Mina swung down from her broomstick in a soft whump. 'The Star of Samhain — it's gone!' yelped the firefly named Pip, circling her head in frantic zigzags. Her lantern gutted out. The last light in the sky had vanished.
She checked the bramble bushes near her cottage. Nothing but thorns and a grumpy toad wearing a thimble hat. She climbed the crooked hill behind the village square. Nothing but cold stone.
An echo whispered, 'Gone. Gone. Gone.' She knocked on the baker's door — Mr. Bramble emerged with flour-dusted arms and shook his head, but offered her a honey loaf. It tasted like something sweet and almost-forgotten.
Mina sat on her front step and stared at the dark sky until Pip landed on her knee with a trembling hum. Her friends gathered around — the toad, Mr. Bramble, and three more creatures — all looking up at nothing.
Mina whispered, 'I couldn't find it,' and Pip's light flickered like a candle about to drown. Then the wind shifted and carried a sound — a tiny, bell-like ting coming from underground, somewhere near the old pumpkin patch.
Mina dug with her bare hands while Mr. Bramble held her lantern and Pip hovered close, casting a golden circle on the earth. The toad tapped with his thimble like a tiny hammer. After minutes of scratching and pushing, Mina's fingers brushed something warm and smooth.
The Star, no bigger than a plum, dim and cracked, buried under roots. 'Oh, little one,' Mina breathed. She cupped it gently against her chest and hummed a lullaby her grandmother taught her, and the Star began to glow.
One crack sealed. Then another. The ting became a chime, then a song, and the Star rose from her palms, spinning higher and higher until it locked into place in the sky with a sound like a key turning in a lock.
