OWLS Barn Studio

The Fox Who Borrowed the Stars

High on a hill at the very edge of the world, where the grass grew soft as velvet and the wind smelled of pine and sleep, there lived a small fox named Fenwick.

Fenwick was clever and quick and full of ideas. But his very best idea — the one he was most proud of — had got him into a little bit of trouble.

One evening, while everyone was tucked up and the sky was turning the colour of blueberries, Fenwick had looked up and thought: Those stars look awfully lonely up there. I’ll borrow just one. Just to keep me company tonight.

So he had reached up — he was very good at reaching — and plucked a small, warm star from the sky. It fit perfectly in his paw, round and glowing like a tiny lantern.

Then he had borrowed another. And another. And just a few more.

By morning, his den was full of softly glowing stars, tumbled together like a pile of tiny suns. It was the cosiest thing Fenwick had ever seen.

But outside, the sky was very, very dark.

The badgers couldn’t find their way home. The moths flew in circles, confused. The children pressed their noses to their windows and whispered, “Where have all the stars gone?”

Fenwick sat in his warm, glowing den and felt the first prick of something uncomfortable. It wasn’t cold. It was something that started in his tummy and worked its way up to his ears.

He thought about the moths. He thought about the badgers. He thought about the children at their windows, with their noses pressed flat against the glass.

“Oh,” said Fenwick quietly. “Oh, dear.”

One by one, he gathered the stars back into his paws. They were warm and humming and smelled like the very top of a clear night. Very carefully, he climbed to the top of his hill.

One by one, he placed them back.

The badgers found their paths. The moths found their flowers. And the children, one by one, smiled at their windows and went quietly back to sleep.

The very last star Fenwick placed was the one he had borrowed first. As he let it go, it glowed a little brighter than before — as if it were saying thank you for bringing me home.

Fenwick trotted back down the hill, his paws empty, his heart rather full. His den was dark now, but not lonely. Outside, the whole sky was shining again.

“Some things,” Fenwick said to himself, curling up in his blanket, “are too beautiful to keep. They belong to everyone.”

He fell asleep smiling, and the stars watched over him all night long.

The End.

~ OWLS Barn