Submission (#6973) Approved

The air was crisp and scented with the earthy aroma of harvest as the last of the year’s crops were hauled from the fields. Sprinkle adjusted their gloves, feeling the satisfying weight of their basket filled with sun-glistened produce: golden squashes, plump tomatoes, and shimmering blue staradishes—the prize crop from their homeland that they’d carefully tended to all year.

Unlike the usual earthy hues of farm hands, Sprinkle stood out, not just for their unique, silvery fur that glowed faintly under the early twilight, but for the way they moved—quietly deliberate, as if every action was part of a ritual. Each vegetable they’d harvested had been chosen with respect, cleaned, and laid in their woven basket as if it were a precious gem.

With the last bundle of vegetables, Sprinkle hoisted the basket and joined the others already gathered in the farm’s courtyard, where rows of tables, covered in linen cloths, were ready for the night’s feast. It was a gathering like no other, a moment to reflect on the year’s labors and to celebrate together as one village, one community.

Sprinkle found their place among the other cooks, set down their basket, and took a deep breath, feeling a burst of energy at the sight of the harvested produce. They slipped into the kitchen tent where they began their favorite task: creating staradish tarts, a rare delicacy from their home planet that had become something of a legend in the village. Each tart was made with a flaky, buttery crust that melted in the mouth, filled with savory staradish custard, and topped with thinly sliced, sparkling blue staradish petals.

The other cooks often watched with admiration as Sprinkle worked. Their hands moved with practiced precision, eyes glowing slightly with concentration as they infused each tart with flavors that blended both Earth and Sprinklelien traditions.

As dusk descended, a hush settled over the gathering as the feast was announced. The tables overflowed with food—roasted vegetables, steaming casseroles, freshly baked bread, and, of course, Sprinkle’s tarts, nestled among the dishes like small, gleaming treasures. Each guest eagerly took one, savoring the unique blend of flavors that no Earth cook could replicate.

When Sprinkle finally sat down at the table, their own plate filled high, they watched with quiet satisfaction as their neighbors reached for seconds of their tarts, eyes widening with each bite. Children laughed, hands reaching over the table for more, and elders nodded with a quiet, appreciative understanding.

One of the villagers raised a glass and called out, “To Sprinkle, for another harvest and for bringing a taste of the stars to our humble banquet!”

Sprinkle lifted their own glass, touched by the warmth of their adopted home and the simple joy of sharing something meaningful. For one night, the boundaries of Earth and stars blurred, and as they looked up at the night sky, Sprinkle felt their heart firmly rooted in the soil of this little village, even as it stretched across galaxies.