Elara scrambled up the tallest hill behind the village, her wooden star map bunched in one hand.
She planted her boots in the scratchy grass and pointed at the night sky. "Why do you shine?" she called out. The stars only blinked back, steady and far away.
Every evening she climbed higher, asking louder. She counted them on her fingers and tapped her heel against the smooth grey stone.
"Why do you shine?" she shouted until her voice echoed off the hillside. A moth bumped into her nose. She sneezed.
The stars kept their secret, shining down like scattered salt on black cloth.
Suddenly a streak of silver light sliced across the dark, whoosh, and landed with a soft thump in the clover nearby.
A tiny star, no bigger than a teacup, blinked its eyes open. "They shine," it burbled, "for dreamers who never stop wondering. To light the way home."
Elara sat in the cool grass, the little star hovering above her shoulder like a glowing firefly.
She traced constellations with her finger and smiled at the quiet village below.
Tomorrow she will climb again, not to ask, but to walk.
The stars blinked once, twice, three times, and the little star chimed softly.
She tucked her wooden star map into her pocket and began the walk home.
