Amelia and the Dinosaur

Once, just as the lamps went out and the house grew quiet, Amelia put one small foot over the edge of sleep and found a whole world waiting there. It began with a fern-green valley where the leaves were as tall as doors. Amelia stood very still, the way you do when something is beautiful and a little bit new.

Then came a sound, soft as a page turning, and there in front of Amelia was a long-necked dinosaur who spoke in a rumble like a distant kettle. “You are just in time,” it said. “We have a small problem, and small problems are the best kind, because they can be mended before bedtime.”

The trouble was this: a baby dinosaur had lost the way back to its nest. Amelia looked at the problem, and the problem looked back, and for a moment nobody knew what to do. That is allowed. Every good story has a moment where nobody knows what to do.

So Amelia did the quiet brave thing. they walked slowly together, following the warm smell of the nest. It took a while. Brave things usually do. And when it was finished, the world let out a long, contented breath, the sort of breath that means everything is where it should be.

“Will you remember me?” asked Amelia. “Every night,” came the answer. “That is what this place is for.” And the valley went quiet, and the ferns folded up for the night.

Then the world began to fold itself away, softly, the way a blanket folds. Amelia came back to a warm bed and a quiet room, carrying the sort of tiredness that comes from a good day. The stars kept watch. The house settled. And sleep arrived, gentle as a story.