Tthey’re not stars, they're holes poked into the top of a container so we can breathe

The sun set far sooner than Álarr was ready for but such was the features of winter. The days would grow ever shorter, the nights even longer. A pastel haze of cream and soft rose colored the horizon as the last of day began to fade from view. Álarr continued to tend to his broken paw and with Brynhildr's help he'd gotten a fire going and now laid next to it while he pulled juniper berries off the cedar stems. It was a mix that would typically be used for arthritis but the effect on inflammation and swelling would help with his injury. In the mean time he listened to the quiet hush of evening, made even fore silent by the absence of birds that had already migrated south.