Remi and the Sleepy Dinosaur Bones

In a hollow tree by the slow river lived a small raccoon named Remi. His nest was lined with soft moss and warm leaves. A little blanket covered his toes. The night was quiet and kind. The moon sat low and round in the window of his door.

Remi had little hands that liked to touch and find. Even now, snug in his nest, his fingers wiggled just a bit. But the night was calm. The wind was slow. Remi pulled his blanket up and breathed out, soft and long.

On the windowsill sat his treasures. A smooth gray stone. A round acorn. A curl of pale bark. And one thing more — a long, smooth bone he had found by the river that day. It was old and white and worn round. Remi liked the way it felt. Cool and quiet in his small paws.

He held it up to the moon. "What were you," he whispered, "a long, long time ago?"

His owl friend was awake in the next tree. Her name was Ona. She blinked her round eyes and floated down soft as a leaf. She landed on the sill with barely a sound.

"That," said Ona gently, "is a very old bone. Older than the river. Older than the trees."

Remi turned it over slowly. "How old?"

"Once," Ona said, "long before you, before me, big gentle creatures walked here. We call them dinosaurs. Some were tall as trees. Some were small as you. They munched soft ferns and drank from warm pools."

Remi's eyes went wide and warm. "A dinosaur," he breathed. He looked at the little bone again. It felt like a small, quiet secret resting in his hands.

He wanted to build one. Just a tiny one. Remi loved to make things from what he found. So he climbed down, slow and careful, and Ona drifted beside him into the soft blue night.

The grass was cool and dewy. The river hummed its low, sleepy song. Remi gathered as he went. A bent twig for a long, long neck. Two round pebbles for sleepy eyes. A leaf, curled just so, for a little tail.

"Like this?" he asked, fitting a twig in place.

"A little crooked," said Ona, kindly. "But that is fine."

Remi smiled and tried again. The first time, the neck tipped over. He laughed, soft and low, and stood it up once more. The second time, it leaned. He patted it gentle and tried a third. This time it held. A tiny dinosaur, made of twig and stone and leaf, standing in the moonlight.

"There," he whispered. "A small one. A sleepy one."

The little leaf-and-twig dinosaur stood by the river. Its pebble eyes shone in the moon. Remi thought it looked friendly. He thought it looked tired, too, the way he was getting tired now.

"Were they soft?" Remi asked. "The real ones?"

"Some had skin like warm leather," Ona said. "Some, the small ones, had feathers, soft as my own. They liked the night. They folded down by the ferns. They closed their eyes, just like you will soon."

Remi yawned. A big, slow yawn. He pictured a great gentle dinosaur lying down in the ferns, long ago, under this same low moon. Folding its long neck. Breathing slow. Falling asleep by a warm, quiet pool. The thought was soft and round and good.

The river kept humming. Hush now, hush now, it seemed to say. The little twig dinosaur stood watch by the water, and the moon watched too.

Remi set his small old bone down beside his little dinosaur. "You can stay together," he told them softly. "Old friends." It felt right to leave them there, by the gentle river, in the gentle dark.

Then he turned back toward home. His paws were slow now. His eyes were heavy. Ona walked with him, wing brushing his shoulder, the way a friend does.

The grass was soft beneath his feet. The night was warm and still. One small star came out above the hollow tree. Then another. Then a soft sprinkle of them, like dust on dark water.

Remi climbed back into his nest. The moss was just as warm as he had left it. He pulled the little blanket over his toes.

"Goodnight, Ona," he murmured.

"Goodnight, Remi," she whispered. She settled on her branch close by. Her feathers puffed out round and warm.

Remi lay back. He thought of the little dinosaur down by the water. He thought of the great old ones, long ago, lying down to sleep in the soft ferns. All of them sleeping. All of them safe.

His blanket was warm. His nest was soft. The moon was low and round and kind.

He breathed in slow. He breathed out slow.

The river hummed. Hush now. Hush now.

His little hands went still. His eyes drifted closed.

Sleep, little Remi. Sleep, small one.

Goodnight.