Christmas Eve began with quiet snow and the smell of gingerbread. Lena was helping her grandfather Jan dress the Christmas tree in the old house. The baubles clinked and the lights twinkled like little skylights. Grandpa told an old legend from the village. "The True Star leads the lost into the shortest night," he said. "Sometimes it stops at the window when someone still believes." Lena pretended to be brave, but inside she felt a slight tickle. When they opened the last box, they found something unusual. Lying there was a wooden star with a wave sign carved into it. Grandpa blinked, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He said he had lost it when he was a boy. Lena touched the star and felt a gentle warmth, like from a hand. They hung it on the highest branch, just below the ceiling. Then the star twitched and slowly turned north. The lights dimmed and the room became sleepy and quiet. A short ringing sound came from outside, although the street was empty. "Do you hear?" - whispered Grandpa. Lena opened the window and let in a puff of frosty air. The flakes circled as if someone was blowing on them from below. A mark appeared on the window sill, as if from a small paw. Grandfather pressed a finger to his lips and nodded towards the attic. Above them, a board shook and the star turned again, now exactly towards the stairs. They ducked into the shadows of the corridor and climbed the creaking steps. There was a single candle burning at the top, which no one had lit. Next to an old trunk lay a roll of paper, tied with red string. Lena held out her hand, and then something rustled from the depths of the trunk. The lid moved of its own accord and began to rise slowly.