Tavi Follows the Little Lights

“I only meant to follow the lights for a little while,” I told my family this morning. “Then the shadows made every path look new.”

Last evening, my family had chosen a resting place beneath a wide-leafed tree. The ground there was soft with old leaves, and the roots made a cozy, curving wall around us. My mother, my father, and my little brother, Nilo, were settling down after a long day of wandering.

“Stay where we can see you, Tavi,” Mother called.

“I will,” I promised.

Bram, a young monkey who lived nearby, was sitting on a low branch. He was trying to balance a round seed on his nose.

“Look,” he whispered. “The jungle has little lanterns.”

Along the trail, tiny insects had begun to glow. They floated above the grasses and leaves, making small yellow dots in the dusk. One bobbed past my ear. Another blinked beside a fern.

“I’ll just see where they go,” I said. “Only a little way.”

Bram hopped down. “I’ll come, too.”

We followed the lights between the familiar roots. At first, I could still hear Mother talking to Nilo. Then the insects led us around a bend, and her voice faded behind the trees.

We came to a shallow stream. I knew it! On our way in, Father had said, “Follow this stream until you see the bent-looking tree. Then our resting place is close.” I remembered the stream’s pebbly bank and the tree with its trunk leaning over the trail.

But the lights drifted on, and I followed them a little farther. They gathered above a patch of tall grass, then scattered among the leaves. When I looked back, the trail seemed to have changed. The roots made unfamiliar shadows. Every turn looked like the turn we had just taken.

“Which way is home?” Bram asked.

I tried to point, but my paw paused in the air. I could hear water somewhere nearby, though I wasn’t sure which way it ran.

The glowing insects had shown us a lovely place. Now I wanted something else: my family’s resting place, and the familiar roots around it.

“We can find it,” I said, though I didn’t yet know how. “Let’s stop and remember.”

Bram sat beside me on a flat stone. The little insects continued their quiet dance over the grass, but I kept my eyes on the ground and the trees.

“What did Father say?” Bram asked.

“Follow the stream until we see the bent-looking tree,” I replied. “Then the resting place is close.”

“Can we find the stream again?”

I listened. Under the cricket song and the rustle of leaves, I heard a soft, steady trickle. I turned my head. The sound came from behind a clump of ferns.

“There!” I said.

We walked toward the water, carefully placing our feet between the roots. At the bank, I studied the current. A few leaves floated past, moving toward a narrow gap between the trees.

“The water is going that way,” I said. “We should follow it.”

Bram looked along the bank. “And if the trail splits?”

“Then we look for the tree Father told us about.”

We followed the stream. It curved around a muddy patch and slipped under a low branch. Once, we came to two paths, both dark with evening shade. I almost chose the wider one, but then I noticed the leaves in the water. They were floating toward the left-hand path.

“This way,” I said. “The stream is our clue.”

Bram grinned. “You’re good at remembering.”

We went on, listening for the water and watching where it turned. The forest seemed less confusing when I paid attention to one thing at a time. Then I saw a tall trunk leaning over the stream. Its top bent like an elbow reaching across the trail.

“The bent-looking tree!” I cried.

I knew it from our walk in. One thick root curled around a smooth stone, just as it had before. Beyond the tree, the trail curled toward the wide-leafed tree where my family was resting.

Bram and I hurried, but we did not race. We followed the familiar roots until we saw my family gathered beneath the leaves. Mother stood up, calm and steady. Nilo was tucked beside Father.

“There you are,” Mother said.

“I followed the lights too far,” I told her. “Then I remembered the stream and the bent tree.”

Father nodded. “You found your way by thinking carefully.”

Bram gave a little bow. “And by having a very good listener.”

After that, there was no need to go anywhere else. The little lights stayed out among the grasses, but I watched them from beside my family. They blinked on and off as if they were telling their own small story.

Mother brushed a leaf from my shoulder. “You’re home now,” she said.

“I am,” I answered. “And next time I’ll tell you before I follow anything interesting.”

Bram settled on a low root nearby. “Next time, I’ll bring a map,” he said.

“What kind of map?” Nilo asked.

Bram pointed to the ground. “A map made of snacks. We leave one seed at every turn, and then we eat our way home.”

Father chuckled. “That map might disappear before we need it.”

Bram looked at the seed he had been balancing earlier. “Then I’ll make two.”

We all laughed, quietly so we would not wake the sleeping birds. The stream murmured beyond the trees, and the bent-looking tree held its familiar place along the trail. I could see the curved roots around our resting spot and the leaf shapes above us. They were the same roots and leaves I had seen before, only harder to recognize when the dusk made long shadows.

I rested beside Nilo while Mother and Father spoke in low voices. Bram climbed to his branch and curled his tail around it. The jungle sounds settled into an easy pattern: water over stones, crickets in the grass, and leaves rubbing together overhead.

When morning came, I woke to birds calling from the branches. The trail looked clear again. I walked with my family to the stream, where a few bright insects still rested on the leaves.

At breakfast, I told them how I had listened for the water and followed it until I found the bent-looking tree. Nilo asked me to show him both landmarks. So I did, walking beside him and pointing them out one by one.

The stream ran over its pebbles, and the leaning tree stretched across the trail. I was glad to know them both. Then I went back to my family, carrying the quiet memory of the little lights and the way home.