He sat, humbly small and insignificant, atop the hill and overlooked the vast valley bathed in the gold warmth of the sun. Just sitting, just looking. The river slowly made room to swallow the dipping sun, he must assume, for the great ball of flame did not slow its descent. Shadows were stroked across the ground behind him. But they still had time.

She hummed softly beside him.

Birds flew in lazy circles over the landscape, flitting in the deep rays of the setting sun. He imagined what it would be like if he could do anything he wanted; to paint the clouds out of the blue, the gold of the life slowly breathing below. He wondered.

To feel so tiny, with a tinge of being unworthy, was to gaze upon such a wholesome and magnificent sight. The mountains rolled away to either side, but the valley in between was a scroll unrolled, brushstrokes bearing a thousand precious secrets come to life. He wondered, and he hesitantly asked.

"Do…you think…he would mind?" He asked her quietly, in the great low hum of all things wise and living below them. He felt her look up, and pictured her questioning eyes on him.

"Who?"

"You know…the fal'Cie. The one who created," he cast both arms in a wide sweep that encompassed all, "this. Would he…I mean…" He felt her lift her head from his shoulder. He drew breath uncertainly. "I want to draw."

The weight of expectation and responsibility was made known to him then, all at once. He saw her blinking. Then she cast her eyes over all the world that they ever knew; and she pondered, for a time. The evening paused for them. Whether for long, he did not know. For as long as the sun was still there, they had time.

"No," she said, more to the glistening river winking up at them, as is apprehensive. He looked upon it, lost for words and thoughts. "No, I don't think so." It wasn't an assumption, or a hope. It was merely the truth.

He trusted her.

Glancing around, he found a stick. It held nicely within his small and inexperienced hand. He looked at her.

"Okay." The scroll seemed beckoning, but his mind seemed foreboding. His heart felt excited.

He touched the end of the branch to the edge of the river. And for a rather frightening moment, he didn't know what to do. The branch wavered.

"Draw."

He sucked in a breath. "I…don't know. Draw what?"

He was startled by her warmth as she laid her cheek upon his shoulder once more. "Draw anything."

"But…everything's already there."

He sensed her close her eyes, heard her gentle breath, and yearned for her quiet humming that sang of the threads of each heart.

"Then…" She was silent for awhile. The branch shifted, and the large wide entity of everything was suddenly material, and existing, and real. Sunbeams gleaming off the crystal surface of flowing water; trees and buildings that melded together in their closeness; the huge vastness of the land, of the living, of the slow, steady rise and fall of each inspiration that made the ground swell beneath his feet. And all at once he breathed it all in. She began humming. "Then draw everything."

Did he dare? Him, so ignorant, so naïve, dare he be so bold as to attempt such a feat?

He felt the souls of a thousand life forms below, spirits meeting each other as they took the day in greeting - the sun, the river, the forests, the animals, the people, all going about doing anything and everything that anything ever could. There was a surge of wholeness to the world as the day seemed to end, before twilight peeked over the horizon and the last of the light touched the earth in fond farewell. Everything was so perfect. He wanted to withdraw. But as he cast one last look at the winking river, a wondrous, unexpected notion of acceptance brushed his consciousness. It spoke volumes through doing nothing at all, but by just being there; like she was.

Come, child. Show us. Colour us as you wish.

Did he dare?

The soft tune of her voice wove the fabric of souls together, to create an entity that was one and infinite and perhaps the largeness of life should have been too complex for him to understand. But he did understand. And it was through her eyes that he was seeing the world, and it was such a marvellous and beautiful thing that he didn't think his being could feel any more full.

The branch drew a gentle circle around the sun. It lit her hair alight, and he clutched her soul closer to his heart.

She mumbled a laugh. "It makes me happy when you smile."

And he thought then, that he could fly if he wanted to. But he drew.

He painted the captivating chaos of a blizzard where the horizon was dark, lightning streaked within a whirlwind of snow. Then he outlined, on an outcropping next to crystallised Cocoon, a pack of wolves resting, waiting for the moon to rise. One was howling a jest in hello. He then painted the beginnings of a run down chocobo farm in the new settlement, undergoing major works. A father and son toiled in hard labour, but with smiles that could outshine those chocobo feathers. And then, there was an uncertain apprehension in his strokes as he drew two birds, flying free, living without a care in the world as they flew over rolling plains, reaching towards the ends of the earth without any goal, but just because they could. He stopped.

It was too surreal, too much to ask for. Who was to say that they could be free? Who was to say, that they could own such rights when everyone else couldn't? Who was to say that they could leave it all behind, just because they knew that there could be so much more, if only they would dare to go?

Suddenly, she shifted to take his hand. She put the branch down, and held his palm in hers. She opened their fingers, caressed his thumb gently, and cradled the fading ball of light. He looked. And all at once he was complete, with her right there, holding on to all the ways of living and he felt truly alive for the first time.

"Shall we go?" He said.

As long as the sun was there, they had time.

She smiled at their hands.

"Where?"

He grinned at their audacity.

"Everywhere."