Rex and the Mountain’s Bedtime Story

“Tonight’s story has a dragon, a moon, and—ah-choo!” Rex’s warm puff sent the scroll rolling away.

It bumped over a flat stone, curled around a pinecone, and slipped into a narrow crack beside the story nook.

“Oh!” cried Lottie.

She had been keeping the mountain’s bedtime story safe all evening. Now the scroll’s golden tie dangled just beyond reach.

Rex stared at the crack. “I can get it,” he said quickly. He wanted to read the whole story to his cousins more than anything. They had all squeezed into the cozy nook, where blankets covered the stone floor and a little lantern hung from a hook.

“Please do,” said Tavi, settling beside Juniper. “You make the dragon voices sound so real.”

Rex lifted his chin. He had practiced the first line all afternoon. He pictured himself reading every word, right through the grand ending, while his cousins listened with their chins tucked into their blankets.

Lottie leaned close to the crack. “The scroll is caught on something. We’ll need to be careful.”

“Of course,” said Rex. “Careful is my middle name.”

“That’s not your middle name,” Lottie whispered.

“It could be tonight.”

Rex tried to reach the scroll with one claw. The crack was too thin. He tried the other claw, turning it sideways. That only nudged the paper farther in.

Lottie held up a feather. “Maybe we can tickle it out.”

Rex nodded. Together, they eased the feather into the crack and brushed the scroll’s edge.

“Easy now, steady now, make a little room,” Lottie whispered.

The scroll shifted. Rex’s eyes widened. It rolled forward a tiny bit—then caught again.

The cousins leaned in. Rex felt the first line waiting in his mind, ready to be read aloud. He wanted to keep everyone’s smiles right where they were. So when Lottie asked, “Did your sneeze send it in?” Rex looked at the crack and said, “I’m not sure.”

The words felt scratchy in his mouth.

The scroll stayed tucked away, and the story waited.

Lottie set the feather down. “Maybe we need something longer,” she said. “A pine needle?”

She chose one from the little pile by the nook. Rex held the lantern while she guided the needle into the crack. It was long enough to touch the scroll, but so thin that it bent like a noodle.

“Easy now, steady now, make a little room,” they whispered.

The needle tapped the paper. The scroll wiggled, then slid away from the opening.

“Oh,” said Juniper.

Rex’s wings drooped. He wanted to tell his cousins the story. He wanted them to think he could handle everything. But the scroll was still stuck, and pretending his sneeze had nothing to do with it wasn’t helping at all.

He looked at Lottie. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My warm puff sent the scroll into the crack. I was afraid you’d be upset, so I didn’t tell you.”

Lottie’s face softened. “Thank you for telling me. We can fix it together.”

Rex let out a small, careful sigh. “What’s longer than a pine needle and not so bendy?”

Lottie looked around the nook. Beside the water jar lay a hollow reed, saved for blowing seeds across the cave floor. She picked it up and tested its tip against her palm.

“This might reach,” she said. “But we’ll guide it slowly.”

Rex held the lantern steady. Lottie eased the reed into the crack while Rex watched the scroll’s curled edge. First they nudged left, then right, just a little at a time.

“Easy now, steady now, make a little room,” they whispered.

The scroll rolled toward them. It caught once on a rough bit of stone. Rex’s claws tightened around the lantern handle, but he kept it still. Lottie tilted the reed, and the paper slipped free.

Rex caught the scroll gently between both claws. A smudge covered the last line. He could read the beginning, but the ending had become a blur.

“I can make up a soft ending,” Rex said. “If that’s all right.”

“Please,” said Lottie. “It’s your turn to tell it.”

Rex unrolled the story, and his cousins drew close. The last line could wait no longer. Rex began to read.

Rex read the story from the beginning, and his voice filled the nook without growing loud. He told of a dragon who followed the moon’s silver path across the mountain, past sleeping pines and over a lake as still as a bowl.

At the blurred last line, Rex paused. The cousins waited, snug beneath their blankets.

“Then the little dragon found a warm cave,” Rex said, “where everyone had saved a place for him. He curled up beside his family, and the moon kept watch outside until morning.”

Lottie smiled. “That ending fits.”

Rex rolled the scroll carefully, taking care not to fold the smudged place. Lottie tied it with its golden ribbon. Together they placed it in its proper spot beside the story nook, where it would stay safe for the next reading.

“Thank you for helping me,” Rex told her.

“Thank you for telling me the truth,” Lottie replied. “And for the new ending.”

Tavi yawned so widely that his little horns tilted. Juniper pulled her blanket up to her chin. The lantern made a quiet circle on the stone wall, and the cave settled around them with its familiar smells of pine needles, warm rock, and the tea Lottie had poured earlier.

Rex tucked his tail close so nobody would trip over it. He listened as the mountain made its low, sleepy hush beyond the cave. The scroll rested beside him, safe and still. Lottie leaned against a cushion, and Rex rested his head nearby.

“Tomorrow,” murmured Juniper, “could there be a story about a cloud boat?”

“If Lottie finds one,” Rex said, “I’ll read it.”

“Together,” Lottie added.

Rex nodded. His cousins’ eyes were closing, one by one. He pictured the little dragon from his made-up ending curled in a warm cave, with family close by and the moon keeping watch. The story stayed in his thoughts as the lantern grew dimmer and the nook grew quiet. Soon, every dragon in the cave was resting beneath a blanket, while the mountain’s bedtime story waited safely beside them until another night.