The Plight Of The Dropped Star-Child

20251224

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 4” event.

After that solstice marvel, nobody in the village called mundane wispy meteorites a “falling star” ever again. This star blazoned the sky as it fell, lighting up the village like morning had come in the midst of the night, before landing somewhere in the woods. Its glow still faintly visible through the mist and trees.
Those who were adult and able-bodied and still sober (that last being the most limiting factor) bandied together to search for the source of the light. For everyone was greatly curious what had happened; and it is far easier to find a light in the dark; and many were concerned that such a bright glow must mean great heat, and the forest might catch alight.
So they wrapped up warm and carried buckets, ready to fill with water or mud or sand or whatever was to hand where the star landed. And they set off into the woods.
Finding the light was easy indeed in the dark forest. Particularly since it was crying out for help, in tones entirely unlike any tongue of earth yet immediately understandable. That was wonder enough; but the group was overcome by true awe when they discovered the light came from a small glowing figure, waist-high to the shortest present, rounded and a bit blobby, like an oversized version of the clay dolls made for children.
Except unmistakably alive. In its own way.
The star-child was just as startled by their appearance, but showed no alarm. Instead it pointed upwards and asked what had happened. Why was the sky so far away? It had been sleeping, then everything was moving so fast, and now it was here. Cold, and confused, and adrift from its sea of kin.
While the villagers were, if anything, more confused by these magical happenings, they could easily grasp that a child was lost and needed help. A situation which called for immediate action, both out of concern for the child and fear that stars, like most creatures, might be inclined to protective rage over their young.
But what to do?
Sven, a confident climber, proposed that he carry the star-child to the top of a tree, so the sky might see it better. Everyone agreed this a good plan, and the star-child was willing, so Sven wrapped his shawl into a sling, which the star-child climbed into. After instructing the star-child to hold on tight, Sven picked the tallest tree in sight and nimbly scaled it.
At the top he fished the star-child out and held them steady on the highest branch while they sang an achingly beautiful plea to the sky above which made everyone present weep.
However, no response came from the sky.
When the winter dawn finally shooed the lofty stars away everyone decided it was best to return to the village. Bringing the star-child, for they could hardly leave the poor thing alone in the cold. They wrapped it in warm woollens and offered it food - but it much preferred to nibble on firewood and candles and sip cooking oil.
While the star-child was swiftly adopted by the children of the village as one of them, and was welcome in every house as a guest (particularly since its light was much brighter and less tiring for the eyes than the candles it ate, a fine trade), every night it keened to the sky and mourned the lack of response.
What to do?
Sven tried again, this time taking the star-child up the tallest tree in the forest. But they had no more luck than before.
Perhaps, the smith said, the star-child’s light was too small to reach all the way to the stars. So the village built a huge bonfire on the hill, and the star-child sang as loud as it could while everyone fed the blaze all night.
But the sky didn’t answer.
What to do?
Olga, the oldest, declared that there was nothing for it; they’d have to seek aid from the frog-woman.
But it was winter! The others proclaimed. The frog-woman would be sleeping soundly, and would surely be furious if they disturbed her.
True though that was, a child’s life was at stake. So Olga wrapped up warmly and, bearing a basket laden with the village’s best bribes, took the star-child’s hand and led it deep into the forest.
The frog-woman lived in a snug dugout under a heather-covered hill. The star-child, disquieted by the close earthy darkness, so utterly unlike the sky, stayed outside while Olga ventured into the tunnel.
In an attempt to wake the frog-woman gently, Olga opened up her basket and laid out the rich foodstuffs on a blanket. So the cool breeze wafting past her into the dugout would bear enticing scents.
This did not do much to take the edge off the frog-woman’s ire. But it seemed she could also smell the star-child, and was intrigued. Intrigued enough to eat candied cherries and smoked cheese, and drink fine tea, and listen to Olga’s story.
Ah. The frog-woman sighed and told Olga that once the star-child touched the ground, to the sky denizens it was no longer one of them. No stars would reach down to rescue the poor thing.
But.
If it survived, and grew to adulthood, it may be able to take flight and escape to the stars once more. And if it did, it would be welcomed by its kin.
Olga bowed and thanked her. Musing that while this was sad news, hopefully the star-child could endure. They would care for it until then.
Ah, hm, but, stars age slower than mountains, the frog-woman warned her. The village would be caring for the star-child for longer than any human could fathom.
With a shrug and a smile Olga thanked her for the warning. And earnestly apologised for disturbing her winter slumber.
Then she gathered her empty basket and, taking the star-child by the hand, returned home. They needed to help the poor child settle in, after all.

Prompt was: “On solstice night, a star falls into the woods outside your village. When you find it, it’s not a rock. It’s not fire. It’s a person. Confused, cold, and asking why the sky is so far away.”