and the great king of the sky would rise again to make his golden light known to the subjects of his kingdom. The moon would chase him across the sky; perhaps she was some long lost lover that was still, after the endless time that the Earth had been spinning and maybe even before it (Gotham did not know of these things) was trying to just be close to him.
Perhaps no one would never know the exact relationship between the sun and the moon. Would the two ever meet and be reunited at last? The boy actually pondered this as he walked, his cerulean eyes looking as the sun drifted towards the horizon, and he felt such a mysterious call to the story, and perhaps he even felt the beginnings of sadness. He was still too young, of course, to recognize little more than the shallowest of sorrows. The wolf was a sensitive one, though, and with time stories and even mere ponderings such as this would come to affect him greatly.
Gotham had been busy lately, as the insect population seemed to have expanded by an enormous amount. The boy had learned that indeed it was true that a caterpillar transformed into a butterfly. Such an idea surprised and even shocked him, and at first he had not believed such an absurd concept. Once he had seen evidence for it, though, the metamorphosis became an amazing thing, one that left him thinking for days afterwards. How could it be that such a tiny bug could simply sprout wings and become beautiful? The only word for it that he could find was magic. There was magic in the world, and he had glimpsed just a little part of it.
He had wandered away from the Manor, his growing legs taking him with more ease every day, and headed towards the lake. Perhaps the insects would be out at night, too, and maybe even different ones. His plan drifted away like a wispy dream when he saw Urma at the lake, and a little smile pulled on his lips. He had recognized her at once, as a subconcious thing rather than any grasping for names, and altered his path the slight bit required to bring himself to her. The boy did not speed up his pace; if anything he slowed it down. As he had spotted his friend he had noticed the strangeness of the lake, too, and the boy peered at it in awe as he took his slow steps. It almost looked as if there was a whole other world in there, separated from this one only by a thin membrane of water. The sky was just as brilliant in this other world, each color reflected so faithfully and with such diligence. A little sigh of wonder escaped his mouth as he stared.
Soon enough he was close to Urma's side. He crouched, just as she did, and let his paws hang over the side of the water. The boy couldn't help it and he leaned forward and gave the lake a quick lick, and whether out of thirst or mere curiosity even he didn't know. The touch made a wave of tiny ripples spread out in a circle, and Gotham watched them for a moment, fascinated by the way they distorted the perfect sky. He was a little bit tired, and this and the bit of maturity he had gained since he had played with Urma that day showed in his subdued actions. Pressing a large puppy tongue to the side of Urma's face, the boy said nothing. Gotham cast his gaze back over the water and placed his head on his paws, so transfixed by the image before him that he felt as if his thoughts had left his head and were floating above the gateway to that second world, ready to fall in.
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