It’s dawn in the stellar nursery.

We float, transient in the half-light of a thousand fresh-born stars. We are the caretakers, the mothers of stars; we greet this new class of suns with trilling of beaks and clashing of appendages.

One by one, our stars begin to blow, their winds sweeping away the surrounding gases, the nebula parting before them.

In a billion years they’ll be fully grown. Until then, we will watch, and guide them from the dark.