Toma was a small thunder-lizard, with moss-green scales, a golden stripe down his back, and feet that made soft, squashy prints in the mud. He was not as large as the old long-necks who browsed from treetops. He was not as swift as the feather-tailed runners who raced across the bright plains.

But Toma had something none of them had.

He had a roar.

It was not an ordinary roar.

When Toma roared, the pebbles hopped. The pond made silver rings. The leaves trembled from their branches, even when there was no wind.

And, as Toma was about to discover, flowers listened.

One evening, when the sky was painted purple and peach, Toma wandered farther than usual from his family’s nesting grove. He had been trying all day to make his roar sound grand and mighty.

“Rrrr,” he practiced.

A squirrel blinked at him.

“RRAAA!” he tried again.

A flock of tiny winged lizards flew out of a bush, squeaking in surprise.

Toma sighed. “It is difficult to sound majestic when everyone keeps running away.”

At the edge of the valley, beneath a hill shaped like a sleeping giant, Toma found a meadow he had never seen before.

It was a strange meadow.

There were no open flowers anywhere. Only hundreds and hundreds of tightly shut buds stood among the grass. Some buds were blue as raindrops. Some were pink as shells. Some were bright orange, like the last bit of sun before night.

Each flower was curled up, as though it were sleeping.

In the center of the meadow stood a tall stone with a moon carved into it. Around the stone, little fireflies blinked slowly, though the sun had not quite gone down.

Toma sniffed one closed flower.

“Are you all asleep?” he asked.

Of course, the flower did not answer.

Toma looked at the blue mountains. He looked at the purple sky. He felt the bubbling roar rising in his chest.

Perhaps, he thought, this was the perfect place to practice.

He lifted his head. He planted his sturdy feet. He filled his lungs with cool evening air.

Then he roared.

“RRRROOOOOOOAAARRR!”

The sound rolled across the meadow like a golden drumbeat.

For one quiet moment, nothing happened.

Then a single blue flower shivered.

Its petals unfolded.

Inside was a soft, glowing center, bright as a tiny moon.

Then another flower opened.

And another.

Pink petals loosened. Orange petals stretched wide. Purple flowers lifted their faces. White flowers opened with silvery sparkles along their edges.

All across the meadow, sleeping flowers woke up.

They yawned in voices as light as tinkling bells.

“Oh,” said one little yellow flower. “Is it morning already?”

“It cannot be,” said a violet flower. “I was having such a lovely dream about honey rain.”

A great blue flower near Toma’s feet opened its petals and looked up at him with sleepy, shining eyes.

“You did it,” it said.

Toma stepped back. “I did what?”

“You woke the Moonbloom Meadow,” said the flower.

The other blossoms rustled excitedly.

“The Waker has come!”

“The roar has returned!”

“Now the night garden can begin!”

Toma’s golden stripe prickled. “I only wanted to practice.”

The tall blue flower bowed its head. “I am Suri, Keeper of the Moonblooms. For many seasons, we have waited for a voice strong enough to wake us.”

Toma puffed out his chest a little. “Well, I suppose my roar is rather strong.”

But Suri’s glowing center dimmed.

“Strong, yes,” she said. “And now very important.”

Toma’s chest slowly un-puffed.

“What do you mean?”

Suri turned her petals toward the mountains. Far beyond the meadow, on the highest peak, a pale silver cloud had gathered around a black stone tower.

“Every night,” she explained, “the Moonblooms must open to send their dream-scent into the sky. The scent drifts through forests, rivers, nests, burrows, and caves. It helps every creature sleep peacefully.”

Toma breathed in.

The meadow smelled wonderful. It smelled like warm milk, wet leaves, starlight, and the first page of a story.

“But,” Suri continued, “the dream-scent can only rise when the flowers are awake. And Moonblooms awaken only to the Roar of the Waker.”

Toma blinked.

“The Waker is me?”

“Yes,” said Suri.

“Every night?”

“Yes,” said all the flowers.

Toma looked toward home. He imagined his cozy nest of ferns beside his mother and father. He had planned to eat berries, listen to his grandmother’s old volcano stories, and sleep before the stars were fully out.

Instead, every flower in the meadow was looking at him.

Toma swallowed.

“I do not know if I can do that,” he said quietly.

Suri’s petals folded a little. “You do not have to decide this instant. But tonight, the dream-scent must reach the sky before the Moon Bell rings.”

From far away came a single, low chime.

Bonnng.

The fireflies began to fly in circles.

“What happens if it does not?” asked Toma.

Suri looked toward the darkening valley.

“Creatures will sleep,” she said. “But their dreams may wander. They may dream of losing their way, of storms, of empty nests. The little ones especially need gentle dreams.”

Toma thought of tiny hatchlings in the nesting grove. He thought of the squirrel who had run away from his practice roar. He thought of old Grandmother Meko, who always said a peaceful night made a brave morning.

A responsibility far greater than he expected had landed right on his scaly shoulders.

“I will do it,” Toma said.

The flowers rustled with relief.

“But how?”

Suri pointed one petal toward the black tower high in the mountains.

“The dream-scent rises from this meadow to the Star Basin at the mountain’s top. Long ago, a stream of moonwater carried it there. But the stream has been blocked by a sleeping stone dragon.”

“A dragon?” Toma squeaked.

“A very old dragon,” said Suri. “His name is Baro. He sleeps deeply, and his tail has fallen across the moonwater stream.”

