Sol and the Lantern in the Dragon Mountains

Sol’s wings made a warm whoosh, and the little lantern went dark.

“Oh, no,” he said, landing on the smooth tunnel floor. He peered through the lantern’s round glass. The tiny flame had vanished again.

Sol was a young firebird, with copper-red feathers and a golden tail. He had promised to carry the lantern from one end of the long tunnel beneath the Dragon Mountains to the other. There, in a patch of earth at the tunnel’s far end, a row of sleepy flowers waited for light.

“I’ll bring it to them,” Sol had said. “They should get to see their own petals.”

Now the tunnel curved away in both directions. Cool stone walls rose on either side, and little drops of water plinked into shallow puddles. Sol could just make out the path ahead.

He touched one warm feather to the lantern’s wick. A small flame appeared, steady as a candle on a quiet table.

“Ready?” Sol asked it.

The flame leaned toward him, as if it were listening.

Sol lifted the lantern in his claws and flapped his wings. Whoosh! The little flame winked out.

Sol set the lantern down. “Maybe I can go slower,” he said.

He tried again, flapping less hard. But his fiery wings still pushed a puff of air through the glass vents, and the flame disappeared.

From above came a flutter and a friendly voice. “That lantern is having a hard time keeping up with you.”

A small moth landed on a stone ledge. Her name was Marnie. Her wings were the color of warm gray dust, and her feelers curved like tiny commas.

“I’m taking its light to the flowers,” Sol told her. “But my wings keep blowing it out.”

Marnie looked down the winding tunnel. “I know these turns,” she said. “And I know a nook where the air hardly moves.”

“Would you show me?”

“Gladly,” said Marnie. “The flowers are waiting, and we have all the time we need.”

Sol lit the wick once more. Then he followed Marnie toward the first bend, holding the lantern close as the tunnel curled beneath the mountain.

Marnie led Sol around a bend and into a little hollow in the wall. The hollow's stone walls curved around Sol, Marnie, and the lantern, leaving them a snug place to stand. The stone curved over their heads like a roof.

“Set it here,” Marnie said.

Sol placed the lantern on a flat ledge. He lit the wick with one warm feather, then held his wings still.

The flame stood straight. It did not tremble or shrink.

Sol kept his eyes on the steady little flame. “It stays lit when I stop moving,” he said. “Maybe I don’t have to rush. I can use my wings in little beats—and cover the lantern when the tunnel turns.”

Marnie nodded. “Let’s try.”

Sol lifted the lantern. He folded his wings close, then gave them one small beat. He moved forward a few steps. The flame stayed bright inside its glass.

At the next curve, a cool draft slipped along the floor. Sol turned sideways and curved one wing around the lantern. His feathers made a little shelter. The draft passed by, and the flame held on.

“Your wing is a roof!” Marnie said.

“And you’re my path finder,” Sol replied.

They continued. Marnie flew ahead to each turn and pointed out the smoothest way around. Sol followed with careful, quiet wingbeats. Sometimes he walked, carrying the lantern low. Sometimes he paused while Marnie checked the path.

Then the tunnel curled sharply around a tall stone pillar. A stronger puff of air swept through the bend. Sol’s lantern tilted, and the flame leaned toward the glass.

Sol stopped. His wings wanted to flap fast and hurry past the draft. Instead, he remembered the sheltered nook. He curved both wings around the lantern, making a snug shield, and took one small step at a time.

The air slipped over his feathers. The flame steadied.

“That’s it,” Marnie called from the far side. “There’s a smooth curve just beside you!”

Sol turned along the path she showed him. Soon, the tunnel widened. Ahead, he saw a patch of dark earth and the closed buds of the waiting flowers.

He set the lantern beside them. Its light fell across the petals. One flower opened, then another, until the little patch was full of color. Sol sat beside the flowers, his careful wings folded at his sides.

The flowers opened one by one in the lantern’s light. Their petals were blue, yellow, and deep red, with soft edges like little blankets. Sol leaned close, careful not to brush them with his tail.

“Look at that one,” Marnie said. A tiny flower had opened last. Its petals made a round cup, and a bead of water rested in the middle.

“I’m glad we brought the light,” Sol said.

The flowers made no sound, but they tipped their faces toward the lantern. Their colors seemed to grow richer in its glow. The tunnel, which had felt long and shadowy on the journey, now seemed like a quiet room made just for them.

Marnie settled on a stone nearby and tucked her legs beneath her. Sol sat with his back against the wall. His feathers were warm, and the stone beside him was cool. He liked how both feelings could fit together.

For a while, they watched the flowers. A drop of water fell from the ceiling and plinked into a puddle. Somewhere farther back, the tunnel gave a small, sleepy echo.

Sol glanced at the lantern. “I used to think I had to hurry to get somewhere,” he said. “But the flame stayed with us when I went slowly.”

“Slow can be a very good way to travel,” Marnie said. She brushed one wing over her feelers. “Especially when you have a friend who knows the turns.”

Sol smiled. “And especially when you have a wing that can be a roof.”

Marnie gave a quiet laugh. “That’s a fine roof.”

The flowers gradually folded their glowing petals, one at a time, keeping the lantern’s warmth close. Sol moved to a sheltered nook beside them. He looped his tail loosely around his tucked feet, then let his wings go quiet.

Marnie rested on the stone ledge above him. The lantern remained beside the flowers, its small flame steady behind the glass. Sol listened to the slow plink of water and felt the mountain all around him, calm and solid.

With the flowers tucked in for the night, Sol settled into the warm nook and let his careful wings rest.