The call falls silent for a time as neither of them seem to know just what to say, or perhaps nothing needs to be said. Fennec keeps her eyes trained on the glittering array of stars above, but a glance at her vambrace tells her the call is still live. The fact that the Armorer has seen no reason to disconnect it fills her with a strange sense of hope.
“The skies here are tinted, at night,” The Armorer finally says, voice crackling softly over the comm. It’s probably the gentlest she’s ever heard that grand, commanding voice. She wants to hear it more, and the Armorer grants her unspoken wish. “All sorts of colors. It’s- a local phenomenon I’m told. It shifts, between greens and blues and purples, over time. Presently it’s a bit of a mix between maroon and lavender.”
