About forty years ago I went on a long hike, through hills absolutely unknown to tourists, in that very old region where the Alps penetrate into Provence. It consisted of barren and monotonous lands. Nothing grew there except wild lavender.

I was crossing this country at its widest part, and after walking for three days, I found myself in the most complete desolation. I was camped next to an abandoned village. I had used the last of my water the day before and I needed to find more. These ruined houses of the village made me think that there must, at one time, have been a spring or a well there. There was indeed a spring, but it was dry. All life had disappeared.

Elara lived in a small cottage at the edge of a quiet village. Every night, she would sit by her window and watch the stars. She loved the sky. She often wondered where the stars went during the day. “Perhaps they are like lost children,” she thought, “and the sun is their mother looking for them.” One night, a bright star seemed to fall from the sky. It landed in the forest nearby. Elara, being a brave and curious girl, decided to find it. She took a lantern and walked into the dark woods, her heart beating with a mix of fear and excitement. She searched for hours but found nothing. Disappointed, she returned home, only to see the brightest star of all twinkling right above her cottage, as if it was winking at her.