In stories, the number three is important.
Three woodcutter’s sons.
My story is the same, I guess.
Three fallen stars.
And three disasters.
Mama always says that disasters are like blessings – both of them come in threes. They follow on each other’s heels, the way starlight follows moonrise, so that you can’t untangle them even if you tried.
This is the story of how I proved her right.