High above the silver clouds, beyond the tallest mountains and the brightest comets, there was a quiet place called the Lullaby Loom.

It was not a castle, though it had towers. It was not a garden, though flowers grew from its windows. It was not a cloud, though it drifted slowly through the sky.

The Lullaby Loom was where dreams were spun.

Each evening, when one world or another began to grow dim, the Dream Weavers gathered in a round room full of shining threads. Some threads were purple as plums. Some were gold as honey. Some were pale blue, like a sleepy kitten’s eyes. The weavers twisted them together with moonlight, soft rain, warm bread smells, and the tiny jingling sound of sheep bells.

Then, when each dream was finished, it was folded carefully into a silken parcel.

The parcels were delivered by moon moths.

Moon moths were not like ordinary moths. Their wings were wide and velvety, painted with stars and crescent moons. They could fly between worlds through hidden doors in the sky. Their antennae could smell a yawn from ten thousand miles away. And their soft wing dust could make even a grumpy ogre feel like resting his head upon a pillow.

The youngest moon moth was named Soren.

Soren had round amber eyes, silver-gray wings, and one wing tip that curled upward like the corner of a smile. He was very good at flying, very good at listening, and very good at carrying dreams without crumpling them.

But Soren had one problem.

He was curious.

Whenever the older moths said, “Do not fly too close to the singing planets,” Soren wanted to know what song they sang.

Whenever they said, “Do not stare into the upside-down seas,” Soren wanted to see the fish swimming above the boats.

And whenever someone whispered, “There are places beyond the map,” Soren’s wings gave a little flutter.

One evening, the Chief Dream Weaver, an old woman named Amara with hair like a snowy cloud, called Soren to her spinning table.

“I have a special delivery,” she said.

Upon the table sat a dream parcel no bigger than a walnut. It was tied with a ribbon made from the first pink light of dawn.

Soren leaned close.

Inside, he could hear something very faint.

Plink.

Plink-plink.

It sounded like raindrops landing in a puddle.

“This dream belongs to a small child in the world of Brindle,” said Amara. “The child has been worried about thunder. The dream will show her a friendly cloud who plays a drum very softly and only when everyone is safe indoors.”

Soren nodded seriously. “I will carry it gently.”

“I know you will,” said Amara. “Follow the Path of Evening. Pass the Planet of Lantern Whales. Turn left at the Sleeping Volcano. Then find the blue world with one moon and many oceans.”

“Brindle,” said Soren.

“Exactly.”

Amara placed the parcel in a little satchel beneath Soren’s neck. It rested against his fluffy chest.

Soren flew out through the open window of the Lullaby Loom.

The sky was enormous.

Below him floated cloud islands where giant geese tucked their heads beneath their wings. Far away, stars blinked awake one by one. A comet hurried past, leaving a sparkling tail behind it.

“Good evening, Soren!” called a group of starlings, though these were no ordinary birds. Their feathers were made of tiny pieces of night sky.

“Good evening!” Soren called back.

He followed the Path of Evening, just as Amara had told him. It was a ribbon of purple light that curled through space. Soon he passed the Planet of Lantern Whales, where great glowing whales swam through the dark, their golden bellies lighting the way.

Then he spotted the Sleeping Volcano.

It snored smoke rings.

“Left,” Soren reminded himself.

But just as he turned, a strange glitter caught his eye.

It came from far beyond the path, where no evening ribbon curled. There was a world there, bright and shining like a polished yellow marble.

Soren slowed down.

He had never seen a world so bright.

The whole planet glowed. Its rivers glittered. Its forests gleamed. Its mountains shone like golden sugar.

There was no shadow anywhere.

No dusky blue. No deep violet. No sleepy window lights.

No night.

Soren hovered, his wings beating softly.

“That is peculiar,” he murmured.

Then a tiny breeze swept through the sky and bumped into him.

It was not really a breeze. It was a Puffling, a little floating creature shaped like a round cloud with a face.

“Oh!” squeaked the Puffling. “Excuse me! I did not see you. It is hard to see anything against all this brightness.”

“Does that world never become dark?” Soren asked.

The Puffling puffed itself up. “Never. That is Daybright.”

“Never ever?”

“Never ever. The sun hangs above it all the time. The people there have never seen the moon, never watched stars wake up, never had supper by candlelight.” The Puffling looked puzzled. “I do not think they even know what a yawn is.”

Soren’s antennae trembled.

A place that had never had night.

A place where no one dreamed.

