He was a shooting star, plummeting through the break of day, hurtling endlessly towards the earth - or at least that’s what it felt like. Dramatic, perhaps. His mother hadn’t been as unkind as to say so, but that was why he had come to her instead of anyone else.
As usual, Yawn was barely awake, eyes heavily lidded, her head swaying downwards every so often. But she was still with him regardless, her ears perked to listen, the occasional soft sigh her only input in the so far very one-sided conversation.
It had taken a long time for him to get to the point but when he finally did it was with a gleam in his eyes and heat on his cheeks.
“She is the moon to my star, she’s so perfectly lovely, mother, I love her.”
A doe so ethereal and perfect, he’d romanced her for a whole season.
“But,” he bemoaned, “I know not whether she loves me.
Yawn finally uttered actual words, a gently spoken, “oh dear.”
Fellstar’s eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat.
“You know her? How? You must tell me? Did she mention me? Does she ‘like like’ me?”
It took another hour to clear up the confusion.
---
Days later found Yawn and Fellstar together once again, out for a walk with Yawn leading the way. Her steps were sluggish but there was purpose in how she nudged her son in certain directions, as he was far too busy monologuing to pay any attention to where they were going.
“And so after the flowers, we sat beneath the full moon, on a rise, fireflies dancing - it was very romantic - and finally we, well, you know, got a little bit closer. She didn’t say exactly that she loved me but we have gone beyond words. We no longer need them, a bit like you and I mother. So I just know.
It’s a shame I will have to move on soon. I haven’t told her how I am cursed to remain a lone shooting star, that I can never land or put down roots. But she’s so sweet, I’m sure she will understand.
Yesterday she - wait, where are we?”
He had finally noticed their shuffling steps had taken them into the midst of what seemed to be a very busy meadow with an exorbitant amount of foals. There was a peculiar little Acha in front of them, smiling, looking somehow young and old at the same time.
“Good... day?” He dipped his head closer to Yawn and whispered. “Mother, is this a friend of yours?”
But Yawn didn’t answer him, instead she spoke to her presumed friend. “He- he needs a blessing.”
“He does indeed,” replied the Acha with her nose crinkled in a smile.
“I am to be blessed?” Fellstar inquired of the two kin, looking from one to the other.
“Indeed,” said the Acha cheerfully. “May they grow as bright as the stars and as wise as the moon, and know how to catch themselves when they fall.”
“I,” he began, confused, “... thank you? I- I am very confused.”
Yawn leaned against him and he wordlessly shifted his weight, broadening his stance to accommodate the new sleepy heaviness against his side. She yawned and mumbled, “for the... for the foals...”
“Ah, of course, the foals. The foals? Mother? Don’t fall asleep now! What foals! Mother, I’m a shooting star, ever falling, a streak of light in the dark. I can’t - mother?”
A soft snore answered him.
Her job was done.