On a weathered hill above San Francisco, a small coop stood between rosemary bushes and redwood fences. The morning sun painted everything gold. Somewhere inside, a wooden box waited.
Skyclaw landed softly on the dusty floor of the coop. His golden eyes caught something shining beneath the feed bin — a little wooden box, its surface etched with tiny constellations.
Space Monkey scrambled up the coop wall and dropped onto the floor. His dark fingers fumbled at the silver clasp. "It won't budge," he muttered.
"Try pulling both sides at once," said the eagle. Space Monkey shifted his grip, wrapped both hands around the latch, and tugged.
Click. The clasp popped open with a crisp ringing sound. Both characters froze. Then, slowly, the lid lifted.
A star chart unfurled from inside. Silver lines shimmered against the black paper, floating as if they had come alive. The constellations pulsed with quiet light.
The silver light grew brighter, wrapping around the coop like liquid moonlight. The wooden walls dissolved into starlit blackness.
Skyclaw floated among the stars. Below him, the San Francisco farm shrank to a tiny golden speck. Above, infinity stretched in every direction.
Lemon Pig hovered near a ring of ice crystals that chimed softly in the cosmic wind. Space Monkey clung to a drifting comet trail, wide-eyed.
Skyclaw spread his wings wide in the stillness. He caught the starlight on every feather, turning himself into a living constellation.
Lemon Pig and Space Monkey gazed up at the endless dark. The star chart rested tucked safely beneath the eagle's outstretched wing.
When the silver light faded, they were back in the coop. The box sat closed on the floor. But the constellations remained — written clearly in Skyclaw's golden eyes.