Midway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.” The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it passed. But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered. They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake.

The days in and around “The Rookery” flowed with a gentle rhythm, marked by the changing light and the shifting moods of Cora and Ruky. As Cora toiled at her small tasks—her fingers busy with stitching or gathering kindling—she often found her mind wandering to the world outside their little life. The forest loomed large and shadowy, a mysterious realm she occasionally longed to explore, despite being nestled so close to its edge. Ruky, however, seemed unconcerned with thoughts of adventure beyond their home; he took delight in the simplest of surroundings, reveling in every leaf and pebble like they were treasures.

One crisp morning, as the first hints of autumn painted the trees with gold and crimson, Ruky woke with the sun and bolted outside, his enthusiasm bubbling like a spring. Cora, still curled up beneath her blankets, heard his joyous shouts as he ran toward the lake’s edge. The sound pulled her from her dreams, and she rubbed her eyes, letting the sunlight in through the window.

“Cor! Come see!” Ruky squealed, his call carrying over the lake’s gentle lapping.

With a grunt, Cora eased herself out of bed and pulled on a simple dress. She padded barefoot to the door, the cool morning air brushing against her skin. A few moments later, she stepped outside, squinting against the bright light.

“What is it, little Crow?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Look!” Ruky pointed excitedly toward the water. His dark hair danced in the breeze as he bounced on his toes, the anticipation radiating from him.

Cora’s gaze followed his finger, landing on the surface of the lake, now shimmering with the light of the rising sun. “What am I supposed to see?”

“The fish! They’re all jumping! I think they’re playing!” Ruky laughed, clapping his hands together in delight.

Cora squinted harder and finally noticed the small ripples and splashes as a school of fish broke the surface, darting and twirling in rhythmic chaos. A smile slowly spread across her face; Ruky’s joy was infectious.

“Alright, let’s get the skiff!” she said. A quick flash of determination surged in her—she loved seeing him happy.

The boat was tied to a nearby tree, and after a bit of wrangling, they managed to untie it and load it with a few snacks for their morning adventure. Ruky climbed in first, his excitement palpable as he barely sat still long enough for Cora to join him before he was urging her to row out onto the water.

With every stroke of the oars, the cottage slipped further from their memory, leaving only the sound of water breaking against the wooden sides of the skiff. Ruky chattered away, narrating a story about fish who transformed into birds and soared across the skies. Cora listened, half-lost in the beauty of the lake; the sun danced off the water, and she couldn't help but forget her earlier troubles.

Suddenly, a rumble broke through their merriment—the sound was distant but unmistakable. Both siblings froze, eyes wide, as they stared toward the forest's edge where dark clouds had begun to gather ominously.

“What was that?” Ruky whispered, his voice a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

“I don’t know,” Cora replied, a knot tightening in her stomach. “Maybe it’s just thunder.”

But as Cora scanned the treeline, an uneasy feeling fluttered in her chest. The forest, which had always felt like a friend, now appeared dark and foreboding. The wind picked up, carrying a chill that made Cora shiver.

“Let’s head back to shore,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Ruky didn’t need any more encouragement; he nodded vigorously, eager to return to the safety of the cottage.

As they rowed back, the clouds swirled above, growing darker. Cora felt the first drops of rain as they pulled the skiff ashore, and the forest shifted slightly, as if alive with anticipation.

“Cor, do you think it will be a big storm?” Ruky asked, glancing up at the sky.

“It could be,” she admitted, tying the boat securely. “But we’ll be fine inside.”

Hand in hand, they hurried toward the cottage, unaware that the forest had secrets to share, mysteries to unravel, and perhaps a touch of magic lurking between its trees—waiting just for them.

*To be continued…*

One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became fairly exhausted. “Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you?” she cried, “and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have some peace.” “No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. Ruky wants to see the stars.” “Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when Uncle comes back from town.” Nep growled. “Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from side to side; “Nep says ‘No!’

Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull. “You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to take off my shoes my own self.” “No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did not stop he should have no supper. This made him cry all the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she sat knitting, with her back to him. He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in vain. She never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night kiss.

It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her candle, and lay down beside her brother. The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, “Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night, little bird.” Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying: “Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you were a crow in earnest, and then I’d have some peace.”

After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister wished for so often, and why he must go away before it could come to her. Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then dart suddenly through the open window. Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned to see if he had fallen asleep. No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky was not there!

