Prisma heard a soft chirp behind the glowing blue mushrooms. She set down her basket and knelt in the moss.
A little starling was tangled in the dark ferns, its wing bent at a wrong angle.
Prisma wrapped the starling's wing with a soft green leaf. She held out a petal full of water. 'Here you go,' she whispered.
The starling drank one sip, then flinched away. Prisma held the petal still. She waited.
Prisma brought a tiny beetle and waited beside the fern, singing her quiet humming song over and over. She waited. She hummed. She waited again.
Prisma sat down and sang her singing-song again, and the starling's feathers began to glow — bright gold and blue light spilling into the dark ferns.
The bird straightened its wing, hopped forward, and bumped its beak against Prisma's thumb. 'You're okay now,' she whispered.
The starling hopped onto Prisma's shoulder and they walked home through the glowing forest together, its tiny feet tickling her ear.
