Liora had climbed Starfall Rise every clear night for a year, notebook in hand, certain that the falling stars over the jungle waterfall meant something, if only she watched carefully enough to catch the pattern.
She hadn’t expected the pegasus. It stood atop the tallest rock spire above the falls, gold as the stars it seemed to be counting, wings half-spread as if it had only just landed, or was only just about to leave.
“You’ve been watching wrong,” it said, without turning its head. “You keep looking for a pattern in where they fall. The pattern is in when.”
Liora climbed closer, careful of the wet stone. “What happens when they fall?”
“Someone below stops looking up long enough to actually decide something.” The pegasus finally turned, ancient eyes catching starlight and holding it like water in cupped hands. “Every falling star is a decision made somewhere in this jungle. I come to see which ones land true.”
“And mine? I’ve been climbing here every night for a year deciding whether to leave this valley for good.”
The pegasus said nothing for a long moment. Then, gently: “You already decided the first night you climbed up here with a notebook instead of a packed bag. You’ve just been waiting a year for permission to admit it.”
A star fell as it spoke — bright, close enough that Liora felt the after-hum of it in her chest. She closed her notebook for the last time that night, and by morning she understood that she hadn’t needed a year of watching after all. Just one honest star, and something gold enough to finally say the truth out loud.