Sparks Lucky Day

Spark was the clumsiest emberling in the entire grove—a fact made obvious within the first hour of dawn.

The tiny Ember-aligned creature hopped enthusiastically toward the morning gathering spot, flames flickering cheerfully atop his round form. Three hops in, he tripped over absolutely nothing, tumbled head over heels, and accidentally set a small patch of dry grass alight. The older Pyrospirits quickly put it out, their flames dimming with what could only be described as exasperation.

Spark's flames flickered apologetically—a soft, dim glow—before brightening again with renewed enthusiasm. Today was going to be a great day! He could feel it.

---

The grove's residents had learned to give Spark a wide berth. Not because he was dangerous—Pyrospirits had no offensive abilities whatsoever—but because chaos seemed to follow the little emberling like smoke follows fire.

Case in point: Spark hopped toward the communal warmth stones to help recharge them. He made it exactly five hops before his stubby leg caught on a root. He tumbled forward, rolled down a small slope, and crashed directly into a stack of carefully arranged kindling.

The kindling scattered everywhere. Spark's flames dimmed to barely a glow—embarrassment—as several Pyrospirits turned to look. But then something extraordinary happened.

A massive shadow passed overhead. A Veilwing—one of the Sundering's dark creatures—had been diving silently toward the grove, talons extended. It would have snatched up the nearest Pyrospirit... except that Pyrospirit had just moved to help pick up the kindling Spark had scattered.

The Veilwing's talons closed on empty air. It shrieked in frustration and wheeled away into the dark forest.

The Pyrospirits' flames all flared bright with alarm, then relief. Spark, oblivious, was busy trying to re-stack the kindling. He got three pieces balanced before they all fell over again. His flames dimmed sadly.

---

By midday, Spark had already:

- Tripped over a stone and accidentally headbutted a hornets' nest, which fell into the river before the hornets could swarm

- Stumbled backward to avoid a butterfly and knocked over a precariously balanced dead tree—which fell across a ravine, creating a bridge the grove had needed for months

- Hopped enthusiastically toward a shiny pebble and crashed through a berry bush, scattering the fruit perfectly into the gathering baskets below

Each time, Spark's flames would dim with embarrassment while the other Pyrospirits' flames flickered in what might have been amusement, exasperation, or perhaps wonder.

---

The crowning moment came in the afternoon.

Spark was practicing his hopping—trying to build up his coordination like the grown Pyrospirits always encouraged. He hopped once, twice, three times... then his flame-topped head bumped into a low-hanging branch.

He stumbled sideways, crashing directly into a young Pyrospirit who'd been standing near the grove's edge. They both went tumbling in a tangle of stubby limbs and flickering flames—Spark's dimming with mortification, the other's flaring with surprise.

They rolled to a stop just as a massive boulder—dislodged by a Blightclaw prowling above the grove—crashed down exactly where the young Pyrospirit had been standing.

The entire grove went silent. Every flame dimmed to pinpricks.

Then, slowly, they all flared bright—joy, relief, gratitude.

Spark's flames flickered in confusion. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but everyone seemed happy! His flames brightened cheerfully in response.

The young Pyrospirit he'd crashed into touched their head gently to Spark's. Their flames glowed warm and bright—thanks, friendship, affection.

Spark's flames blazed with happiness. He'd made a friend!

---

By evening, as the emberlings and Pyrospirits gathered in their protective circle, Spark attempted to hop to his sleeping spot. He made it two hops before tripping over his own feet and landing face-first in the soft moss.

His flames dimmed to the faintest glow.

The Pyrospirits around him flickered gently.

One of the eldest, a Pyrospirit who'd lived through countless moons, settled beside the little emberling. Their ancient flame glowed steady and warm, and after a moment, Spark's flame began to glow in harmony.

Spark didn't know that he'd accidentally saved the grove three times that day. He didn't know that the other Pyrospirits had started calling him "Lucky Spark" in the silent language of their flames.

He just knew that he was warm, he was safe, and tomorrow he would try even harder not to be so clumsy.

(He would fail, of course. But somehow, things would work out anyway. They always did.)