Remy looked up into the vast blackness of the sea of stars above as he sat on his carved stone stool, as he had done each evening for so long he had stopped taking note. Long ago, he has learned to just simply enjoy the silence and solitude that was his, absolute.
For when he sat out there under the loneliness of space, he did not feel alone; the multitude of twinkling stars comforted him.
So Remy took pleasure in the short time he had to sit out under his friends the stars, before having to eventually head back down below.
Below; down deep underneath the surface where he made his home.
Below; where it was warm in the cavernous core of the globe that was so harsh and inhospitable on its desert-like surface.
Lush and full of life, Remy would never begrudge his strange and beautiful home, with its massive, purple jungles, dangerous craggy chasms, and vast crystalline seas.
Every secret hideaway, every hidden nook, all of its wild, exotic creatures, and verdant, nurturing plant life, he loved. Never would he have any resentment or feelings of despair towards its loving shelter.
Yet, when he was down below, he sometimes felt, alone and cut off.
It was only the few short hours in the evening, when he could come up onto the surface and sit atop his stool he had carved from the ancient rock itself, that he felt content and connected to everything around him.
For when he was out sitting under the stars, he could stare up at the glowing blue orb that drifted through space with him.
He would gaze up and study its surface of blues, browns, and greens; so different from the grey, lifeless one of his own home world and wonder. Perhaps, he would wonder, there was another lonely traveller up there, sitting out, starring down at him.