The Sleepy Dragon’s Magic Shirt

Barnaby flapped his wings and tried to find the familiar path. A cool puff of air nudged him sideways.

“Not that way,” he murmured.

He turned left, then right. The air felt smooth under one wing and bumpy under the other. He could not tell which way led home.

Barnaby’s scales began to prickle.

At first, it was one small tickle near his shoulder. He rubbed the spot with the edge of his wing while he flew.

“Just a little itch,” he said. “I can keep going.”

But the tickle spread across his back. It crept between the bumps along his neck and danced down his sides. Barnaby wriggled in the air.

His wings wobbled.

He slowed down and tried to scratch with one back foot. The foot missed. He twisted to try again, and his tail swung wide.

“Oops!”

Barnaby flapped hard and steadied himself. The cool evening air brushed his face, but his scales felt hot and restless. He wanted to land. He also wanted to finish his last flight the way he had planned.

The path below disappeared beneath a patch of shadow.

“Maybe the hilltop is this way,” Barnaby said.

He glided toward a pale patch of grass. A small stone rose up in front of him. Barnaby lifted one wing and sailed over it, but the sudden turn made the itching worse. He scratched at his shoulder again.

Scratch.

Scratch.

The sound was tiny, but it made Barnaby pause. His scales felt sore where his claws had brushed them.

He tucked his claws close.

“Gentle,” he whispered. “I need to be gentle.”

Barnaby hovered for a moment. His wings beat the air, and the cool wind moved around him. He took a slow breath in through his nose. The air smelled like grass and night flowers.

Then he breathed out.

The itch was still there, but his body felt a little less jumpy.

“Home first,” he told himself. “Play can wait.”

He spread his wings wide and watched the moon. The moonlight fell in a bright path across the hill. Barnaby followed that silver path, keeping his flight low and slow.

The darkness was not empty. Crickets sang in the grass. Leaves rustled softly near the hill’s edge. A night bird called once, then grew quiet. Barnaby listened to each sound and looked for the round stones that marked the safe way down.

His scales kept tickling.

He tried rubbing his back against the air as he flew. That did not help. He tried stretching his wings and holding them still for a few seconds. That helped his tired wings, but not his itchy sides.

Barnaby frowned.

He had never felt this way during his daytime flights. Usually, when the sky grew dark, he landed, drank cool water, and curled up in his soft nest. Tonight, the itching made every bit of him want to wiggle.

A gust of wind lifted him higher than he wanted to go.

“Down, please,” Barnaby said.

He folded his wings halfway and glided. The moonlit hill rose beneath him. Barnaby aimed for a flat patch of grass beside a smooth, warm stone.

His feet touched down.

He bent his knees and landed safely, but he did not feel ready to rest. His wings folded against his back. The bumps along his scales prickled and tickled all at once.

Barnaby paced in a small circle.

Step, step, scratch.

He stopped himself.

“No scratching,” he said softly. “That makes it feel worse.”

He lifted one wing and looked at his side. In the moonlight, his scales looked like little rounded pebbles. They were not hurt, but they felt uncomfortable and tight.

Barnaby pressed his warm belly against the smooth stone. The stone held the day’s heat. For a moment, the warmth felt nice.

Then a new itch popped up near his neck.

Barnaby turned his head and rubbed against the stone.

The rough edge caught between two scales. He pulled away quickly.

“Ouch,” he said, though it was only a small sting.

He sat back on the grass. The blades brushed his toes. Above him, the stars shone more brightly now, one by one, like tiny lamps in the dark blue sky.

Barnaby looked at them and wished he could feel as calm as they looked.

“I wanted one last happy flight,” he said.

His voice sounded small on the quiet hill.

The breeze moved over him again. It was cool and soft, but Barnaby’s scales still danced with tickles. He shifted onto one side, then the other. He tucked his tail close, then stretched it out. Nothing felt quite right.

A deep yawn opened his mouth.

“Maybe I’m tired,” he said.

Barnaby curled beside the stone and closed his eyes.

Scratch.

His back prickled.

He opened his eyes.

He tried to ignore it and watched the moon instead. Its round light rested above the hill. Barnaby breathed in slowly. He breathed out slowly.

The tickle moved to his shoulder.

He tucked his chin down and held his claws away from his scales. He waited.

The itch stayed.

Barnaby rolled onto his other side. The grass made a soft shushing sound beneath him. He listened to it and tried to settle.

Scratch.

This time, his claws brushed along his side before he could stop them.

Barnaby pulled his paw back. He saw a few tiny bits of grass caught near his scales. He brushed them away with the soft tip of his wing, very carefully.

“That is better,” he said.

It was only a little better.

He sat up and looked toward the dim path home. The nest was not far away, but the way down the hill seemed twisty in the dark. Barnaby did not want to fly again while his scales felt so restless.

So he stayed on the moonlit hill.

The night air cooled his nose. The grass smelled fresh. The stone beside him felt smooth under his shoulder. These were good things. Barnaby noticed each one.

Still, his back would not settle.

He folded his wings around himself like a blanket. The feathers along his wings brushed his scales. The touch made him wiggle again.

“Easy,” he whispered. “I am safe. I am on the hill. I can rest here.”

Barnaby took another slow breath. He listened to the crickets. He watched the stars. He let his claws rest on the grass instead of reaching for his itchy sides.

For a few heartbeats, he felt calm.

Then the tickles returned, light and busy, from his neck to his tail.

Barnaby sighed and lifted his face to the moon.

His last playful flight was over, and he had landed safely. But bedtime did not feel sleepy yet. His bumpy scales were terribly itchy, and his whole body felt restless beneath the starry sky.

Barnaby curled beside the smooth stone, keeping his claws still as best he could. The moon shone gently over him while he searched for a way to feel comfortable again.

Sometimes, when our bodies feel itchy and restless, a gentle pause is the first step toward finding comfort.

End of chapter one. 7 more chapters and about 11,799 words in the full book.