He thought of the soft little parcel in his satchel. He was supposed to bring it to Brindle. He knew that. But what would happen if a dream reached Daybright?

Perhaps, he thought, it would simply drift away.

Perhaps it would do nothing at all.

Or perhaps it would show the people something beautiful they had never known.

Soren looked toward Brindle, a distant blue bead in the dark.

Then he looked at the glowing world.

“I will only be a moment,” he said.

The Puffling gasped. “Moon moths do not go to Daybright!”

“Why not?”

“Because there is nowhere to hide from the light.”

Soren tucked his wings close and flew toward the shining planet anyway.

As he came nearer, the warmth wrapped around him. Daybright was full of golden fields and bright red rooftops. People walked through streets of white stone wearing wide hats to shade their eyes. Children played with sun ribbons that flashed in the air. Little lizards slept on sunny walls, though they woke every few minutes because the sunshine never stopped tickling their noses.

Soren dipped lower.

He found a garden where a child sat alone beside a fountain. The child had dark curls, a green shirt, and a basket full of yellow pears. Their name, Soren learned from the little name tag pinned to their shirt, was Niko.

Niko was staring up at the sun.

“Hello,” said Soren.

Niko blinked.

Then blinked again.

“A flying velvet leaf?” Niko said.

“I am a moon moth.”

“What is a moon?”

Soren was so surprised that his wings stopped flapping for half a second.

He quickly caught himself.

“A moon is a pale, gentle light that comes out when the sun has gone to rest.”

Niko frowned. “The sun rests?”

“In many worlds, yes.”

“But if the sun rests, will everything disappear?”

“No,” said Soren. “The sky becomes dark blue, and stars come out. People go home. They lie down under blankets. Their eyes close. Then dreams arrive.”

Niko leaned closer to the fountain, as if Soren’s words might be floating in the water.

“Is dark blue scary?”

“Not when it is night,” Soren said. “Night can be quiet and kind. It makes room for things that daylight cannot hold.”

Niko looked all around at Daybright. At the dazzling trees. At the shining roads. At the busy people who never stopped moving.

“What things?” Niko asked.

“Fireflies,” said Soren. “Moonbeams. The sound of crickets. Wishes that are shy. And dreams.”

At the word dreams, the satchel beneath Soren’s neck gave a tiny, warm wiggle.

Plink.

Niko heard it.

“What was that?”

Soren should have flown away then. He knew it. He should have returned to the Path of Evening and delivered the parcel to Brindle before the child there fell asleep.

But Niko’s face had become so hopeful.

“May I see?” Niko asked.

Soren carefully opened the satchel.

The little parcel floated out.

Its dawn-pink ribbon untied itself, curling like a ribbon of mist. The parcel unfolded. A soft puff of blue and purple light rose into the air.

At once, a small cloud appeared above the garden fountain.

It had friendly eyes, chubby cheeks, and two tiny drumsticks.

Tap.

Tap-tap.

The cloud began to play a gentle rhythm.

The sound was quieter than rain. Softer than a cat walking across a rug.

And then something impossible happened.

A shadow appeared beneath the pear tree.

Just one small patch of shadow.

The people in the garden stopped.

They stared at it.

Niko stepped into the shadow and gave a little sigh.

“Oh,” Niko whispered.

The shadow felt cool.

It felt like closing your eyes after looking at bright snow.

It felt like a secret.

More blue-purple mist floated from the opened dream. It spread across the garden, then across the rooftops, then over the fields and rivers. The enormous sun above Daybright did not go away. But its glare softened. It became rounder, gentler, like a lamp covered with a golden cloth.

The sky changed.

Gold became peach.

Peach became rose.

Rose became lavender.

All across Daybright, people stopped what they were doing.

They pointed upward.

“What is happening?” cried the baker.

“My flowers are closing their petals!” said a gardener.

“The sky has colors I have never seen!” breathed an old woman carrying a basket of oranges.

Soren’s heart began to thump.

The dream was growing too large.

It had been made for one worried child in Brindle, not for an entire world.

The friendly cloud kept drumming.

Tap.

Tap-tap.

The lavender sky deepened.

And then, high above Daybright, the very first star appeared.

It was only one small dot of silver.

But everyone saw it.

A hush spread across the planet.

Niko reached up both hands.

“It looks like a tiny hole in the sky,” they said.

Soren felt wonder sparkling through the air. It was so lovely that for a moment he forgot to worry.

Then the dream parcel gave a sad little flutter.

Its light was fading.

Soren understood.

