Priya's Tooth and the Smallest Light

Something in Priya's mouth was moving, and it wasn't her tongue. Priya was a small brown puppy with one white ear, and one of her front teeth had been wobbling for four days. Wiggle, wiggle, went the tooth whenever she pushed it.

"It'll come out when it's ready," said Tilly. Tilly was her sister, and she had a gap in her smile already. "But don't carry sticks in your mouth. That tooth will pop right out and you'll be hunting for it in the moss."

That evening, Oona came. Oona was an owl, gray as a stone and just as soft, and she knew every path in Whispering Forest by heart. She landed on the gatepost and folded her wings. Around them, the leaves were turning over in their sleep, and the air smelled of pine needles and rain.

"One, two, three," said Oona, counting the fireflies that drifted over the moss. "Four. Five. Six." Her head turned all the way around. "Seven. Only seven. There should be eight."

"The smallest one is missing," said Tilly. "The one whose glow is dim," said Oona, and she sighed. "I can see a mouse three fields away. But my eyes are for far things. In deep moss, I can't see a thing."

Priya pushed her wobbly tooth once, thinking. Then she put her nose down in the moss. "My nose is for close things," she said. "I'll find her."

Sniff, snuffle, sniff went Priya's nose. It went along the fern roots and over the wet stones. Nothing but moss down there, and one cold worm going home.

She tried the path by the flat stone. She put her whole face into the moss and took a great big sniff. Pop. Something small and hard bounced off her lip and landed on the stone.

"Priya! Your tooth!" said Tilly. Priya's tail went round like a little flag. Her tooth had come out at last. She wanted to run all the way home and show Mama right now.

But the smallest firefly was still out there in the dark moss. Priya looked at her tooth on the stone, and she looked at the wide dark forest, and she sat down. "Where can I put it?" she said. "Somewhere safe."

"Right there," said Oona. "On the flat stone. I know every stone on every path, and I'll remember this one." So Priya set her tooth down, and it looked like a tiny white shell on a gray plate.

Then she sniffed again. Sniff, snuffle, sniff. And there it was, a warm smell, the way grass smells when the sun has been on it all day. She followed it under a curled leaf.

Inside the leaf sat the smallest firefly, her wings folded up and her glow no bigger than a crumb of light. She was too sleepy to fly, and far too small for an owl to see.

Priya lay down in the moss and put her nose on the leaf. One cool little tickle, two, three, and the firefly climbed onto her nose. Then Priya stood up slowly, slowly.

She walked with her head high and her nose out front, one careful paw at a time. Behind her, Tilly walked. Above her, Oona flew low and slow.

And then the drift of fireflies came down through the trees to meet them. Eight tiny lights, then eight more, drifting and blinking. The smallest one lifted off Priya's nose, and her glow came up warm and gold.

Oona hooted softly. "Follow me home," she said. "I know the path."

Priya fetched her tooth off the flat stone. She carried it in her mouth all the way home, slow and careful, feeling the little bump of it against her tongue, her nose still warm where the firefly had been.

Mama was at the burrow door with the lamp on. Priya set her tooth down on the soft moss and looked at it. It looked small, but she felt bigger than she had that morning.

Mama nosed her ears, and Tilly curled up in a warm heap beside her. Outside, the fireflies drifted past the door, one, two, three, soft as breath. The leaves turned over in their sleep, and the moss went quiet, and Priya's nose smelled pine needles, and rain, and home.