The Lamb Who Followed a Moth

Chapter 1: A Knock of Light at the Window

Somewhere a clock was ticking more slowly than usual. The evening had come to ⟨home⟩, and ⟨Character 1⟩ and ⟨Character 2⟩ were doing the last small things before sleep.

There was ⟨Character 1⟩, a ⟨age⟩-year-old ⟨role⟩ who was born in ⟨birthplace⟩, now lives in ⟨home⟩, and loves ⟨favourite thing⟩. They yawned a yawn so wide that it seemed to pull the whole room a little closer to bedtime.

Nearby was ⟨Character 2⟩, a ⟨age⟩-year-old ⟨role⟩ who was born in ⟨birthplace⟩, now lives in ⟨home⟩, and loves ⟨favourite thing⟩. They were the sort of person who notices things, and tonight they noticed the window.

Something at the window was glowing: a lantern swinging from the barn door. And with it drifted hens muttering themselves to sleep, patient as a lullaby.

⟨Character 1⟩ pressed a hand to the glass. It was cool and smelled, somehow, of warm hay and apples. Nobody said the word adventure, but it was in the room all the same.

Chapter 2: The Way to Hollow Hill Farm

That was when a hay cart pulled by a horse who had decided, long ago, never to trot. ⟨Character 1⟩ and ⟨Character 2⟩ climbed in, slowly, the way you do when you are already a little bit asleep.

Everything they passed was sleepy. Owls trading places in the oak drifted by. A cat curled in the warm milk pail blinked once and settled down again. The night hummed along with them.

At the gate of Hollow Hill Farm stood Bramble, an old grey sheepdog. When Bramble spoke, the voice was gruff and gentle, like a blanket that has been washed a hundred times. "Welcome," it said. "We have all night."

"Are we far from home?" asked ⟨Character 2⟩. Bramble shook its head. "You are never far from home when you are this sleepy. Home comes with you."

⟨Character 1⟩ looked back once at the way they had come. It was glowing faintly, like a path that intends to be used again. They smiled and turned to follow.

Chapter 3: Someone Who Needed Finding

Near the middle of Hollow Hill Farm, ⟨Character 2⟩ stopped. Something was crying, very quietly, the way you cry when you do not want to wake anyone.

There, trembling, was a lamb, who had followed a moth out of the barn and could not find the way back to its mother. ⟨Character 1⟩ did not rush. They simply sat down beside it and waited until it was ready to talk.

⟨Character 2⟩ knew exactly what to do, because they love ⟨favourite thing⟩, and people who love things are good at noticing. They pointed to a glimmer that nobody else had seen.

It did not take long. Around a bend, under a lantern swinging from the barn door, they found the place a lamb had been looking for. "Thank you," it said, and it meant it twice.

Bramble watched the little family settle. "Well done," it said to ⟨Character 1⟩ and ⟨Character 2⟩. Nobody felt proud, exactly. They felt warm, which is better.

Chapter 4: What Bramble Knew

At last they came to the very heart of Hollow Hill Farm. Here even hens muttering themselves to sleep was softer, as if it were tiptoeing.

⟨Character 1⟩ saw it first: an egg that was warm no matter how long you held it. "Is it for us?" they asked. "It is for anyone who is quiet enough to find it," said Bramble.

⟨Character 2⟩ asked if they could stay. "You can take it with you," said Bramble kindly. "That is the point of it. A farm goes to sleep one animal at a time, and nobody is left out."

They sat with it for a while. Around them the hens muttered, and the cows breathed, and the barn settled on its beams. Nobody wanted to be anywhere else, and nobody had to be.

Chapter 5: Where Every Story Ends

The journey back was even slower than the journey there. Bramble walked them to the edge of Hollow Hill Farm and waited until a hay cart pulled by a horse who had decided, long ago, never to trot.

⟨Character 1⟩ held the warm thought of Hollow Hill Farm like a hand holds a stone. They were not quite asleep yet. But nearly. Nearly.

⟨Character 1⟩ was already asleep, one hand still holding the edge of the blanket. ⟨Character 2⟩ tucked it in a little closer, the way you do.

Home again. The blankets were warm, the lamp was off, and outside hens muttering themselves to sleep went on, very softly, as if to say: you can sleep now. I will keep watch.

The hens muttered, and the cows breathed, and the barn settled on its beams. The night folded itself around the house. Everyone inside it slept, and the story, like all good stories, quietly tucked itself in. Goodnight.