Tuck, Tuck, One More Try

Pop. The little blanket slid off the woolly lamb and landed on the floor. Otis looked at it and sighed a very small sigh. Otis was a snow fairy, no bigger than a teacup, with wings like a gray moth and a hat made from one red leaf. He lived in a warm cabin high on Snowy Mountain with Sami the yak, who was big and soft and kind.

Outside the window the snow fell without a sound. It glowed pale blue in the dark, the way snow does at night. Inside, the cabin smelled of wood smoke and cinnamon. Otis could hear the stove ticking as it cooled. The moon sat in the corner of the window like a small lamp. Sami lay by the stove with her chin on her hooves and her tail curled around the woodbox.

The woolly lamb had just had a bath. Otis had dried every curl with a tea towel, one curl and then another, and now the lamb smelled of warm water and soap. It sat in its basket in its little nightcap, ready for bed. All it needed was the blanket.

Otis picked up the blanket. "Tuck, tuck, one more try," he said, and he pulled it up to the lamb's chin. The lamb wriggled. Pop. The blanket slid right off and landed on the floor, and the lamb's ears went flat.

"Shhh," said Otis. "Tuck, tuck, one more try." This time he tucked the blanket under the lamb's feet first. He tucked and he tucked, all the way to the top. Then he stood back to look. The lamb's nose poked out, the blanket slipped down, and it fell in a soft heap.

Otis sat down beside the blanket. His wings drooped. The lamb waited, its little ears still flat. Lambs are good at waiting. "Blankets are tricky," said Otis. "I tried two ways already."

Sami opened one eye. "Little fairy," she said, in her low, warm voice, "what does the blanket need?" Otis thought about that. He looked at the blanket, big and square. He looked at the lamb, small and round.

"Tuck, tuck, one more try," said Otis, slowly. He folded the blanket in half. Then he folded it in half again, until it was small and thick and warm, the size of a lamb. He laid it over the lamb like a little roof, and he tucked one corner under its chin.

The blanket stayed. The lamb closed its eyes and made a small happy sound, halfway between a bleat and a yawn. Its breath went in and out, slow and small, and its woolly chest rose and fell under the blanket.

"It stayed," Otis whispered. He patted the blanket flat and said it once more, soft as anything. "Tuck, tuck, one more try."

Sami hummed, low and round, the way a big warm animal hums when it is pleased. Outside, the snow went shhh, shhh, shhh. It fell past the window without any hurry. Snowflakes landed on snowflakes, soft on soft, until the whole mountain was quiet.

Otis climbed up on Sami's warm back and curled into the dip between her shoulders. Her fur smelled of snow and wood smoke. His moth wings folded down like a fan. The moon slid a little across the window, and a pale blue square of light came to rest on the lamb's blanket.

Otis yawned. It was a wide, slow yawn, the kind that stretches all the way down to your toes. "Good night, blanket," he said. "Good night, lamb."

"Good night, little fairy," said Sami, and her voice was warm as the stove.

The snow kept falling, soft and slow. The cabin grew dim and cozy. Nothing in it hurried now. In its basket the woolly lamb slept under a blanket that fit at last, and the moon stayed at the window, keeping watch, all night long.