Lyn's cerulean eyes softly illuminated the early morning fog that slowly drifted through the meticulously landscaped garden. To most observers, silvery moonlight would infrequently shine forth, as a moon peeked out between the unusually abundant clouds in the overcast sky — a relative rarity in the desert clime. For Lyn, the moon was always visible, clouds or not, a bright circle radiating thin streamers of distortion, like heat lines above hot sand.
The sun wasn't due to be up yet for another hour — which made no real difference to Lyn. For them there wouldn't be a stark difference between the dead of night and midday. The reduction of chill of the late-season's nighttime air would be more noticeable; the sun's radiant warmth upon scales.
Lyn wasn't blind in any way, it was that they could see at all times; perhaps color and light less brightly and vibrant than most, but not to the point of disability. But unlike others who had enhanced night vision, Lyn perceived the world in more than the common 'visible' spectrum — an amusing way of putting it, Lyn often thought when a Human inevitably used that turn of phrase — what were they seeing with eyes if not something visible?
What might it be like to not see the magnetic and aetheric fields coruscating across the sky as they collided with Enkoet's magnetosphere? The slow oscillation of night, or dusk and dawn's energetic auroras — curtains of energy sweeping overhead.
Ensconced in a dense blanket that kept the night's damp air at bay, they relaxed in the gardens nestled in a chair of tightly woven reeds. While so situated, they engaged in a silent, yet spirited discussion that had been going on for some hours and would likely go on for several more, their conversational partner unseen, and unheard by others.
A leathery insectoid flitted erratically only a meter or so away, irritated at the intrusion into its territory. A flickwing — powerful, outsized dragonfly-like wings provided tremendous speed and agility to the daring hunter. It was young — just under the two hand-spans in size of a typical adult, but still had claws like needles. One dashing attack could take a flyer twice its size out of the air too fast to see. Lyn wasn't worried about that though, it wouldn't aggress anything it couldn't carry off, unless it or its brood was actively threatened.
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I am absolutely going to be taking a mid-afternoon nap at this rate. Lyn's voice of reason, having given up on making a case for sleep, resorted to pragmatism. The nap would have to wait until after the morning duties were attended to. The one patient they expected did not require a taxing treatment; being tired would be no issue — it was just pushing some energy around for a quarter-hour. Maybe they'd even return to the same chair for their nap — it was very comfortable, after all, and the well-kept gardens were always beautiful in the falling season — Lyn's favorite.
The conversation continued at a spritely pace, especially considering the hour. Their arms and hands formed signs quickly and deftly in the brisk morning air, slowing not at all due to chill. To most Humans, that night's conversation would barely have been said to exist — silent and dark. To Lyn, it was a lively exchange of words and concepts, lit by vibrant patterns dancing overhead.
Lyn smiled in their gecko-like manner and cheerfully rambled on in the pre-dawn quiet, though it would be far more accurate to say that geckos had a silverpaw–like smile given the relative age of their species. The stillness was broken only by an occasional early risen bird and the soft rustle of cloth. Eventually the early light of dawn crept close along the surface of the globe, and began to brighten the distant edge of the horizon.
As the night wore on, the planned afternoon nap snuck silently up on the fatigued silverpaw. Suddenly, yet inevitably betrayed by their own brain, they fell asleep almost mid-statement.
A moment later, an unexpected wave of aetheric energy flashed overhead, and roused them in time to be barely seen by a heavily-lidded eye. The wave induced a feeling of unease and anxiety in its wake as it swept past, but exhaustion won out, and their final thought — Dissonant? — lost cohesion and failed to become a memory.
