Sofia had a friend who was a dragon. He was small and gentle and very polite. His scales were the color of a peach.
His name was Tum.
Every night, just before bed, Sofia and Tum had a goodnight ritual. Tum would say, "Sleep well, Sofia." And Sofia would say, "Sleep well, Tum." And then they would both yawn, very long yawns, because saying goodnight makes you sleepy.
But tonight, Tum was worried.
He had been so busy chasing soft white moths in the garden that he had FORGOTTEN how to say goodnight. The words had wandered off somewhere. He looked very sad about it.
"Don't worry," Sofia said. "I'll help you remember."
She climbed onto her bed. Tum curled up at the foot of the bed, like a peach-colored cat.
"First, you take a big breath," she said. She took one. Tum copied her. A tiny puff of smoke came out of his nose.
"Then you close your eyes a little — just a little." She did. Tum did, too.
"Now we think of one nice thing from today."
Sofia thought of the moths. Tum smiled.
"And then we say it. Sleep well, Tum."
"Sleep — well — Sofia," Tum said, very carefully. He had remembered. The words had come back.
He let out another tiny smoke puff. It was shaped a little like a heart.
Sofia laughed.
She lay back on her pillow. Tum laid his peach-colored head on her foot. The bed was warm. The blanket was warm. The dragon was warm.
The window had stars in it.
"Sleep well, Tum," Sofia said again, just because she liked saying it.
"Sleep well, Sofia," Tum said again, just because he liked remembering.
They both yawned long yawns. Sofia closed her eyes. Tum closed his eyes. The moths drifted past the window like little white candles.
The night was quiet and friendly, and so were they.