Work Text:
The Groke was sitting in a field. It was a cold and moonless night (though every night was cold for her), and she was watching the stars. Unlike the moon and sun, they rarely hid from her presence.
Then, the Groke sensed something-- a faint sound, something moving in the corner of her eye. She blinked and lowered her gaze. Just downhill, a little lantern was being carried through the dark. She stood and began to shuffle towards it. The lantern's light flickered and held still as she drew nearer. There was a scream, and the lantern fell to the ground. Panicked footsteps hurried away as she came up to it.
For a moment, she stared at the fallen lantern. The flame tried to lean away from her, and it cast a shivering yellow halo in the grass. She reached down and wrapped her paw around it. The glass immediately fogged up with frost, and the flame struggled a bit before dying in a puff of smoke.
The Groke was silent. Slowly, her eyes followed the smoke of the dead lantern upwards, and she found herself staring at the stars again. They never warmed her. She'd long ago realized they were simply too far away. She wondered, were she to somehow pluck one out of the sky, if it would die, too.