The big storm clouds rolled across the sky, growling and dripping. They were so tall and dark that even the wind went quiet underneath them.
Fluffy wiggled his tiny puff beside them and shook hard. One speck—just one pinprick—ticked onto a village roof below. The big clouds rumbled past without a glance.
He puffed himself into a lumpy storm-ball and shook again. Out came a little pfft. He pressed his round shape into the gray curtain, hidden and small.
Fluffy dived low, squeezing between two clouds to float right in front of the village children. They pointed up at the thunderheads with open mouths. He hovered, tiny as a teacup of steam.
One girl squinted. "Where's the little one?" she called. The others just stared at the big dark shapes above her.
Fluffy deflated. His edges went thin, and he drifted a few inches lower. He thought: They can't see me.
The storm peeled north into the dark. Below, the village lights flicked on. The warm glow hit Fluffy, and he started to GLOW. "Oh! There you are. You're glowing," the little girl called.
Fluffy curled into a small, lazy circle above the sleeping village. The little girl waved up through her window. A single thread of golden light dripped off his edge and ticked into the dark grass. The sky was quiet.