Barnaby The Lavender Dragon

Barnaby’s oversized fluffy slippers made soft fluff-fluff sounds as he hurried beside his bed spot at the edge of the Whispering Woods.

“Bedtime!” he said happily.

The little lavender dragon loved bedtime. His soft scales felt warm after a day in the sun, and his cozy bed waited beneath a wide, leafy tree. A lavender blanket lay across it. A round pillow rested near the head, stuffed with dry, sweet-smelling leaves.

Barnaby placed his slippers neatly beside the bed. They were much too big for his little feet, but that was why he liked them. His toes could wiggle inside, and the fluffy tops brushed his ankles like tiny clouds.

“There,” Barnaby said. “Everything is ready.”

He carried his toothbrush to a small bowl of water. The water was cool against his claws. Barnaby dipped the brush, squeezed on a little dab of minty paste, and began to scrub.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

He brushed his two little pointy teeth very carefully. The mint smell tickled his nose. When he smiled at his reflection in the bowl, two bright teeth shone back at him.

“Clean and shiny,” he whispered.

Then Barnaby picked up his leaf-stuffed pillow. He gave it one fluff.

Poof!

A few tiny leaves lifted into the air and drifted down around his nose.

Barnaby giggled. He gave the pillow another fluff.

Poof!

This time, a golden leaf landed on his head.

“Pillow leaves belong in the pillow,” he told it.

He tucked the leaf back inside and patted the pillow until it was soft and round. The leaves made a gentle rustling sound, like a little nest settling down.

Barnaby climbed onto the bed. He pulled the lavender blanket over his knees and wiggled his toes in the fluffy slippers.

The sky above the woods was still pale blue. A warm stripe of sunlight rested on the tree trunks. Birds chirped in the branches, and the grass smelled fresh and green.

Barnaby smiled. Everything felt just right.

Then the sunlight slipped lower.

The bright stripe on the trees grew thin. The blue sky changed to purple. Between the tall trees, the Whispering Woods began to look dark.

Barnaby stopped smiling.

He looked at the woods. The leaves moved even though the air felt still.

Shhhhhh.

Barnaby’s ears lifted.

“It’s only leaves,” he said.

The leaves rustled again.

Shhhhhh.

Barnaby pulled the blanket a little higher.

“It is only the woods getting ready for night.”

He tried to keep his eyes on his pillow. He patted the soft leaves inside it. He looked at his slippers. He counted the fluffy tops.

“One slipper,” he whispered. “Two slippers.”

That helped for a moment.

Then a long shadow reached across the grass and touched the edge of his bed.

Barnaby tucked his feet close.

He knew the shadow was made by the tree. He knew the tree had stood there all day. Still, when the forest grew dark, knowing something did not always make the dark feel small.

Barnaby climbed off the bed and hurried to his little table. On it sat a smooth stone, a cup of water, and his toothbrush.

He picked up the stone and held it tightly.

“This is my brave stone,” he said. “I can hold it until I feel better.”

The stone was cool and smooth. Barnaby rubbed it with one claw. He took a slow breath.

In.

Out.

The woods whispered.

Shhhhhh.

Barnaby’s ears drooped.

The brave stone helped a little, but it did not make the woods bright. The trees still stood in a dark row. The spaces between them looked deep. Every small sound seemed to travel right to his bed.

A twig tapped against another twig.

Tick.

Barnaby jumped.

He set the stone down.

“Maybe I should check the bed,” he said.

He climbed back up and lifted the blanket. The bed was still soft. His pillow was still there. His slippers waited beside the bed.

Nothing had changed.

Barnaby let out a tiny breath.

Then the sky grew darker still.

The last bit of sunlight faded behind the trees.

The Whispering Woods became a deep, quiet shape at the edge of the grass.

Barnaby’s claws curled into the blanket.

He could hear the night more clearly now. A soft breeze moved through the leaves. Grass brushed against the bed legs. Somewhere far away, water made a tiny bubbling sound.

Bub-bub-bub.

Barnaby listened.

“That sound is new,” he whispered.

He leaned toward the woods.

Bub-bub-bub.

It sounded gentle, almost like someone humming with a closed mouth.

Barnaby’s ears rose a little.

“Hello?” he called.

The woods did not answer with words.

Instead, the soft sound came again.

Bub-bub-bub.

Barnaby looked toward the dark trees. He wanted to know what made the sound. He also wanted to stay on his bed, where the blanket was warm and his pillow smelled like dry leaves.

He reached for his brave stone.

The stone was still cool beneath his claw.

“I could look just a little,” Barnaby said. “Only from here.”

He placed one foot on the grass.

The grass was cold.

Barnaby quickly pulled his foot back onto the bed.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

He tried a second time. This time, he put on one oversized slipper....