> A tiny pony gazes upon an ocean of stars, her milky blue coat almost vanishing in the moonlit surroundings.
>The serene silence stretches hours into eternities until the spell is broken by the soft rustle of nylon.
> An older mare emerges from the folds of a tent, pausing briefly to steady the makeshift home as the supporting sticks lean haphazardly further towards near collapse.
> Narrowed eyes sift through the dark, muzzle scrunching in worry, before spotting the near invisible mare.
> She runs a hoof through her mane, tresses of pink in desperate need of grooming, and gently calls to her, “It’s getting late; won’t you come inside?”
> Silence. “…please.” Just a whisper. The silence of the past few weeks has been slowly eating her.
> A cool breeze sweeps across the field. Bluegrass swishes gently against the blue mare’s hooves as if to coax her out of her trance, but her eyes remain locked.
> She remembers his voice.
> “Shh, Shh, hush now Snootle. What’s ailing ya now?”
> She’s in his lap as he sways on an old salvaged rocking chair beside the hearth.
> His heavy hand strokes her back as her sobs finally begin to reside.
> The drafty night’s air is kept at bay by the warmth of the fire, over which roasts a hearty stew, filling the interior of the wooden shack with the homely scents of potatoes and wild onions.
> Closer to the fire, a pink mare cranes her head up from her usual spot on an old stained pillow, “We heard some college kids in the park laughing about her nose…again.

> The man grumbles, muttering curses too low for innocent ears. “Don’t listen to those rich snobs at the park, they don’t know how to appreciate anything in life, what with their iced lattes and selfie sticks jammed so far up their-”, he stops himself to take a few deep breaths, stroking his beard in meditation, then looks down with a smile, “A few days from now will be the anniversary of the day I bought Star-Wishes, and 2 weeks from then is the day I found you outside the factory. I was saving these for then, but now’s feeling like the right time.”
>Dipping two fingers into his coat pocket, the man pulls forth two thin ribbons of silk, shimmering in the golden firelight.
> Star-Wishes’ hooves patter excitedly on the pillow as the man stoops over the side of his chair, weaving a ribbon into her luxurious tail.
> Then turning back to her, his callused hands ever so delicately wind the pink one around her neck into a bow. It always surprised her how gentle his hands were.
> He leans back to admire his handiwork, “There, now whenever you feel the world’s burning eyes judging your snoot, think of the ribbon, think of me scooping you into the warmest hug saying ‘Hey, everything’s gonna be okay’.”
> She peers up into his softening eyes, soaking in every reassuring word.
> “And when you see the stars, think of the millions of ponies out there doing their damnedest to shine for a chance at love, and from those unbelievable odds I plucked you two out of the sky with care. Not for a second do I regret it.”
> In the firelight’s glow she swears she can see the reflections of stars in those glittering orbs.
> She remembers those eyes.

> The gentle call beckons to her again, this time with a tinge of desperation, “Snootle, dear…”.
> She looks over her shoulder to see a pained expression; Star’s hoof nervously strokes her frazzled tail, and she looks to her own ribbon tied tail.
> Placing both hooves on the ribbon, she pulls it loose to her mouth.
> She approaches Star, pink fur like a beacon guiding her from the oppressive dark, and loops it snuggly into a bow around the worried mare’s neck.
> Snootle didn't say anything, she never did, buy her starry eyes made the sentiment clear.
> Everything’s going to be okay.