Fox and the Firefly Lantern

Deep in the tall, tall forest, in a warm den beneath the roots of an old pine tree, lived a small orange fox. His name was Pip, and his fur was the colour of autumn leaves.

Pip loved the forest more than anything. He knew every mossy stone and every mushroom, every root that dipped like a small brown bridge across the path home.

One evening, Pip had wandered farther than usual. He was chasing a very interesting smell, something like blueberries, and something like rain.

By the time he reached the far side of the forest, the sun had gone. And when he turned back, the moon slipped behind a great heavy cloud, and the whole forest went dark.

Pip stopped very still. He blinked his amber eyes. Around him, the trees looked like tall shadows, and the path looked like no path at all.

Oh, said Pip in a very small voice. I do not know the way home in the dark.

He listened carefully. He heard the tiny creak of a branch. He heard a distant hoot of an owl. And then, closer, he heard a soft, humming sound, like tiny bells rung underwater.

He crept toward the humming. There, in the hollow of a fallen log, was a glass jar with a rope handle. And inside the jar were dozens of little fireflies, glowing gold and soft.

The fireflies looked up when Pip peered in. Hello, fox, said the brightest one. Are you lost tonight? Pip nodded, because he did not quite trust his voice.

Well, said the firefly, thinking hard, perhaps we can help. If you carry our jar carefully, we can be your lantern until you find your way home.

Pip's ears pricked up. You would do that for me, he asked. Of course, said the fireflies. A little light shared is a little kindness. And they all glowed a little brighter.

So Pip took the rope handle very gently in his teeth, careful not to bump the jar. The fireflies lit up the ground before him in a warm, honey coloured circle.

First they passed a patch of tall ferns. The fireflies made every leaf shimmer, as though the whole patch were made of silver lace.

Then they came to a little stream. The water sparkled like a hundred coins. A sleepy frog blinked at them from a stone. Nice lantern, he yawned, and closed his eyes again.

They climbed over a mossy log where a family of beetles was already asleep, curled like tiny brown buttons. They stepped very softly, so as not to wake them.

Pip's tail began to swish more happily. The path was still long, but he no longer felt afraid. The little jar of light was like carrying a small, warm friend.

As they walked, the fireflies told him quiet stories. They told him about the night they were all born together, and the first time they discovered they could glow.

They told him about a moth they had once met, who danced with them until dawn. And they told him about a girl in the village who left honey on her windowsill for them, just to say hello.

The stories made the walk feel shorter, the way stories always do. Before long, Pip smelled something familiar. It was the sweet, resiny smell of pine, his very own pine tree.

He hurried a little, careful still with the jar. And there, ahead of him in the dark, was the little round door of his cozy den, just as he had left it.

Oh, thank you, thank you, said Pip, setting the jar down softly on a bed of moss. You have saved me a night of being very, very lost.

The fireflies twinkled, all together, like a slow round of applause. It was our pleasure, little fox, said the brightest one. A little light shared is a little kindness, remember?

Pip carefully unstoppered the jar. One by one, the fireflies rose out and hovered in the cool night air, glowing all around him like slow, dancing stars.

Fly free, Pip whispered. Thank you, thank you. And the fireflies drifted up through the branches of the pine, blinking their goodbye lights until they were gone.

Pip stood a moment in the quiet. The moon had come out from behind its cloud now, and the whole forest was silver and still. He felt lucky, and warm, and very sleepy.

He crawled into his den, turned around three times, and curled up nose to tail. His fur smelled of moss and moonlight and just a little of fireflies.

Goodnight, fireflies, he whispered into the dark. Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, tall pine tree. Goodnight, forest.

And in the soft, quiet way of small orange foxes with kind friends, Pip closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.