Little Clocks of Light

From the prompt: "Clock of the time dragon..."

"Little Clocks of Light"

He sat under the stars, gazing up at the diamonds glittering against the velvety indigo of the midnight sky. He paused in his perusal of the sleeping firmament and shifted his mind to the web on the astral planes. Six out of the seven points in the web were humming blanks. Everyone else was asleep.
Tobias sighed and reached up with one long slender hand, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He shifted out of his human form, and for a moment there was a glittering of silver energy in the tall grass before he was back in his true form. He was a gawky, gangly teenage boy lacking most if not all coordination, he was the perfect hunting machine, poetry in motion built to outrun the wind. He drew a hand across his forehead, reaffirming that his horns were there. He was a paradox, stunning physical perfection marred by five symbols of supernatural daemonic nature. He had five horns across his forehead, little bony protrusions covered by soft, downy skin, small yet threatening. They were the seat of his power, the strength and weakness of his power.
Tobias shook his head, driving the negative thoughts out of his head. He lay back in the grass, gazing up at the stars once more. The stars were his everything. As a boy wandering the glassy plains of the steppe, they were his compass, his calendar. The brightest star of all, the sun, had been his clock.
The stars were his clocks, now. They were ancient, far older than he was. If he could travel through space towards them, then look back and see Earth, he would be seeing the past.
He bit his lip. The past...his recent past meant little to him. He was an assassin, a killer, doing exactly what his body was designed for. He was nothing more than a pawn in some near-cosmic game.
He gazed up at the stars, and two shone the brightest. Venus and Jupiter. He chuckled softly to himself. They weren't even real stars. The sky was like the clock that told his life. The only two bright points in his life hadn't been real, either. Just another move across the chessboard for the pawn. He shook his head bitterly, licking salty tears off his lips.
He rose up in one fluid movement and began to sprint across the field, arms out like wings. He threw his head back, feeling the wind rake its icy fingers through his hair, and leapt.
He was a streak of energy like liquid lightning, and suddenly he was small and light, soaring a breeze on broad feathered wings. He circled higher and higher, letting the wind carry him up towards the stars.
(Tell me!) he screamed up at them with his mind. (Tell me why my time always makes things go wrong. Tell me!)
He flapped hard, muscles aching, as he strained to reach the eternal blackness.
(Tell me!) he shrieked, over and over again, a litany of thousands of years of anguish. (Tell me! Tell my why time leaves me so lonely.)
The little hawk's body couldn't take it anymore. The wings folded and he shot for the ground, plummeting downwards, a loose missile. He hit, searing agony pounding through him as his bones broke. He lay there, crying in his mind.
Gentle hands picked him up carefully, smoothing back his feathers.
"Shh. It's okay," she whispered.
(Tell me why,) he murmured, half conscious.
Hands worked over him, a mind delving into his, coaxing his broken bird's body into that of a boy with a broken soul.
"It's okay," she whispered again, carrying him towards the house.
"Tell me why," he breathed. "Tell me why you didn't love me."
"You're confused," she answered, stroking his hair.
"Tell me why you didn't love me. I would have loved you forever."
His eyes fell closed as he was laid on the couch.
She leaned over him, golden eyes sad, before slipping away into the shadows.

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