Nila and the Lost Star

Nila liked the hour when the observatory windows turned gold and the mountain turned blue. She walked down to the pond to watch the first stars arrive in its still water. Flick travelled beside her, blinking above the grass.

That evening, one familiar group of stars looked different. There was the crooked line, and the bright point at its end—but between them, a little space.

‘Have I forgotten one?’ Nila wondered.

Flick dropped towards the bank. His light flashed beside another light that did not blink at all. Something was glowing among the grass stems.

Nila crouched beside a small star. It lay with one point caught under a bent blade of grass, shining bravely at the underside of a leaf.

She moved the grass aside. The star lifted a little, then settled into her cupped hands. It was light enough to carry, but not yet high enough to find its own way home.

Flick circled once. Above them waited the little gap.

‘Up there?’ Nila asked. The star brightened against her fingers.

She looked from her hands to the enormous sky. ‘All right. We’ll have to give you a proper start.’

At the observatory door, Nila found the little basket she used for carrying pinecones. She tipped out three cones, checked that nothing sharp remained, and folded her soft handkerchief inside.

The star settled into the middle. Light shone through every tiny gap in the weaving. Flick hovered above it as if inspecting a new lamp.

‘A travelling room,’ Nila told him.

She lifted the basket by its handle. It stayed level. When she took a step, the star stayed nestled in the cloth. Now she could carry their visitor safely. Getting it into the sky was the next question.

Her teal kite leaned beside the door. In a good wind it climbed higher than the observatory roof, pulling its string as though the clouds had invited it somewhere.

Nila laid it on the grass. She fastened the basket beneath its centre with two short loops, then lifted the kite to check the balance. The basket hung upright. Its handle was clear, leaving room for the star to rise out.

Flick landed briefly on the folded tail.

‘You can fly beside us,’ Nila said. ‘No extra passengers in this room.’ She picked up the spool and felt a breeze brush her sleeve.

Nila faced the breeze and raised the kite. Its tail straightened. The basket lifted, just enough for a patch of starlight to appear beneath it.

‘There you go!’

She let out a little string. For three hopeful breaths, the kite climbed. Then the breeze faded behind the observatory wall. The tail drooped. The basket began to sink.

Nila did not pull harder. She stepped towards it, keeping the string loose, and held out her free hand. The star’s travelling room settled against her palm before it touched the grass. Flick blinked anxiously beside the handle.

Nila set everything down and inspected the knots. They were firm. The paper had no tear. The basket had not tipped, and the star was still glowing in its soft nest.

‘Then what went wrong?’ she murmured.

She watched the grass beside the wall. It hardly moved. Farther up the path, a tall seed head bent and stayed bent. Flick drifted towards it, his flight suddenly steadier.

Nila held a loose end of the kite’s tail above her head. Here it dangled. Up there, something was pulling the grass in one clear direction. Perhaps the place, not the kite, needed changing.

She unfastened the basket before folding the kite. With the basket in one hand and the kite beneath her other arm, she started up the familiar path. Flick flew ahead, stopping whenever she stopped.

The path curved past the observatory windows to a broad patch of hilltop grass. Nila stayed well away from the steep side. There was room here to stand, room to set things down, and nothing to block the wind.

Her coat tugged steadily at her knees. The grass leaned the same way. ‘This feels different,’ she said. The little star lit the basket against her hand.

Nila opened the kite and fastened the basket beneath it again. She checked both loops, then waited until the tail stretched straight behind her.

This time she did not hurry. She raised the kite into the steady pull and let the string slide through her fingers a little at a time. The basket rose without wobbling. Flick followed as far as the low air above the grass, then returned to her shoulder.

Higher went the teal shape. The star shone through its travelling room, turning the woven sides golden. Nila kept her feet planted and watched the bright gap above the mountain.

At last the star lifted from the handkerchief. It floated above the basket’s open handle and paused, a small bright point beside the kite.

Nila held the string still. ‘You know the rest of the way.’

The star rose higher. Its light grew smaller, then joined the crooked line over the mountain. For a moment the whole group seemed to shine together. The empty place was empty no longer.

Below it, the basket swung lightly beneath the teal kite. Nila breathed out and began winding the string back onto the spool. Their visitor was home; now she needed to bring their travelling room home too.

The kite came down slowly into Nila’s hands. She unfastened the empty basket, folded the teal paper, and tucked the loose string away. The handkerchief held only a faint patch of moonlight now.

On the walk home, she stopped beside the pond once more. All the familiar points were reflected in the water. Flick blinked beside her cheek, a little light with no wish to be anywhere else.

‘Goodnight up there,’ Nila whispered.

She carried the empty basket against her coat and followed Flick’s little light up the last few steps to the door. The end.