The fawn and the stars

Lucie's eyes open, and they grow wide as she faces the infinite sky above her silhouette, northern lights blending into the black velvet of space as their light drips upon the Earth.

And behind their glowing marvel, like myriads of pearls, the sea of stars spreads, a mirror for the world of humans. Lucie's mom told her that if she watched them long enough, one of the small dots of light would find a way under her skin to keep her warm, and after that, she would never be alone again.

"You are awake," sounds a quiet, soft voice, but it still startles the little girl. She jumps up and shivers, and then her breath quivers as she looks around, her heart beating fast in awe and fright.

'It seems I haven't found my star yet,' she thinks, then shakes her head to wipe her expression away, as she wouldn't want to offend her new friend.

She dusts off her ribboned, blue dress, and bows her head shortly before looking up with a bright smile.

"My name is Lucie Anderson, nice to meet you!" she shouts, somewhat louder than necessary, and even the small ship seems to thrill from the sudden noise.

"Silently," says the fawn, walking two steps closer, but keeping its distance. Its spotted, brown fur bristles up with worry, the extensive, pitch-black eyes gleaming in the night. "They will hear you."

"Who?" tilts her head Lucie, but she lowers her voice out of instinct as she senses the strictness of her young companion.

"The other ships," answers the animal, turning to its side. The child feels her confusion blurring her thoughts, so she tiptoes to the edge of the barrier to look out.

And truly, thousands of ships, just like theirs, are drifting over the waves, leaving shadows behind on the surface of the water as an edge of dark ink. The armada of sails, a pale shade of grey just like her eyes, their flags beige as her hair.

They take the tender waft of the ocean and pass it around each other, forming its breath into a tranquil and ephemeral lullaby of their own, smooth and silky like when trees share the drops of rain with the flowers growing under their green leaves.

"It's beautiful," whispers Lucie, laying her chin over the rough wood of the boat. She watches the sight until her eyes start to burn, and she hears the fawn walking closer to her cautiously.

The child's smile slowly fades, and a lonesome tear flows down her face, falling into the water to unite with the reflection of the Moon, which shines upon them so vividly that they can see the deserted, sand shores in the distance.

"Where am I?" asks the little girl, gazing at the animal by her feet, who watches the ships like she did before.

"The ocean never changes, and it will remember all of us," answers the fawn, and Lucie notices that its ears move as it talks, up and down, up and down. It pronounces the letter 'r' softly, like an 'l".

"And why must we be silent?" she continues, almost losing her balance as she tries to see more of the closest ship, or rather, of its passengers. "Are they sleeping?"

"They rest," says the fawn, nodding its head, and closing its eyes for a moment. "We mustn't disturb them."

Lucie stands from one leg to another, then plops down to the floor, fidgeting with her hands, feeling the curves of her fingers, and the texture of her skin.

"I don't want to be here," she says, pulling up her knees with a pout. "I want to go home."

The fawn doesn't answer. It walks back to the corner where she first saw it and curls up over a forgotten, ragged piece of cloth, knitted from green and blue yarn. Now that she looks around more, Lucie feels disappointed by how ancient this boat seems. She always wanted to sail but on one of those golden and white, glamourous ships where people danced and sang forever, as she used to see them passing by from her window.

Mom told her that when they had enough money, they would go on a ship like that, and she would be the princess of the seas who would discover hundreds of islands, which she could name after her favourite things. Bunny Bucket for her plushie, Honey Bear for her costume from her last birthday, and for the most wonderful, vast, and hidden gem of a realm, Adelaide, for her mother.

Lucie startles, and runs closer to the fawn, whose nose moves slightly as it looks up after her sudden change of attitude.

"What's your name?" she asks, crouching opposite it.

"I don't have one, with the words you use."

"Can I pet you?"

The animal looks almost abashed, sliding deeper into its corner as it replies, standing up slowly. It's like being ready to run away if needed."

"Don't, please," it whispers quietly. "My mom won't recognize me if my scent changes. I'm waiting for her."

"I see!" shouts Lucie, conscientiously stepping back right away. When she notices the strict gaze of the lost-looking, fragile fawn, she hushes her voice. "I see. Will my mom come too?"

Her new friend stays silent once again.

"And how can you talk?"

"We are all the same here," answers the fawn, laying its small head atop its front legs. "We always were. But here, we even remember that."

Lucie raises an eyebrow as she walks back to the barrier to glance out again. Her thoughts are still occupied by the eternally peaceful and gorgeous place, but more and more questions form as the last bits of sleepiness leave her.

