Oona’s Flag for Midnight — Under the crescent moon, Oona pinched a square of plain cloth between her fingers and whispered, “One flag, made by me, before midnight.” The castle’s highest tower had three royal banners, all stitched by grown-up hands, and Oona wanted one tiny banner of her own. Read the full story →
Under the crescent moon, Oona pinched a square of plain cloth between her fingers and whispered, “One flag, made by me, before midnight.” The castle’s highest tower had three royal banners, all stitched by grown-up hands, and Oona wanted one tiny banner of her own. She had cut the cloth with a thorn, but her thread kept snapping. So she left her cozy thimble-room and flew over the pine-dark valley toward the old bridge, where moon-silk was said to snag on stone after the river sang.
The bridge smelled of cold moss and rain. Oona found a silver strand shining under the arch, but to pull it free she had to trade the ribbon from her braid. Her hair tumbled into her eyes as she twisted the moon-silk through the cloth. Stitch, tug, stitch. A hidden bell gave one soft ding from the castle wall, and a row of tiny crown marks appeared on the wet stones, leading to the tallest flagpole.
Oona tied her handmade flag below the others. It fluttered crookedly, bravely, with her own little star sewn in the corner. Next time you trace the winding bridge, see if you can spot where the moon-silk first caught under the crescent moon.