It was trying to return to its true home.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “I am late.”

The people of Daybright began to murmur. The sun was dimmer now, and they did not know what to do. Some were frightened. Some were excited. A few children lay down in the grass because they suddenly felt very sleepy.

Niko looked at Soren.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to,” said Soren. “This dream belongs to someone else. I should never have brought it here.”

Niko’s face fell.

“But the star…”

“You will remember it,” Soren said gently. “And perhaps that is enough for one day.”

Niko looked at the fading star. “Will night ever come back?”

Soren did not know.

He was only a young moon moth. He had made a mistake bigger than any mistake he had ever made.

But then the friendly cloud floated down beside him.

Tap, it said softly.

Tap-tap.

Soren listened.

The drumbeat sounded like a heartbeat.

It sounded like the quiet moment before sleep.

He looked up at the softened sun and had an idea.

Moon moths carried dreams. But dreams were not just pictures in the mind. Dreams were little seeds. When planted gently, they could grow into many things.

Soren flew high, high above the rooftops.

“People of Daybright!” he called.

No one heard him at first, because he was a very small moth in a very wide sky.

So he shook his wings.

Silver dust floated down in shining swirls.

Everyone looked up.

“Your world does not need to lose the sun,” Soren called. “But perhaps the sun can close one eye for a little while.”

The people blinked at one another.

“The sun has eyes?” someone asked.

“It might,” said Niko.

The friendly cloud lifted its drumsticks.

Tap.

Tap-tap.

The sound traveled through the air and up into the golden sky. The sun seemed to listen.

Then, slowly, one side of the sun’s bright face grew softer.

A pale silver glow slipped across Daybright.

It was not full night.

Not yet.

But it was evening.

The first evening Daybright had ever known.

The streets became quiet. The flowers folded their petals. Birds flew into nests, confused but pleased. The lizards found warm rocks and tucked their tails around themselves.

A thousand stars appeared.

Then ten thousand.

People gathered outside their homes with blankets around their shoulders. They watched the sky in silence.

Niko sat beneath the pear tree, holding one pear in each hand.

“Good night, star,” Niko whispered.

The dream parcel glowed brightly again.

It had found its way back to itself.

Soren tucked it safely into his satchel.

“I must go now,” he told Niko. “A child in Brindle is waiting.”

Niko nodded, though their eyes were heavy.

“Will I dream?” they asked.

Soren smiled.

“I think you already have.”

He flew as fast as his moonlit wings could carry him. Past the Sleeping Volcano, past the Lantern Whales, along the Path of Evening. The Lullaby Loom was far behind him, and Brindle was ahead, blue and waiting.

When Soren reached Brindle, the child with the thunder worries was just beginning to stir beneath her blanket.

Soren slipped through her open window.

He placed the dream on her pillow.

At once, she smiled in her sleep.

In her dream, a friendly cloud tapped a tiny drum while rain made soft circles in a puddle. The thunder was far away and gentle. The whole sky felt safe.

Soren rested for a moment on the windowsill.

Above Brindle, the moon shone.

Far, far away, beyond the stars, he thought he could see Daybright glowing too.

Not as brightly as before.

Now it had a small ribbon of lavender around its edge.

And, for the very first time, Daybright had shadows beneath its trees, sleepy children under blankets, and stars overhead.

At the Lullaby Loom, Amara was waiting.

Soren lowered his head. “I made a mistake.”

Amara looked at the satchel, now empty.

“Did the dream reach the child in Brindle?”

“Yes,” said Soren.

“Did it help?”

“Yes.”

Amara’s eyes twinkled. “Then tell me the rest.”

So Soren did.

He told her about Daybright, where the sun had never rested. He told her about Niko, the first child to stand in a shadow. He told her about the first star and the friendly drumming cloud.

When he had finished, Amara was quiet for a while.

Then she reached out and gently smoothed the curled tip of Soren’s wing.

“Curiosity can lead a moth off the path,” she said. “But a kind heart can sometimes find a new path home.”

“Will Daybright be all right?” Soren asked.

Amara smiled.

“Tonight, we will weave them something small.”

Together, the Dream Weavers began to spin.

They mixed silver starlight, pear-tree shade, the cool sound of a fountain, and one tiny beat from a friendly cloud’s drum.

They folded the dream into a parcel and tied it with a ribbon of soft lavender dusk.

Then Soren took it in his satchel.

This time, he did not hurry.

He flew toward Daybright beneath a sky full of stars, carrying the second night that world had ever known.