Quinn's Puddle of Spilt Stars

The dunes were humming. That was the sound the wind made when it combed the cool sand, and Quinn the unicorn loved it. She was small as a foal and shiny as a new spoon, and every evening she trotted out where the sky was so full of stars it looked like spilt sugar.

Tonight something new glimmered behind the flat red rock. Quinn put her nose down and sniffed. Cool sand. And there, in a hollow, sat a puddle no bigger than a dinner plate. The puddle had caught the whole sky and held it. Stars floated in the water, winking.

"Oh," said Quinn. "Oh, oh." Her hooves went tippy-tap on the stone. This was the best thing she had ever found, and she stood right over it so nothing else could look.

"All the shine," she sang, "all for me." She sang it twice, because it was a good song. The stars in the puddle spun slowly, like slow honey with lights in it.

Then a soft voice floated up the dune. "Quinn? What've you got?" It was Ravi, the little camel from the next dune, with sand on his knees and the smell of mint tea coming with him. His grandmother, Sitti, was just over the ridge, humming and pouring tea.

Quinn's tummy went tight. She wanted to keep it, all of it. "Nothing," she said. "Just a puddle." But her horn glowed pink at the tip, the way it always did when she said something untrue, and Ravi could see the pink light on the rock.

Try one. Quinn sat down with her back to Ravi, right in front of the puddle. Her shadow fell over the water and the stars went dim, like someone had turned down a lamp. "Hey," Quinn said, and shuffled out of her own light. The stars came back on.

"Can I see now?" asked Ravi. "Not yet," said Quinn. She draped her fluffy tail over the puddle. Try two. But her tail was tickly. She wriggled. She giggled. She plopped down on the sand, and the stars wobbled and dimmed again.

Try three. Quinn hurried to build a little wall of sand around the puddle, pat, pat, pat. The sand slid in. The water went cloudy, and the stars turned blurry. Quinn looked at her puddle and felt wobbly inside. "It's not as good now," she whispered.

Ravi didn't come any closer. He just sat on the cool sand and hummed a small hum, humm, humm. The dunes hummed it back. Quinn looked down. One star was wobbling all alone in the cloudy water, and it looked lonely. Maybe it felt wobbly too.

"Ravi?" said Quinn. "You can look. Come and look." Ravi shuffled up, slow and careful, and put his long nose next to Quinn's.

Two faces looked down into the puddle. Two pairs of eyes, two noses, four eyelashes. And oh, the stars woke up. They swirled and slid and made a spiral of light, and it was bigger than before. "It's twice as many!" said Ravi. "It's twice as bright," said Quinn.

So they took turns. Ravi looked, and Quinn looked, and then both of them together. Quinn showed Ravi how to puff, ever so gently, so the stars spun. Ravi showed Quinn how to wait, ever so quietly, so the stars settled. Puff, spin. Wait, settle. It was much better with two.

Quinn sang her song again, but she sang it new. "All the shine," she sang, "me and you." Ravi hummed along, humm, humm.

When Sitti came over the dune with the little teapot, the mint steam curled up and mixed with the starlight. They drank tea from tiny cups, and the puddle held three faces now: one unicorn, one little camel, one grandmother camel with kind eyes.

Then the wind combed the dunes, and the sand grew cool and soft. The stars above and the stars below blinked slower and slower. Quinn leaned her warm side against Ravi. Ravi leaned against Sitti. The puddle kept one small light, glowing, glowing, glowing, like a nightlight left on for the sand. Everyone went quiet, the good kind of quiet, under all those stars.