"And where are we going?" she asks, knocking on the wood with her fingers. She always wanted to play the drums like her big brother did, but she couldn't reach them yet. "How did I get here?"

"I don't know much either," says the little fawn. "I woke up here, just like you. We won't arrive anywhere, I believe. We will stay at the sea."

Lucie's fist clenches by her side, over the white lace of the bottom of her dress.

"Then how can I get home?" she cries out, a stubborn knot forming in her throat that makes her uneasy, her voice hoarse and suffocating.

"There is only one way out of here," whispers the fawn, turning its head back to the sea.

Lucie feels her eyes burn again as she shakes her head. She jumps up and catches the top of the ship's side, peeking over it after a necessary struggle. But when the water below reveals itself to her, she shouts and falls back, crawling against the opposite half of the boat.

"There are people in there!" she cries scaredly. "People made of light."

The fawn nods shortly as it appears to be its habit, but it doesn't seem surprised, its ears resting on its frail shoulders as it lies, even if the bottomless irises stay on her figure.

"They are the ones who left the ships today after they rested enough," it says calmly. "Now, I think they dream, until the end of the night. They dream of the time when they were alive, and after the Sun wakes them, they will all fly, away from the darkness of the sea. And the next night, more stars will watch over us."

Lucie freezes as she listens to the little animal, and hasty memories stun her, of flames, heat, smoke, and sirens. It feels like it happened ages ago.

She stumbles down to the ground and opens her fingers. One, two, three, four, she counts them, as much as she is old. She thinks of their old dog at home, Nelly, and the day, when Dad told her she was gone.

She thinks of how much she didn't understand, and how much she doesn't understand it now.

Gone.

Dream of the time when they were alive.

She starts trembling and rocks herself back and forth, embracing herself with her thin arms. The fawn watches her with curiosity and solace, almost blending into the wooden wall behind it.

"I don't want to rest," says Lucie, draining the springs derived from her hazy eyes. "I want to see my family."

"There is only one way out of here," repeats the little fawn, but for the first time, it seems frightened and unsure. The child stops when she notices it. As she watches it for a few seconds, she understands, more than ever.

"My brother always says I can't be sad for a long time, and that I can never sit still. I can't just wait here, you know," she says gently, smiling as her last tears dry up. "There is a way out, so I want to go! I will look for my family."

She rubs her forehead with her wrist, then starts playing with the end of her long, wavy hair.

"But if you stay, that's okay too," she says. "I think sometimes when we love someone, we must go, and sometimes, we must wait. Your mom must be looking for you. Maybe if I go, she can wake up in my place."

Lucie takes a deep breath and pushes a box to the side of the boat, then climbs upon it, not even noticing how the fawn walks closer to her.

When she looks down again, she feels like the people are smiling in the water, smiling in their sleep. She feels brave and strong, even if she is a little scared deep inside. She feels like a whole five-year-old!

She spreads her right hand towards the sky, with all her five fingers open, and her heart misses a beat when between her thumb and index finger, she notices a bright, welcoming star that almost calls for her.

.

.

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Lucie is not afraid anymore. She found the place she would name Adelaide. She feels as if her blood turned into warm honey, sweet and glowing, precious as it carries remembrances of care through her body, memories of her friend, Anna, her mother's goodnight kiss, the snowball fight with her father, and Ivan, her brother.

Sweet, sweet little things she would love to dream about.

As the silent song of the sails calms her, she lifts a foot from the barrier.

"But if you go, I will be alone again," says the fawn suddenly, and Lucie trips, almost falling back to the ship. She looks behind and climbs back to the box, but her smile never loses its wonder.

The little girl reaches for her hair, and takes out a blue ribbon, carefully laying it on the ground.

"I will leave this here for you," she promises. "And tomorrow night, you can look for me through the stars."

The fawn's eyes gleam in the darkness, and Lucie almost steps forward to hug it, but she hesitates as she remembers the other's answer from before, so she only waves her hand as a goodbye, her eyes closing as she laughs.

"If we live another life in another world," she says. "Let's be friends in that one, too!"

And her breath stops when she feels something against her left palm. The fawn fondles its head by her skin, its touch is fluffy and kind.

Lucie strokes the light brown spot between the ears before it steps away, and she climbs upon the barrier to step overboard. The fawn carefully takes her ribbon back to its corner and huddles itself up once more to continue its rest, in peace.

She looks at the sky and feels the northern lights caressing and welcoming her, but she only watches one star that awaits her, as her friend awaits on the old ship.

And after Lucie dives into the sea, her first dream is about a little fawn who lives under the sky, and who will never be lonely again.

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