A jolt of panic shot through Cora’s chest as she fully grasped the chilling emptiness beside her. She scrambled out of bed, her heart racing and the stark reality of the moment closing in around her like an oppressive mist. “Ruky!” she called, her voice a mix of anxiety and disbelief, but the only response was the soft rustling of leaves outside and the distant croak of a night frog.

In that moment, the fluttering sensation from earlier returned to her memory. The dark object! Had it somehow taken him? Cora glanced back toward the window, where the night air moved eerily, carrying whispers of the forest beyond. She tried to shake off the surreal feeling that enveloped her, forcing herself to think clearly.

“Ruky!” she shouted again, this time straining her voice into the stillness of the night. A part of her had hoped he would come bounding back with that innocent joy she adored, but with every passing second, dread washed over her more forcefully. She darted to the window, peering into the darkness that cloaked the world outside.

“Stay right there! I’m coming!” she called, almost pleadingly. Then, without another moment's hesitation, Cora threw on a shawl, flung open the door, and stepped into the embrace of the night. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of damp earth and the slight chill of approaching autumn.

“Ruky!” she cried again, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. A dense silence watched her search, broken only by the humanoid sigh of the wind weaving through the trees. She moved toward the towering shadows, hoping to see a flicker of his bright eyes or hear the comforting sound of his laughter.

As Cora pushed deeper into the forest, the moonlight illuminated her path and cast an ethereal glow over the ground. The occasional rustle of leaves reminded her she was not alone, but did little to calm her fraying nerves. Each step seemed heavier as her mind filled with thoughts of what might have happened.

With a sudden rustle in the branches above her, Cora looked up in alarm. The dark object circled again, but this time, it swooped low enough for her to discern its features—a bird, larger than any she had seen, with feathers shimmering an inky blackness against the light of the moon. It opened its sharp beak as if calling to her, but she was too wrapped in fear and anger to heed whatever message it carried.

“Ruky! Come back! We’ll find the stars another night!” she shouted, clenching her fists. But only silence answered her.

Frustration boiled within her. How could she have been so cruel? Her heart plummeted at the thought of how she had sent him to bed without the love he needed. “Please,” she whispered, tears beginning to blur her vision. “I was wrong to send you away. Ruky, where are you?”

Suddenly, a soft rustling from the bushes nearby pulled her attention. With desperate hope, she rushed toward the sound, calling his name once more. “Ruky?” And then, almost instinctively, she stopped, a gentle sound catching her ear—a small, broken sob.

“Cor! Cor!” The voice, though faint, broke over the dark like sunlight through clouds.

Cora dashed toward the sound, her heart rebounding with hope. “Ruky!” she called, her voice now trembling with urgency as she pushed through the underbrush. Following the sound, she soon discovered him—huddled beneath the broad, gnarled roots of a tree, his dark head buried in his arms.

“Ruky!” she knelt down beside him, her reproach gone, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. “What are you doing here?”

He looked up at her, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Cor… I wanted to see the stars and then I got lost. I’m scared.” His brave demeanor melted away as he leaned into her, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Oh, Ruky,” Cora breathed, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I was so… so mean.”

The little boy sniffled and wiped his face against her shawl, the familiar gesture making her heart ache. “No, Cor. Ruky was bad,” he said again, his small voice trembling.

“No, you weren’t,” Cora assured him, pulled him closer. “I should have listened. I should have been a better sister.” Here, in the embrace of the night, she felt the tension ebb away, replaced by a warmth that blossomed between them. “What’s important is that we’re together now.”

“I saw a pretty bird, Cor, and I wanted to follow it,” Ruky confessed, looking up into her eyes with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Cora chuckled softly through her tears. “And now look where that pretty bird has led you!”

“Where are the stars?” he asked, peering toward the sky, his face lit anew with wonder.

“They’ll come, little Crow,” she promised, wiping her own tears away. “Let’s get back home. The stars, right now, are a little shy.”

As they turned together toward the direction of “The Rookery,” that strange, dark bird swooped overhead again, a fleeting silhouette against the moon, and Cora felt as if it watched over them, guiding them back safely through the treacherous shadows.

Hand in hand, they walked back, their bond unbroken, while the stars began to twinkle timidly through the blanket of clouds above.

*To be continued…*

friggin idiot. Don't add to the story I'm still going

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