Joey bolts across the living room, legs thundering, scattering pillows everywhere.
He thunders past the sofa, knocking over a tower of cushions, and skids to a stop at the pile.
He slides to a halt at the cushion pile, ears flattened, breathing hard. He sits down with a heavy thump.
Mum steps in with the long striped blanket. She holds it up like a treasure map.
Joey shakes his head and stands, ready to bolt again.
Mum tosses a soft pillow into the air, and it lands on his head like a hat.
Joey freezes, then giggles, and sits back down.
Joey lies on the blanket and wraps his legs tight like a burrito. Mum folds the edges over him.
Joey squeezes his eyes shut, then peeks one open. The warm lamplight makes the blanket glow gold.
Joey stays wrapped and still, his breathing slowing to the rhythm of the ceiling fan. Mum hums beside him. His hoof gives a tiny sleepy tap. He unwraps and curls into the cushion pile, already half-dreaming.
