[Kestrel]

I died today.

It was a single thought, drifting through an empty mind.

I was born tonight; I died today.

The world was dark; her mind was dark. It rang with hollowness, its insides smooth and untouched. The thought bounced off one side, was flung to another, reverberated over and over in her head.

I died today.

A cold breeze swept across her fur, and in a violent spasm of muscles, she shivered. She instinctively pulled her limbs closer to her body, pushing her head against her arms. The sensation of chill flooded her with a feeling of wrongness. A note of discordancy entered the chamber of her mind. The thought, still throwing itself from side to side

I died today. I died today.

was muffled, as her senses pushed in new sensations.

Cold. Swift. Danger.
Soft. Warm. Comfort.

She was curled up into a ball. Beneath her, the ground was cold and hard and unhappy. Slowly, achingly slowly, she lifted her eyelids. Purple eyes gazed about, blinking, blinking, as light passed through them for the first time.

She looked down. The grass—though she had no names for such things, yet—was dried and yellow and flattened. It was dead, she realized. Again, the idea came not as a thought—for “dead” was not a word she knew the meaning of—but as a sensation: she felt the emptiness of its spirit, the hollow echo of what once was there, and knew it to be reflected in her own.

I died today.

She turned her eyes upwards, and gasped. Tiny pinpricks of light scattered themselves upon a dark canvas of sky, patterning in swirls and whorls and graceful arcs. The sky was a-twinkle with millions upon millions of stars, dancing their way across the full extent of her view. They winked at her, they shimmered with joy, they lit up a spark buried deep inside and finally, finally,

I died today.

the thought paused its relentless trek over her mind. The nighttime stars filled up her mind, her body, her soul with wonder, with awe, with a glorious exultation. Her eyes shimmered in response, straining to mirror their brilliant glow, to take in just a little more of their essence, to keep for her own, to hold and treasure and marvel at.

I died today.
I was born tonight; I was born under the stars.

And in this way, she was reborn.

[1]

[Kestrel]

The stars were oddly bright tonight.

Even through a windshield that was a bit on the dirty side, even just a few miles out from Aldrect, Lyric could see hundreds—hundreds—of stars sparkling down at her. Lyric tilted her head to one side. Perhaps it was the combined effect of a lack of clouds and no moon. There was no moon tonight, wasn’t there?

The road to Aldrect was fairly empty at this time of night, so Lyric felt safe enough glancing from side to side at the dark sky. No moon that she could see, but that hardly meant anything, what with two-thirds of her view being obstructed by the car.

If she hadn’t glanced around for the moon, though, she would’ve sped right by the figure. As it was, a slight movement on the top of a hill near the side of the road caught her eye, and she slowed. Lyric frowned. What was someone doing out here in the middle of the night, in the middle of January? It was freezing outside.

She gently pressed her foot against the brake, craning her head to get a better glimpse of the figure. A lucain, it looked like, huddled up in a tight ball to try and keep warm. Lyric pulled onto the side of the road and stopped her car. She hurried out and headed up the hill. As Lyric neared the figure, she marveled at the lucain’s coat, its celestial markings mirroring the sky above them.

She bent down and laid a gentle hand on the lucain’s fur. “Hello?”

[1]