The fire creaks in front of you, casting shadows on the ground and on the trunks of the trees. They dance all around you and you cannot stop looking at them. In a way, they remind you of your kin. Beings of light, but these ones are without a proper mind.

What would the fire say, if it possessed intelligence? Would it pave a path through the grounds, like you did in the sky? Would they follow their leader, Father Sun? What would their relationship with the child of men be like? Aggressive predators, scorching their skin, or givers of warmth in the cold winter nights?

You muse about these possibilities, as the kid is sitting next to you. He is without his clothes and he has hung them on a branch nearby. A few drops of water fall from them, and you wish you could do the same with your feathers.

But you are stuck near the fire, waiting for its warmth to dry you. And you gaze at the boy next to you. His skin seems soft. Too soft.

You wonder how humans survive. And marvel at how they can help others do so.

Humans are peculiar creatures. Some of them made helping others their own drive to life. Stars are no stranger at helping each other when in need, the ancient Moonfields held such a role in the world, before the Star Menders took them over and they started helping you instead, but rarely has your kin ever helped the others. The ancestral laws are clear on this matter and, while some of you humor the Star Menders in their quests of divination, it is merely a way to pass the time. Your kin does not hate humans, but they do not love them, either. You live in the same world and, as such, you treat each other in a respectable way. Some of them, like you, have a more burning curiosity towards them, a certain kind of fascination, but the boundaries are clear and you never cross them.

But humans do not have such ancestral laws to follow. When one of their minds is set on a choice, nothing will stop them, like the impetous river you just crossed together.

You wonder if it’s because they are so weak. So soft. So small. They do not have fangs nor claws to defend themselves with. Their strength lies in their numbers and in their intelligence.

And now, you are as weak as them. And this boy sees you as one of his own.

The bonfire continues its dance. The boy stands up to go check his clothes. You wrap yourself in your healthy wing and relish in the feeling of warmth.

You had never properly noticed it, the feeling of warmth. How it caresses your skin, how it makes you feel like a pup in its mother’s embrace. You close your eyes and you can feel a sound surging from the depths of your throat, and you do not stop it.

As you start making the sound – a soft chirp that reminds you of the birds that sing at dawn – you discover feelings you had never thought about.

You feel fortunate to have listened to the prayers of men and you can now identify some of these emotions.

You are happy. You are content. In the middle of the forest, huddled in your wing next to a fire, for a very brief moment, you feel like you have found a new home. Your true home is waiting for you, but, for now, this is your place and that is fine. You are not alone. Your friend is not of your kin, but he is an ally you can trust.

For a moment, the pain of your broken wing disappears from your mind and, huddled in your own feathers, you enjoy the warmth of fire.

Your friend’s rummaging in his bag wakes you up from the light nap you succumbed to. You open one eye and see him with a reddish-brown streak in his hand. He just took a bite out of it and he is now chewing, eyes fixed on the shadows of the forest beyond you.

The ruffling of your feathers alerts him as he whips his head around to meet you, but he relaxes once he notices your figure. He looks at the food in his hand and hands it to you, motioning with his head an invitation.

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You tilt your head a bit, sniffing the food: it’s meat. It hasn’t been burned on the fire, but the smell of wilderness and the smokey scent of a previous work are ingrained strongly in its textures. You take it out of his hand with the tip of your claws and take a bite. It tastes stingy and the meat stretches in your beak. Chewing is difficult, it does not seem to be made for your mouth to eat. It attaches itself to the roof of your upper mandible. You attempt to scrape it off with your tongue and, when it finally comes off, you swallow it as soon as you can.

The taste is good, but the effort needed to eat it is not to your liking. You give it back to your friend, who looks at you, confused.

You huddle yourself closer in your wing and close your eyes once more. He does not disturb you anymore.

The rustle of grass reaches your ears and you wake up. The cinders of the fire glow weakly in the dark night, the smell of smoke strong in your nose. A cricket sings from far away words you do not understand. The forest stands still, the rumbling of water nearby. And it is then, in the blue-hued world, that you notice that your friend is nowhere to be seen.

You spring to your feet, looking around. The clothes have disappeared from the branch they had been hanging on, but the bag is still on the ground, waiting for its owner. The weapon that spits fire is sleeping on the ground.

A trill of worry surges from your throat and you cannot stop it. Your sense of smell is weak and you cannot hope to trace the scent of your friend, but your eyesight works in the darkness and you decide to trust it.

You look at the grass for any kind of trace of his passage. Stepped-on grass is your lead. You follow the path and you find yourself praying for his safety.

He has saved your life. He does not deserve to die.

You stop. Stars were made to stand still and watch. Not to act. But here you are, acting out of worry, like a human would. You are unsure on how to proceed. It is against the ancestral laws you have always followed. The ones that helped you survive.

But humans are so very different. You have always wished to help them, when you heard their prayers. And you knew you weren’t the only one.

A child has befriended a star, once.

And it dawns on you that you did the same, too.

You look up above: the crowns of trees cover you from the sight of your kin. For the first time, it does not trouble you. In fact, you are glad.

You steel your resolve and keep following the path of beaten grass. Your friend may be in danger. You ought to repay your debt.

The sight of his golden hair relieves you. He is sitting in the middle of a clearing in the forest, eyes fixed on the sky. You follow his gaze: the stars are so bright, there.

You must have made a wrong move, for the child springs to his feet and turns around, but he soon relaxes when he spots you.

The child looks at you, an apologetic look on his face. He raises one of his fingers and puts it atop of his lips. It is a gesture that means something, you are sure of it, but you are unsure of what meaning it conveys. He doesn’t walk anymore, for he stays put where you have found him, before he sits down once more.

With attentive steps you walk closer to him and sit down on the grass. He doesn’t seem to mind, greeting you with a smile, before raising his eyes once more.

You realize you never have never stopped to admire the stars until this moment. So far, every time you looked at them was either to pray or to ask for help. But now, free from your worries, you are free to watch them as humans do when no other pressing matters haunt their minds.

And you understand why humans have always found you so fascinating. Silent watchers for time immemorial, stars had seen humanity in all their hues. Maybe humans found stars to be a friendly sight, somebody they had used to see every night, shared between parents and their offspring alike.

You have heard so much from humans. Their prayers, their worries, their hopes, their happy thoughts.

And now you wonder if there is anything you can do to help them.