Submission (#8217) Approved

The forest of Silveil breathed in silver and blue. Every leaf seemed to shimmer faintly, bathed in the eternal starlight of the skies above. Here, time had no meaning; the moon never dipped below the horizon and the stars never blinked away. A low mist clung to the roots of the trees, swirling gently with every step Himmel took and the soft crunch of leaves beneath his paws felt like walking across a dream. Silveil was beautiful and it quickly became one of his favorite regions in Eyre. 

The young kittom walked carefully beside Mitternacht, who moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had wandered through Silveils’ forests many times before. Himmel tilted his head back every now and then, curious eyes catching the purple gleam of the sky. The silence between them was comfortable; Mitternacht knew the kittom didn’t waste words and Himmel knew his companions' steady presence was more reassuring than any chatter.

It was Himmel who noticed the glow first.

“...There,” he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the hush of the forest. His little paw pointed toward a cluster of low pools half hidden between the roots of an old oak. The water mirrored the night sky perfectly, so it was hard to tell where stars ended and reflection began. But between those pools, something else seemed to shimmer - soft, golden threads swaying like strands of hair in the water.

Mitternacht followed his gaze and his tail flicked in approval. “Good eye.”

They approached slowly. At the edges of the pools grew a plant neither of them had ever seen before. Long vines trailed across the surface of the water, glowing faintly gold with shifting motes of light trapped inside each strand, as if starlight had been woven into them. Where the vines touched the roots of the trees, tiny white blossoms sprouted, no larger than a kittoms paw pad, shaped like little lanterns, smelling sweet but clean. When Himmel leaned closer, he could see the blossoms humming faintly in rhythm with the water, almost as if they were breathing.

“...It’s beautiful,” Himmel murmured, crouching low to study it. His ears twitched with quiet curiosity, but he didn’t touch the plant yet. He was cautious, as always. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

Mitternacht lowered his head, nose nearly brushing one of the blossoms. He exhaled gently, and to both their surprise, the lantern-shaped flower brightened in response, a soft golden shimmer rippling across the water. “If it is,” Mitternacht said with a small smile, “it’s polite about it.”

Himmel tilted his head, wide-eyed. “It reacts… like it’s listening!”

The older elnin hummed in thought. “Perhaps. Plants in Silveil often grow alongside the old magic of this region. This one feels… alive. More than usual. Like it remembers something. You know…Some elders here claim that these are 'fragments of fallen constellations' that rooted themselves where water mirrored the stars...”

The kittoms tail curled neatly around his hind paws as he thought. “Really? Well…It could be useful. If it responds to breathing, maybe it reacts to voices, too. Maybe elnins could plant it along paths in the forest… it would light the way when you sing or talk.”

Mitternacht raised a brow at the suggestion. “A guiding light for travelers. Clever.”

“Or…” Himmel’s voice dropped softer, shy with his own idea, “maybe… it could be used to comfort someone. If the flowers glow when you speak near them, then no one would ever feel alone. Even if it’s just a plant listening.”

The older elnin looked at him quietly, then reached out and ruffled Himmels fur with his paw. “You have a gentle way of seeing things, Himmel.”

The kittom flushed beneath his white fur but didn’t argue. Instead, he finally dared to dip a paw into the water. The golden strands rippled and curled around his paw like warm silk, glowing brighter at the touch. He startled at first, but then settled, watching as motes of golden light floated upward like sparks, dissolving into the mist.

“...I think it likes us,” he said softly.

Mitternacht chuckled. “...we’ll call it Sing-Along Sprout.”

“... you can’t be serious.”

“I’m not. … or am I?”