The Woods: Between the Flames and the Stars

Lauren Nixon-Matney • May 4, 2025

The Woods: Between the Flames and the Stars

Hollow Coves: The Woods

Pixel art illustration of a family sitting together by a fireplace reading a book, representing memory, comfort, warmth, words that transcend time and emotional connection in a Searching for Stars universe.

The fire crackles, embers floating into the night like fireflies. The air is thick with woodsmoke, warmth radiating from the flames. Somewhere deep in the trees, the wind hums through the branches, and for a moment—just a flicker—time bends.


The way this song moves my soul—it carries me through time, through embers and echoes of what once was. I am a child again, in a tiny Texas town where bonfires mark the seasons, where homecoming means flames licking at the sky and the whole town gathered around. The heat of the fire against cool night air. The feeling of something unshakably familiar. Belonging. Safety. Warmth.

Pixel art nighttime Texas Homecoming football field illuminated by stadium lights and a glowing bonfire beneath a starry sky, evoking nostalgia, ritual and memory in the Searching for Stars universe.

I see my dad, standing by the fireplace in our childhood home, the glow of the flames flickering across his face. He loved the fire. Not just for its heat, but for what it meant. Stillness. Togetherness. A moment that needed nothing more than itself. He would back up to the flames, hands in his pockets, letting the warmth soak into him like it was part of some ritual. I can still hear his laugh. I can still see him there.


It is New Year’s Eve, 1999. The whole world waits to see if the clocks will glitch, if Y2K will swallow everything we know. My mother is with Carl then. Carl, who is steady and kind and feels like something solid. His kids are there too, laughing, running through the cold, their faces glowing in the firelight. The bonfire is enormous, flames leaping into the sky, heat rolling across our faces. Sparks spiral upward, vanishing into the night like tiny shooting stars. I don’t know what the future will hold, but in this moment, I am warm. I am safe. I am here.


The fire shifts, the scene flickers.


Time moves like a slow-burning ember, stretching between what once was and what comes next. I am older now. My mother is with my stepdad, a drunk but a nice enough man. However, the people who linger around the fire at night—they are not safe. I remember lying awake in my bedroom knife under my pillow just in case I needed the protection, the flicker of flames through the window, the shadows shifting on the walls. Bonfires that once meant community and comfort now feel different. The flicker of flames through my window is no longer inviting, but haunting. A gathering of drunks and addicts right outside. Shadows shifting, voices slurred, laughter that doesn’t sound quite right. Something I do not trust. Something unsettling. Unsafe.


The fire flickers again, and time shifts once more.

I am in California. The mornings are crisp and cold, and my husband and I wake early, flipping on the fireplace before anything else. The warmth spills into the room, chasing the chill away. He feels like home, like something I can hold onto. We sit close, wrapped in blankets, watching the flames dance and listening to old records.


Another flicker.


Later—pregnant with our sweet Maverick, back in my dad’s house, watching him do what he always did. Backing up to the fire, warming himself like it was the most important task in the world. He was always doing that. I never thought about how much I’d miss it.

Pixel art image of The Shaman a bearded man wearing a feathered headdress standing beside Lucy a basset hound in a cozy bungalow, with a crackling fireplace, vintage radio, and starry night visible through a dream catcher decorated window. Representing, nostalgia and warmth in a Searching for Stars story.

The embers glow, and another memory rises.


Hot Springs, Arkansas. The woods, but this time, they are ours. The National Forest stretches beyond our backyard, wild and endless. The trees whisper, and for the first time in a long time, the woods feel like magic again. Like home.


My son is small and some of our best moments are spent by the fireplace—reading, lying together, warmth wrapping around us like something holy. The crackling of the flames, the weight of him in my arms. I will hold onto this forever.


The fire flickers, reshaping time once more.


 New Year’s Eve, 2025 in Texas. The fire burns high, casting long shadows. But this time, it is not my childhood. It is my children’s. I watch them sitting there, faces flickering in the firelight, laughter rising into the night air. Carl’s kids are here too, their own children sitting beside mine. The people I love surround me, old and new, bonded by something deeper than blood.


I sit there, watching the flames, feeling time fold in on itself.


I think of my dad, of the way the fire always pulled him close.


I think of all the warmth that has held me, all the places the fire has burned.


And I know—woven between the flames and the stars where fire meets sky, where embers become stardust—something greater lingers.

Pixel art image of two children sitting quietly beside a campfire under a star-filled night sky, celebrating new years eve, capturing a reflective moment of warmth, memory and connection through time in a Searching for Stars story.

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