The stars over the valley went out early in the Night, and no one else remembers where they hung. So you fly a lantern up on a birch-spool line, through a storm that was old before the mountains, to set a small light where a star used to be. Held taut, the line climbs; held taut when the gust comes through, it breaks. You cannot fight the storm — you can only lend it the line a moment at a time, and take it back the moment it has passed.