Hana painted her tiny yellow lantern on the workshop floor. She carried it to the village square, where the biggest lanterns towered over everything else. She set her little lantern beside the great ones, and they glowed much bigger and brighter.
Evening settled and Hana carried her little lantern toward the square. The wind rattled the eaves. The sky darkened to deep indigo.
A fierce gust swept down the mountain. Pop! Hiss! Every large lantern went dark. The square was swallowed by black.
Hana's little lantern flickered, then steadied. Its yellow glow swelled, shining like a tiny sun against the black.
Shapes moved in the darkness. Three children stepped out from between the houses, blinking, looking at the little light.
She walked forward, holding her little lantern high above her head. Follow me, she thought. Each child grabbed the hem of her coat as they marched behind her.
Their footsteps pattered on the stone. The warm yellow glow bounced off the wet walls, lighting every step.
They reached the first doorstep, then the second, then the third. At the last doorway, Hana waved goodbye.
Then she walked back through the dark village, her little lantern held in front of her like a promise. The square was empty except for her small steady glow.
When she reached her workshop she set the lantern on the shelf beside the big empty frames.
Morning light spilled through the window. It found the little lantern still sitting there, warm yellow and shining.
The little lantern glowed on, steady and small and bright, waiting for the next evening.