It shifts uproariously, cacophony bringing down the stars to fragment from light and smoke, to being and color.
Some more than others decide that these starfish are things to be coveted, drawn from the waters in silent approval of shape and hue.
Moods change constantly, and slowly they dry, the once bright stars fading to a sandy tan. A beige, hard carapace devoid of previous serenity.
Endlessly, an old man collects sand dollars by the seashore, stepping over crabs and seashells, until he comes to a tidal pool, devoid of life, save for a single creature.
Preachers come and go, but this ancient man knows the glory of the primal sea, and thus he takes the starfish from that home, and throws it into the sky, where it roars into life once more.
As king of the sky.
