The rain had been falling since mid-afternoon, and even as dusk approached, it showed no signs of stopping.
A little duck lay stranded in a muddy hollow, completely coated in grime. Rainwater washed over its wing, diluting the streaks of blood and carrying them down into the soil.
The fox's scent had long since faded, but this was a desolate spot. With so few people or animals passing through, it was unlikely anyone would ever find the duck.
Through half-closed eyes, it watched the sky inch closer to pitch black...
Suddenly, someone walked by. But the duck's breathing was so shallow that the sound was almost entirely swallowed by the rain.
The passerby took a few more steps before hesitating, turning back, and pausing beside the tiny creature.
A hand reached down from a wide sleeve. The lining inside was dry.
As the duck was scooped up, it felt as weightless as a sodden leaf.
It didn't struggle. It simply had no strength left.
The moment it was tucked into the sleeve, warmth enveloped it from all sides. That was the comforting heat of a human body.
As the duck slowly roused, it caught a faint scent lingering on the cuff: a metallic tang of blood and rust.
It was the exact smell that clung to the old man who sold duck stew at the foot of the mountain.
Gathering every last ounce of its strength, the duck pecked hard at the person's hand!
But its blunt beak couldn't pierce the skin, leaving nothing but a small red welt on the back of the person's hand.
The arm stiffened for a second, but instead of pulling away, the person simply drew the sleeve more snugly around it.
The duck spent the rest of the journey jostling along in the dark.
It couldn't see a thing, save for a faint, firefly-like glow seeping through the fabric.
The person was carrying a lantern, its light softened and blurred by the cloth, like looking at the moon from underwater.
When the duck opened its eyes again, it was resting on a bed of crisp, dry reeds, safe beneath a sheltered roof.
It shifted its weight and noticed that its injured wing had been wrapped in a strip of cloth, not too tight, not too loose, and tied off with a neat knot.
The duck tucked its head back beneath its wing. The soft, firefly glow fell perfectly over its little reed nest.
In time, the little duck would come to recognize that lantern. It would learn that wherever its light fell, that place was home.
Outside, the rain was still falling, but it couldn't touch the duck anymore.
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