Ayo and the Dragon

Once, just as the lamps went out and the house grew quiet, Ayo put one small foot over the edge of sleep and found a whole world waiting there. It began with a mountain village where every chimney puffed a different coloured smoke. Ayo 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 Ayo was a small dragon who could only make flames the size of birthday candles. “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: the dragon thought a small flame meant it was not a real dragon. Ayo 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 Ayo did the quiet brave thing. they lit a hundred little lanterns, one candle-flame each, down the whole hill. 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 Ayo. “Every night,” came the answer. “That is what this place is for.” And the mountain glowed softly, like a nightlight left on for the moon.

Then the world began to fold itself away, softly, the way a blanket folds. Ayo 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.