A fallen star makes for an easy prey.

That is what you think as you fall down from the sky, pain piercing your back, and that is what you think when you make contact with the grassy floor when a sharp crack explodes in your ears and in your body.

You do not allow yourself to fall unconscious. As soon as you feel the humid grass beneath your claws, you open your eyes and lay still, holding your breath for a moment, looking around for any potential danger. The silence that greets your ears brings comfort and it tells you that it’s safe enough to steady yourself on your feet. Your back still hurts, much worse than before, but your legs seem to be doing fine.

You blink once, twice, your white eyes disappearing in the darkness before lighting up again, but there's nothing to be seen in the forest, and no sounds to be heard in the middle of the night.

With attentive eyes, you check the ground. The dark moss hides secrets from you, but it isn’t long before you find what you are looking for. You pull out the spear from the ground, muttering curses under your breath.

The tip is perfectly pointed and still bathed in your golden blood. The rod has symbols on it: white lines and squiggles that have no meaning to you. But you do recognize the craftsmanship. Weapons like this one, with the same depictions, felled many of your brethren.

You growl their name.

Star Hunters.

You snap the spear in two in a fit of rage and look around once again for any signs of life. You have to be careful: the hunters will follow the trail of the fallen star to get to you.

You examine your body: your legs, as you have already surmised, are working perfectly. Your arms too, and your claws still look sharp. A few touches inform you that your beak has not been dented, either. A few of your black feathers dot the ground, but your body seems stable.

It's when you open your wings that a sharp pain makes you hiss. You turn your head around: the right wing is fine, showing its array of black feathers with a white tip without a hitch, but your left one barely opens without sending pain to your body.

You wince.

You look up beyond the trees: your siblings are continuing their travel through the skies. How can you rejoin your brethren, without the gift of flight?

What happens to a fallen star, once they hit the ground? Is waiting for their demise at the hands of the humans their only fate?

You shake your head. Stars very rarely fall to the ground because of natural causes, but the Star Hunters have made the skies a dangerous place even for ancestral creatures such as yourself. But there is a possibility to survive: the Star Menders.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine: to look for the tribe means to wade into the land of the mortals, and you are well aware of how dangerous they are.

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But the Star Menders are bound with a pact to your kin. In exchange of star knowledge, they would help you. They know many things and how to heal a wounded wing is among the array of their knowledge: with their big towers with roofs made of glass, they have observed stars for centuries as a way to protect them and to study them.

A small glimmer of hope sparks in your heart, and your feathers grow bright for a single moment. You open your wings in a display of happiness, but the pain pierces your very being and cuts your breath off. You fall to the ground, gasping for air, and you close your wing as if to apologize for opening it when it was damaged, and you shut your beak with your own claws to avoid screaming.

Who knows which dangers are lurking, in the shadows of the forest.

Your breath steadies as the pain subsides. You let go of your beak slowly, as if your tongue may disobey your wishes and yell without your permission.

That does not happen. The silence of the forest remains untouched.

The golden blood sullying the grass reminds you of where you are and what has happened.

You have observed humans for a long time and you know many things about them. Among all their habits, there is one that has always stood out to you: their prayers to the sky. They were always so different in words, but always so similar in their meanings. And you heard them all.

You always thought of humans as fragile creatures. But, right in this moment, with your broken wing, you are just as fragile as them.

A rustle of leaves startles you. Your pupil enlarges, but nothing else moves between the greenery. You get up on your feet once more, making sure that your wing is closed tight, and start walking. You have to reach the nearest village of the Star Menders. You are sure they will help you.

   You let out little growls of annoyance at each step you take. You’re noisy. The grass crunches under your claws and your feathers brush over the trees’ bark. The rustling of leaves never stops and you find yourself barely having the time to blink as you traverse the forest.

You feel heavy and wrong. This is not your place. You are a skyborne creature, the ground was never your home. But you keep walking and make noise, as you remember the sweet sounds of your wing in the sky. Those were like caresses to your senses, as the wind washed over you and made you purr. But now, these sounds only pierce your ears and make you alert. You hate this place and cannot wait to return home.

Soon the tree curtain of the forest is behind you. A sea of dark grass under the starry sky greets your eyes. Here, in the open field, you feel so small. So defenseless. You briefly wonder if this is how humans feel everyday of their lives, and if that is the reason why they throw their worries up in the sky.

Up there, you were protected. You felt safe. The wise and kind gaze of Mother Moon always allowed you and your siblings to fly safely, following the eternal routes in the sky.

You also know that humans liked to give you names, but you do not know if they ever bothered to give one to you. But usually, it’s Her, it’s the Moon, the one they’re calling.

And now, you’re also calling Her. You raise your eyes to the sky and see your brethren, unaware of your pain and pleading from below. You do not know human words. You never understood those sounds that came from their mouths, so you cannot replicate them, but you do hope that your feelings will suffice.

But soon you realize that your cries go unheard in the empty air.

A gust of wind moves the world and the grass dances under your gaze, and the lighted up tips of your wing feathers do the same. You stay still for a moment, looking at the sleeping world beyond and gather your courage.

You keep walking.