Twilight settled over the meadow, turning the sky purple-blue. One by one, fireflies blinked awake in the tall grass. Wren stretched her wings and hummed her little hmm-hmm, glowing soft and slow, happy just to watch the dark come down around her.

Bram zoomed past on his springy legs, thrilled to spot his best friend. He circled Wren twice, grinning, already cooking up mischief. Then, quick as a wink, he gave her wing a tiny nudge. "Watch this!" he laughed, bouncing back to see what would happen.

Startled, Wren's whole body flashed — BRIGHT! — a wild burst of gold light shot clear across the meadow. Fireflies swooped in from every stalk and leaf, cheering, "Do it again! Do it again!" Bram beamed, delighted, already planning his very next poke.

Wren tried to shake it off and glow quietly on her leaf. But Bram couldn't resist — he nudged her again, just to see the flash. Her light burst brighter than before, and the crowd pressed closer, cheering louder than ever, wings buzzing with excitement.

More fireflies gathered, buzzing and bumping close. Bram nudged her from one side, and another firefly nudged from the other. Squeezed and dizzy, Wren's light exploded into her biggest flare yet — the whole meadow lit up like fireworks. "Do it again! Do it again!" the crowd chanted. But amid all that brightness, Wren didn't feel like glowing at all anymore.

Wren slipped away from the noisy crowd and fluttered to a quiet stalk at the meadow's edge. Tucked between the grasses, a few old fireflies glowed soft and slow, small steady pulses, on and off, calm as breathing. Wren watched them, and something inside her chest went quiet too.

Bram spotted her alone and swooped over, wings already twitching for another poke. Just as he nudged her, Wren did something new. She dimmed her light to one small, steady pulse and lifted off — no flash, no burst — rising quietly to a branch high above the crowd.

The meadow waited for the big flash. None came — only Wren's tiny light blinking slow and even, high on her branch. A few fireflies tried once more, "Do it again... do it again?" But with no wild burst to chase, one by one they drifted off to find their own fun.

Bram was left alone on the empty leaf, blinking up at Wren's small, steady glow. Without the crowd, without the show, the meadow felt strangely still. Bram realized, with a little hum of his own, that he missed his friend far more than he'd ever missed the flash.

Slowly, Bram fluttered up to Wren's branch. This time, he didn't nudge her. He simply glowed a soft green pulse beside her and waited, hoping — just hoping — that she might glow back.

Wren's little pulse brightened, just a bit — warm now, not wild. She settled closer to Bram, wings folding softly. Around them, one by one, the whole meadow filled with small, steady lights, blinking gently together like a hundred quiet heartbeats.

The meadow glowed soft and low beneath the stars. Wren and Bram sat side by side on their branch, their small lights blinking in the very same slow rhythm. All around them, the sleepy hush of night settled in, warm and steady, and everyone glowed on, together.