Earlier that day, he had asked the kind of question children usually reserve for adults, and adults reserve for the dark: "Why is there something instead of nothing?" No one in the village had tried to answer. They sent him outside instead, as if the sky might be better equipped.
Now, as dusk thickens, two crescent worlds rise - silent and redundant. His loyal companion sits beside him, entirely untroubled by metaphysics. The boy realizes, with a faint, reluctant smile, that the universe has responded in its usual style: not with an explanation, but with more of itself. Two moons where one would have sufficed, grass whispering without reason, a small animal choosing to stay. It is not the answer he wanted, but it is exactly the kind of answer reality knows how to give.