The sputtering star that I've been flying toward finally gives out, the light from its death throes dwindling toward final blackness. It shows no signs of falling, though, which confirms my initial assessment that it will need to be relit. I take a bearing as its light fades, lock my wings, and coast. Far, far below, Sol rises and sets seven times, and my illumination changes not a whit. Sol's not even half so bright as Proxima from here—even when it's above Equestria—and orders of magnitude fainter than nearby stars such as Markab. I'd pay it no mind, if it weren't for her. Celestia's been on my mind a great deal, lately. That probably means I've been on hers. I'm not at all surprised when I coast up to the inky ember of Sadalbari to find a ghostly horse-form shimmering in its heat-haze. "Luna's returned," my herd-sister mouths. There's no air here to carry sound, but I like to think—on no evidence—that she's deliberately shaping the words without breathing. Honoring my silence. [i]Good for her,[/i] I sign back with fluctuations in the flames of my mane. Celestia's ghost-hoof scuffs at the stellar remnant, as if she's waiting for something more. I stare at her patiently. She glances away, embarrassed. "She's moving the moon again," Celestia mouths. This time it is I who waits, though she lets the sentence hang as though meaningful. [i]And?[/i] I finally sign. "She…" Celestia pauses and restarts. "We reconciled." She falters for a moment. "…I thought, maybe, we could too." Annoyance flickers through my flames. She can't possibly miss it. I want nothing more than to relight Sadalbari and fly off again, but I can't do her the discourtesy of terminating the conversation. [i]There is nothing to forgive,[/i] I sign instead. [i]There never was. I found my stars. You found your world. We are happy now.[/i] "I'm not," she mouths. "I miss you." [i]It is not my place to repair the fault in your emotions.[/i] "Asteria," she mouths wearily, and despite everything, there is a tiny twinge at my heart. I close my eyes to steady myself—remind myself of the infinite blackness against which I stand guardian. [i]What would you have me do? Abandon the beacons? Let the void reclaim?[/i] "Share the burden. There are four of us here, now. You need not be alone." [i]If you have three others,[/i] I sign, [i]surely you do not need me.[/i] Sadness touches her features. "I never did. I want you nonetheless." I close my eyes for a long time, unwilling to chance the indignity of her pleading. [i]Let go,[/i] I finally sign. She mouths nothing more, but neither does her figure turn away. I wait for as long as politeness dictates, then step forward toward Sadalbari. She does not stop me. I take that as my signal to return to my labor, and refuel the star before brushing the tip of my mane to its surface. Sadalbari sputters back to life, and I turn my back to it and fly on. Sol rises and sets, rises and sets. Opposite its orbit, a second, smaller sphere circles the little ball of mud she calls home. Its motion is graceless, unpracticed; imprecise and passionate. A far cry from her mute and bloodless precision. It occurs to me, in hindsight, how much it must have hurt her to move Luna's moon. How much heartbreak was sublimated in that punctuality. Refuge in routine. Then I set course for the next flickering star. Soon, it will need to be relit.