He loved sunsets.
When the sky was ablaze with oranges, slowly cooling to soft purples and finally darkness.
His back still burned at the thought of the sun, but he spent every evening, after dinner, watching it dip lower and lower.
Once the sun was gone he’d curl up and sleep with the rest of the world. He’d have fitful dreams about lava and scorched earth.
In the mornings he would wake up before the sunlight and resume his post, watching the mountains to the east.
Before the incident, the sun would rise quickly, burning strong and bright, hanging in the sky for as long as it pleased.
He watched the sun come up, slowly peaking over the horizon, peering through the mountains.
They waved to each other.
The sky was bright, the morning cool. He saluted the sun. The sun saluted back.
The sun rose into the sky, bathing the world in light and warmth.
As it rose towards noon, you could see the scar on its belly. A reminder of pride and fairness.
He watched as the sun moved slowly through sky. His back pricked up at the noon heat. A reminder of rash actions and not thinking ahead.
As the sun set, he stood up and watched the West. He gave the sun a little wave goodnight and smiled as the sky burst into colours that no artist could properly capture.
The earth grew cool, the sky burst into colours. The sun smiled and dipped below the mountains, letting night take over.
He smiled and went back to his perch, waiting to greet the sun the next morning.