Toma had never met a dragon. He had seen drawings of them scratched into cave walls. In the drawings, they had huge claws, huge teeth, huge wings, and very huge tempers.

“Could I not simply roar from here?” he asked.

“You may,” said Suri. “But the dream-scent cannot climb the mountain while the moonwater is blocked.”

Another chime rang.

Bonnng.

Toma looked at the flowers, bright and waiting in the dark. He looked toward the mountain.

Then he took a deep breath.

“I will go wake Baro.”

The path up the mountain was narrow and silver beneath the rising moon. Ferns brushed Toma’s sides. Owls called from pine branches. Once, he had to cross a bridge made from the rib of an ancient giant, arched over a misty gorge.

Toma’s legs began to ache.

What if the dragon is angry? he wondered.

What if my roar is not enough?

What if everyone has bad dreams because I am too small?

He almost turned back.

Then, from below, a soft breeze carried the scent of the Moonblooms. It reminded him of nests and blankets and safe, quiet breathing.

So Toma kept climbing.

At last, he reached the Star Basin.

It was a round pool cupped in the mountain top, full of shining moonwater. Stars reflected in it, though the sky above was cloudy. But across the narrow stream leading from the basin lay a dragon’s tail.

It was enormous.

It was covered in deep gray scales, with little moss gardens growing between them. Toma followed the tail around a boulder, over a ridge, and into a cave.

There lay Baro.

His head was as large as Toma’s whole nesting grove. Smoke puffed gently from his nostrils. One curled horn held three sleeping bats. His wings were folded over him like two dark hills.

Toma stood before the dragon’s nose.

“Excuse me?” he said.

Baro snored.

The cave shook.

Toma tried louder. “Excuse me, Mr. Baro?”

The dragon snored again, and a puff of warm smoke sent Toma’s leaves flying.

The second Moon Bell sounded.

Bonnng.

Toma’s heart thumped.

He could roar. He knew he could. But what if he frightened Baro? What if the dragon woke in a rage and flapped his giant wings and blew Toma right off the mountain?

Toma looked down at his little feet.

Then he remembered Suri’s words.

The little ones especially need gentle dreams.

Toma stepped closer. He did not roar as loudly as he could. Instead, he let a different sound grow in his chest. It began low and warm, like thunder far away. It became round and steady, like a drum calling everyone home.

“Rrrrrrrrrroooooooh,” Toma sang.

The cave walls hummed.

Baro’s smoky snoring stopped.

One enormous golden eye opened.

Toma froze.

The dragon stared at him.

Then Baro gave a long, slow yawn. “That,” he rumbled, “was a very polite roar.”

Toma blinked. “Thank you.”

“Why have you woken me, little thunder-lizard?”

“The Moonblooms are awake,” said Toma. “But your tail is blocking the moonwater, and the dream-scent cannot reach the sky.”

Baro lifted his head. His expression became sad.

“I know,” he said. “I have been tired for a long time. The moonwater used to sing me to sleep. But when it stopped flowing, I slept heavier and heavier. I did not know my tail had blocked it.”

Toma’s fear shrank a little.

“Could you move it?” he asked.

Baro nodded, but when he tried to rise, his wings trembled.

“I am stiff as a frozen tree,” he admitted.

Toma thought hard. Then he scampered to the moonwater’s edge, where the stream waited behind Baro’s tail.

“I have an idea,” he said.

Toma took a deep breath and made his strongest roar yet.

“RRRROOOOOOOAAARRR!”

The sound shook loose a shower of glittering frost from the cave ceiling. It rolled along the ground, beneath Baro’s tail, and into the Star Basin.

The moonwater leaped.

It curled around Baro’s tail in bright silver ribbons. It tickled the dragon’s scales.

Baro began to laugh.

His laugh was so deep that stones danced.

“Hoh-hoh-hoh! That tickles!”

With one great stretch, Baro lifted his tail.

Moonwater rushed down the mountainside in a shining stream.

Far below, the Moonbloom Meadow glowed brighter than ever. Blue, pink, orange, and white petals lifted toward the sky. Their dream-scent rose in sparkling clouds, weaving through the valley like soft ribbons of light.

The ribbons drifted over the trees, into burrows, across ponds, and through open windows of nests.

The squirrel curled its tail around its nose and dreamed of acorn castles.

The tiny hatchlings dreamed of flying among clouds, though they had no wings.

Grandmother Meko dreamed of dancing with stars inside an old volcano.

And Toma’s family, waiting anxiously in the nesting grove, smelled the sweet dream-scent and knew he was safe.

Baro lowered his great head beside Toma.

“You have a powerful roar,” said the dragon. “But more importantly, you knew when to use it gently.”

Toma smiled. “I was scared.”

“Being scared does not mean you cannot be brave,” Baro said. “It only means your bravery has something important to do.”

Together they walked back down the mountain, slowly, under the moon.

After that night, Toma became the Waker of the Moonblooms. Each evening, he visited the secret meadow and gave one warm, rolling roar. The flowers opened. The dream-scent floated skyward. And every creature in the valley slept beneath soft, kind dreams.

Some nights, when Toma felt tired or worried, Baro would fly low over the mountains and hum along with him.

And as the moon shone over the meadow, Toma would remember that a roar was not only for showing how big you were.

Sometimes, it was for waking something beautiful.

Sometimes, it was for helping others rest.

And sometimes, the strongest sound in all the world was the one that told everyone, very gently, that they were safe.