For some reason, Gavin didn't like winter. It wasn't that he minded the cold. No, he had plenty of coats to keep him warm, and knew well how to make clothes that would ward away the chill. He was snug as he plodded home through the fresh snow like goose feathers blanketing the village. White everywhere, and stillness. Silence. Not even the wind whispered along the street to disturb the thousands of floating snowflakes in their journey downward to join their kin.
Gavin slowed, gaze raising. Against the starless indigo of the evening sky he could almost imagine that the pinpricks of the stars had been snow all along, and were now dropping to earth all over the land. Would there be stars again in the Spring? How many times could the sky empty itself before there wasn't anything left?
Slipping his hand from his pocket, Gavin held out his palm. He hadn't worn his gloves today. Winter chill curled around his skin. He watched as a single snowflake drifted toward his hand. It danced as it fell, lower, softer, lovlier, until it touched the heel of his open hand, and vanished.
Gavin stared at the spot. It was gone. There was nothing there, now, but a tiny droplet he couldn't even feel. The star had died.
Glancing behind him, he could see his footsteps along the lonely street being covered over by the tiny inhabitants of heaven, as one would reverently bury the dead, with sorrow and silence and empty skies.
Slipping his hand back into his pocket, Gavin turned forward again, and continued towards home.
He'd never liked winter.