Freya and the Safari

Once, just as the lamps went out and the house grew quiet, Freya put one small foot over the edge of sleep and found a whole world waiting there. It began with a wide plain where the long grass moved like water in a slow wind. Freya 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 Freya was an elephant who remembered every story anyone had ever told it. “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 waterhole was quiet, and the animals had nothing to say to each other. Freya 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 Freya did the quiet brave thing. the elephant told the oldest story it knew, and everyone leaned in. 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 Freya. “Every night,” came the answer. “That is what this place is for.” And the plain went still, and the stars came out to listen.

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