Oren’s Little Silver Ring — Between the hush of midnight and the first blue hint of morning, Oren tucked a plain silver ring under his mitten and drifted through the starfield. Read the full story →
Between the hush of midnight and the first blue hint of morning, Oren tucked a plain silver ring under his mitten and drifted through the starfield. It was no bigger than a button, cool as a raindrop, and he touched it whenever he passed the racing comets with their whispery tails. “Just one wave,” he told himself, lifting his hand toward the bright streaks.
The comets curled closer, not to rush past him, but to answer. One by one, they bent their glowing trails around the dark spaces, leaving tiny sparks that chimed like glass beads in a bowl. Oren’s ring warmed. It had never been a charm for bravery, as he had thought; it was a little hoop from the sky’s oldest wind chime, and the comets had been waiting to hear it sing.
Oren held the ring up. A soft note trembled through his mitten, and every dot of light seemed to breathe with it. His wave grew steady, small but real, and the starfield opened around him like a quiet song. If you find him among the sweeping tails, you may spot the hand that still remembers the first silver note.
