A simple shepherd, sleeping under the drooping branches of firs with his small flock snuggled tightly around him to warm their bodies up. At one moment he seems to wake up from his rest, his star-dimmed eyes survey the surroundings and then his gaze tilts upward towards the branches of the tree that arches over him and behold: a shadow moves amidst the foliage, he notices that it’s a wood grouse. Illuminated by moonlight he sees how the bird flaps its wings thereabout, feathers of silver-sheen, preparing to take flight and there! …the bird soars away –not before letting out a sorrowful single note as if bidding farewell to the sleepy shepherd.
It leaves one single feather gracefully spiraling down over the top of his head while the ewes roll and exhale in their sleep as the wing-flapping noises fade away, rending the nocturnal silence its dominion back… Our shepherd admires the bluish somber of the nightsky with tired eyes, eyes that yearn to have their lids closed on them soon again; at a sudden strike of wakefulness he checks his purse and his rusty dagger and then decides to let himself back into Sleep and her comforting arms. The nightly chill rises from the ground, he sees that the old stars still hold their celestial reign above him. He counts the stars to see how they are still the same over the lofty sky -his birth star before all- and his soul is glad. Now reassured, the gentle cover of dreams embrace him again…
After that came the purplish dawn and the dewy morning, so they say and recount the tale.