Bungo

Bungo carefully wiped a smudge of jam from their star chart, its sticky residue glowing in the twilight. From their perch atop a smooth, dark monolith, the sunset turned the crystalline plains below into a sea of fractured amethyst and gold. They remembered a similar cold setting in once while sitting with Shimo, watching the ancient warrior trace constellations not in the sky, but in the frost patterns forming on the stones. Shimo taught them that exploration wasn't always about distance traveled, but about the depth of one's attention. Pulling their red fox beanie down to cover their ears, Bungo took another bite of toast. The universe was vast and full of magic, but tonight, it tasted like strawberry.