Tavi and the Tooth That Flew

Tk. Tk. Tk. Tavi the hedgehog sat on the mossy step and pushed at his front tooth with his tongue. It clicked forward. It clicked back. He had been clicking it since Sunday, and it still hadn't come out.

Tavi was small and round and prickly, except on his tummy, which was soft as a baked apple. His tooth had gone wobbly on Monday, right in the middle of a bowl of warm pears. Grandma Mei nodded at it. 'That one is nearly ready,' she said. 'When it comes out, we'll have a tooth supper.'

'Warm pears,' said Grandma Mei, 'and honey. And a little cake with a hole in the middle.' 'I can't bite a cake with a wobbly tooth,' said Tavi. 'Then I'll cut it into crumbs,' said Mei, 'and you can pick up each crumb and say thank you to it.' Tavi laughed so hard his tooth clicked.

Every evening, Grandma Mei said her good things out loud, three of them, like a little song. She sat down on the step beside Tavi. 'One, the smell of rain on the pine needles. Two, a warm cake in a cool kitchen. Three, you, sitting here with me.'

'Your turn,' she said. 'I'm busy,' said Tavi, clicking. 'The tooth can have a turn later, then,' said Mei, and went for their shawls.

When the sky turned the color of blueberry milk, Mei took Tavi's paw and they walked to the firefly drift at the edge of the clearing. Leaves turned over in their sleep. The moss was cool and springy, and it smelled of pine needles and rain. Fireflies floated up out of the grass like tiny lanterns somebody had let go.

One firefly landed on Tavi's nose. He didn't notice. He was busy clicking. 'Hoo,' said a soft voice above them. It was the owl who knew every path by heart. 'Wobbling again, Tavi?' 'It won't come out,' said Tavi. 'Teeth are like leaves,' said the owl. 'They let go when they're ready.'

Tavi tried everything. He wiggled the tooth quick-quick-quick. He bit into a crisp pear, and the tooth clicked and stayed. He hopped three times on one foot, which is not easy for a hedgehog.

Then Tavi yawned. It was a huge yawn, the kind that starts down in your toes and takes its time. His mouth went wide, his tooth gave one last wobble, and pop. Out it came. It sailed up in a little white arc and dropped into the moss.

'I did it!' said Tavi. 'Mei, I did it!' He looked down. The moss was thick and deep, and his tooth had gone. 'Oh,' said Tavi. 'It's lost. My very first tooth, and I lost it.' His lip went wobbly in a way that wasn't funny at all.

Mei knelt down and parted the moss with her paws. The owl flew down and looked too, her head turning this way and that. 'I know every path in this forest,' said the owl, 'but a tooth is not a path.' Fireflies drifted over the moss, blinking.

Tavi didn't want to search anymore. He sat down in the soft moss and took a breath. 'Mei,' he said, 'can we do the good things?' 'Right here?' said Mei. 'Right here,' said Tavi.

'One,' said Tavi. 'The pear was sweet.' He said it slowly, because it was true. 'Two. The moss is soft on my paws.' He looked around. 'Three. The fireflies.'

Just then, one firefly sailed down and landed on something small and white with a tiny dent in it. It glowed there, a little lantern of its own. 'There,' whispered Mei. Tavi picked up his tooth. It was smaller than he remembered, and smooth, and warm from the moss.

Back home, Mei set the tooth in a little clay bowl on the windowsill, next to a smooth stone and a gray feather. 'Now it's a good thing in a good place,' she said. Tavi climbed into his nest of leaves, and Mei pulled the blanket up to his chin.

'I have four good things,' said Tavi, yawning. 'Four?' said Mei. 'One, it came out,' said Tavi. 'Two, you looked with me. Three, the firefly found it. Four,' and he yawned again, 'I have a bowl of good things.'

Outside, the fireflies were going out one by one, slowly, like someone turning down little lamps. The owl called once, far away. Tavi's tooth sat in its bowl, small and white and safe. The forest whispered. The moss held everything gently. And Tavi fell asleep counting, one, two, three.