High on Whistling Mountain, where the clouds tucked themselves in every evening, there lived a very small dragon named Ember.
Ember had shiny copper scales, two wings the size of dinner plates, and one very big problem. He could not fall asleep.
He tried lying on his left side. His tail felt too curly. He tried lying on his right side. His wings felt too flappy. He tried lying on his back, and his little snores puffed smoke rings that tickled his nose and woke him right up again.
“Mama,” Ember whispered, “my sleep is lost. I have looked everywhere.”
Mama Dragon opened one golden eye and smiled. “Sleep is never lost, little flame. It waits for you, the way the moon waits for the stars. Come, I will show you the mountain’s trick.”
Ember shuffled close, and Mama wrapped one warm wing around him like a blanket.
“First,” she said softly, “we breathe in the stars.” Ember looked up at the sparkly sky and took a slow breath in through his nose — sniiiiiff — as if he could smell the starlight. It smelled like cool night air and a tiny bit like moon dust.
“Now,” Mama whispered, “we breathe out warm and slow, like a sleepy campfire.” Ember breathed out — hooooo — soft and warm, with not even one smoke ring.
“Again,” said Mama. Breathe in the stars. Sniiiiiff. Breathe out the warm. Hooooo.
Down in the valley, the sheep heard the gentle sound and stopped counting dragons. The owls heard it and tucked their heads under their wings. Even the wind lay down in the tall grass to listen.
Ember’s eyelids began to feel heavy, like they were made of warm honey. “Mama,” he yawned, “I think… my sleep… found me.”
“It always does,” Mama whispered. “It was waiting right here, under my wing, the whole time.”
So Ember tried the trick once more, all by himself this time. Breathe in the stars. Breathe out the warm. His tail stopped feeling curly. His wings stopped feeling flappy.
Breathe in the stars. Breathe out the warm. Outside the cave, the clouds tucked themselves in around the mountaintop, soft and white, like one big pillow.
Ember’s breathing grew slower, and slower, until it matched Mama’s. In and out. In and out. Like two sleepy waves on the very same shore.
Mama hummed a low, rumbly hum, the kind only mother dragons know. You are safe, little one, it said. You are safe.
Ember breathed in the stars one more time. He breathed out warm and slow. And before the moon could climb one inch higher in the sky, the littlest dragon on Whistling Mountain was fast asleep, dreaming of smoke rings that turned into silver clouds.
And if you breathe in the stars right now — nice and slow — and breathe out warm like a sleepy campfire, Ember’s trick just might work for you, too.
🌙 The End 🌙
Sweet dreams, little one.
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