Pip tugged his blanket to his chin. Under the silver moon, long spiky shadows crawled across his burrow floor. "Go away," he squeaked, curling into a tight ball.
Pip buried himself under a heap of dry leaves. The shadows kept dancing. "Shoo!" he shouted, but they just swayed.
Pip peeked through his fingers. A tiny golden light drifted through a crack in the wall. It was a firefly. "Need a light?" it buzzed.
The firefly hovered near the wall. Its glow revealed the truth — the spiky shadows were just oak leaves and swaying branches. "They're just leaves?" Pip said, lowering his paws.
The firefly's light showed Pip the ordinary wall and the honest shadows. He let out a long breath. It was okay.
That night, Pip curled up with his eyes open. The firefly settled on a mushroom beside him, painting the burrow in soft gold. The shadows still moved, but Pip just smiled.
The firefly pulsed softly, a tiny night light. Pip's eyelids grew heavy. The shadows were just leaves now.
Pip slept soundly. The firefly kept its watch, golden and bright, until morning.