It was Christmas Eve in the little village, and everything was ready. Snow covered the roofs like icing sugar. Strings of lights wound around the balconies. And in the village square, the big tree wore its red baubles, its golden ribbons and its little gingerbread men.
Only one thing was missing.
At the very top of the tree, where the star shone every year… there was nothing.
“The wind carried it off last night,” Dad had explained at supper. “We'll look for it tomorrow.”
Éloi thought tomorrow was very far away. A Christmas tree without a star is like a birthday cake without a candle.
He had been in bed for a long time. He had counted sheep, then reindeer, then snowflakes. Nothing worked: his eyes stayed open.
That's when he heard a little tap, tap at his window.
Éloi tiptoed over. On the frosty windowsill, a little ball of white feathers was looking at him with big yellow eyes. A snowy owl. A very young one, so fluffy it looked like a cloud with a beak.
“Good evening,” said the little ball of feathers through the glass. “My name is Frimas. I know where the star from the tree fell. But I'm too small to bring it back by myself.”
“You know where it is?” Éloi whispered. “In the forest of dreams. Go back to bed and close your eyes. I'll wait for you there.”
Éloi slipped under his duvet. He closed his eyes, just for a second. And when he opened them again, he was walking through an all-white forest, bundled up in his red toque and his blue coat, with Frimas fluttering ahead of him.
The fir trees wore coats of snow. There were so many stars in the sky that they seemed to be holding hands. And on the snow, there was a little path of silver sparkles, as if something bright had passed that way.
“Follow the sparkles,” Frimas whispered.
They walked for a long time, without a sound. Crunch, crunch, went Éloi's boots in the snow. Flutter, flutter, went Frimas's wings.
At the end of the path, at the foot of an old fir tree, they found it.
The star was lying in a snowbank. It was hardly shining anymore. Just a pale little glow, like a candle about to go out.
“It's tired,” Frimas said softly. “A star shines with happy memories. And it was cold all night long.”
Éloi knelt down beside it. “How do we warm it up?” “By telling it the happiest moments of your year.”
Éloi thought about it. Then he began, softly.
“This summer, I jumped in the lake with Dad. The water was so cold we both yelled.”
The star shone a tiny bit brighter.
“This fall, Grandma taught me how to make cookies. I ate three pieces of dough before they were baked.”
The star shone a little more.
“And last week, my little sister said my name for the first time. Well… she said ‘Léli.’ But it was me.”
This time, the star began to shine so brightly that the whole forest turned golden. The fir trees glittered. The snow sparkled. Even Frimas's feathers shone like moon dust.
“You did it!” hooted Frimas.
Frimas took the star in his little talons, Éloi held it up with his mittens, and together they carried it back to the village, following the path of sparkles. In the square, everything was asleep. Frimas flapped his wings, very hard, and set the star at the very top of the big tree.
It shone like never before.
“Thank you, Éloi,” said Frimas. “Now you can really go to sleep.”
Éloi yawned. The forest went all blurry, all soft… and he felt his pillow under his cheek. Through the window, far away, a golden star was shining at the top of the tree.
The next morning, it was Christmas. The whole village was talking about the star that had come back all by itself during the night, brighter than ever. Nobody knew how.
Except Éloi.
Because on his windowsill, in the frost, there was one tiny white feather.
Merry Christmas, and good night.
