Baxter and the Missing Goodnight

“Goodnight, big star. Goodnight, round star. And now, where did the smallest star’s goodnight go?”

Baxter, a small dream badger with a blue bedtime cap, peered into his delivery bag. He found a moon cookie, two buttons, and one very sleepy beetle. But no silver message.

“Oh, crumbs,” Baxter said. “The smallest star is waiting for its goodnight.”

Mina, a field mouse who helped keep the cloud paths tidy, leaned over his shoulder. “Did you check under the beetle?”

The beetle yawned. “I am not a goodnight.”

Baxter checked anyway. The message was not there.

They stood on a low cloud path above a field of tall pillow grass. The grass was pale and fluffy, with round tops that bobbed in the night air. The smallest star waited beyond it, perched on a little cloud. Its eyes were open wide.

“I’m not sleepy,” the star called. “I’m just saving my blinking for later.”

“Of course,” Baxter called back. “Very sensible.” He whispered to Mina, “It looks awfully sleepy.”

The silver goodnight had slipped out of Baxter’s bag while he crossed the cloud path. He had heard a tiny plip below, but a breeze had swept through at once. The message might be anywhere in the tall grass.

Baxter climbed down a fluffy cloud step. The pillow grass reached over his head. Mina stayed beside him, carrying a little lantern shaped like a pear.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” said Baxter. “If we find a lost sock, I’m keeping it.”

They pushed into the grass. It swayed around them, brushing Baxter’s cap and tickling Mina’s whiskers. The breeze slipped past again, and the grass leaned this way, then that way.

Baxter searched near a tuft shaped like a duck. Mina searched beside a tuft shaped like a very lumpy cake. They found a pebble, a feather, and one more beetle, but not the silver message.

Above them, the smallest star kept its eyes open.

“Still waiting!” it called.

Baxter looked at the rustling grass. “We’ll find your goodnight,” he promised. “Even if we have to ask every blade.”

“Excuse me,” Baxter said to the nearest blade of grass. “Have you seen a silver goodnight?”

The blade bent over and tapped his nose.

“That means no,” Mina guessed.

“Or it means I need to brush my teeth,” Baxter replied. He rubbed his nose, and they kept searching.

Each time the breeze passed, the grass swept over the same patch of ground. Then it sprang upright again, hiding everything beneath it. Baxter tried to chase the breeze, but it slipped between the blades and left him holding a clump of pillow fluff.

“Found it!” he cried.

Mina examined the fluff. “That is a cloud’s sneeze.”

“Bless you, cloud,” Baxter said, and set it down.

The grass swished again. Baxter stopped. He watched the tall blades bend together, all pointing toward the same place. When the breeze faded, they stood up and covered it once more.

“Wait,” he said. “They’re showing us where the breeze goes.”

Mina followed his gaze. “And where it keeps brushing the grass aside!”

Baxter crouched low. The next breeze came, and the grass bowed away from a small patch of earth. For one quick moment, a little clearing appeared beneath the swaying stems.

“There!” Baxter said.

The breeze let go. The grass began to close over the clearing.

Baxter wriggled forward, but his cap caught on a blade. He tugged once. His cap stayed put. He tugged twice, and his ears popped free while the cap flopped over his eyes.

“I can’t see a thing,” he said. “Which is unfortunate, because I’m looking for something.”

Mina gently lifted the cap. Together they watched for the next breeze. When the grass bent, Baxter slipped into the clearing and reached beneath a soft mound of fallen blades.

His paw touched paper.

He pulled out a silver strip, folded into a tiny square. It had the smallest star’s name written across it in moonlit letters.

“Found it!” Mina whispered.

Baxter tucked the message safely into his bag and hurried back up the cloud steps. The smallest star still had its eyes open, though one eyelid drooped a little.

Baxter unfolded the silver note and read, “Goodnight, smallest star. You have shone just right. Rest easy until morning.”

The star smiled. Its light grew quiet and warm. Then its eyelids closed, and it settled into sleep on its little cloud.

Baxter gave a pleased nod. “Delivered before bedtime. And not a sock in sight.”

Mina folded the empty silver wrapper and placed it in Baxter’s bag. “A tidy delivery,” she said. “A successful search. And only one cloud sneeze.”

“Two beetles,” Baxter corrected. “That makes it a busy evening.”

The smallest star rested on its cloud, its little face peaceful. For a while, Baxter and Mina stayed nearby. They listened to the pillow grass whisper and watched the cloud paths hang low over the field.

The big star had already closed its bright eyes. The round star had tucked itself behind a curl of cloud. Here and there, a star gave a quiet blink before settling still.

Mina leaned against Baxter’s shoulder. “Do you think the smallest star was waiting with its eyes open the whole time?”

Baxter glanced at the cloud. “I think it was being very polite.”

The smallest star’s eyelids stayed shut. Then, just once, it gave a last sleepy twinkle, like a tiny wave from beneath a blanket.

Baxter waved back. Mina waved too, though she was not sure a sleeping star could see.

They walked home along the low cloud path. Baxter’s blue cap sat straight again, and his delivery bag swung gently at his side. Below them, the pillow grass rocked in the night breeze. It no longer looked like a place to search. It looked like a field full of pillows waiting for dreamers.

At the end of the path, Baxter and Mina stepped down onto their own little cloud porch. Mina curled up beside a cushion. Baxter set his bag by the door and brushed a bit of grass from his sleeve.

“Goodnight, Mina,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Baxter,” she murmured.

The clouds held still beneath the stars, and the two friends tucked themselves in, safe and cozy under the quiet Dreamland sky.