The rest of the day was a blur for Griffin. He took every opportunity he could manage to continue reading through the rest of Charlie’s script.

Page after page, it surprised him. For one, Charlie Hess was a good writer. His Moonsword was witty, and heartfelt, and tense, and queer. There was no mere subtext among the Banded Brothers of Night in this adaptation. These men loved, and were in love with, each other.

Accepting them – or more, accepting being a part of them and them of him – was central to the journey of growth that the protagonist, Kirod the Barbarian, is set upon.

Griffin was sprawled out prone on his bed at home, still reading through Charlie’s Moonsword, when he got to the page that helped him understand why Charlie had decided to share his script now.

EXT. OCEAN-SIDE CLIFF – DAWN

Kirod buries the Moonsword up to its hilt in the dirt at the peak of the cliff where he’d waged his climactic battle the night before. He sits by its side and looks out at the vast ocean. The waters are still, in contrast to their raucous billowing during the great battle only a few hours prior. 

It’s a quiet moment. One of calm reflection. Like the sword, Kirod has much to put to rest.

He speaks. To the sword, maybe. Or the wind. Or the moon.

KIROD

I was grateful to have something to swing, and those to swing it at.

It was like having a purpose, but better. 

It let me avoid myself.

We see a wide shot of the area behind the cliff – there is damage and debris everywhere. Trees are fallen, and many of the Banded Brothers of Night are tending to one another’s wounds.

KIROD

Now I’m left with the difficult work of questioning and cleaning up.

I’m left with men that love me. Some as a brother, some as more.

I have no more battles in which to hide.

I must face them, and myself.

Kirod stands again. He touches two fingers to his lips, and then to the hilt of the sword.

KIROD

I’m glad to do it.

He walks back from the cliff’s edge. In the distance, men’s heads turn towards the cliff. They smile merrily. Kirod smiles back. 

He runs to them.

Griffin closed his laptop and rolled over onto his back. The sun was not yet setting, flowing like amber curtains through his window and casting nimble shadows from the trees outside on the ceiling above him. They seemed to dance, alternately chasing and being chased by the light.

He got up and stood by the window, looking out at the sun on its slow descent towards eventual twilight. He had to shade his eyes and could only look at it indirectly. Even still, he felt a slight sting and had to step back into the shade of his room to shake off the intense after-image of the world outside his window.

He sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed. He could still see the burnt-in silhouettes of trees and telephone wires. The phantom shapes he couldn’t unsee, even after pulling away.

He imagined that Charlie had experienced something similar that night on the back road. They’d been chasing each other like the shadows on Griffin’s ceiling, and it had been whimsical and fun. It had been meaningless, seemingly, yet was full to the brim with symbolism and half-meant intentions. 

But Griffin couldn’t have left it at that. He was a bad partner. He refused to keep up with the dance.

He’d made Charlie stare at the sun.

It was amazing that he hadn’t retreated like Griffin had, stepping back from the window. He didn’t retreat when Griffin came out, or shut his eyes when Griffin pressed him for answers he didn’t have and didn’t owe him.

He’d only said he didn’t know, which was brave in the face of the sun.

It was Griffin that had retreated. He’d folded into himself, shutting down and shutting out.

And leaving Charlie with the after-image – the reality he couldn’t unsee. Griffin had come out and confessed his interest in him. Charlie was the one that had to shake it off or stare at it. Consider it. Commit its colors and lines to memory.

Griffin regretted pushing Charlie for answers that night. But he also secretly, selfishly hoped that Charlie had found them in himself. That he was refining them in his adaptation of Moonsword. And that, like Kirod, he was glad to do it.

Griffin laid back again. He watched the shadows on his ceiling and wondered at their shapes and meanings until they faded, washed out by the amber light of a setting sun.