Quiet time began, but Nimble Pip was still busy. He stacked acorn caps, rolled a spool, and scooted a leaf boat across the floor. “Too busy to nap!” he chirped.
Nimble Pip lined pebbles on the windowsill. The room grew hush-hush. Tiny clack! His pebble tower tipped, and he listened to the dusty quiet before crawling onto his mat with one eye still open.
Nimble Pip lay very still. Then a small golden moth floated out of a sunbeam, as if the light had grown wings. “Oh,” he whispered, watching it drift past the wooden toy shelf.
He wiggled one paw to peek closer, and poof—the moth was gone. When he froze again, three golden moths drifted down and drew glowing lines on the wall. One shining picture became a giant acorn in a crown, and Nimble Pip hid a giggle in the blanket.
Nimble Pip stayed as quiet as a pebble. More golden moths circled the room and painted a secret forest on the walls—tiny ladders, moonlit leaves, and a shining path curling right above his bed. He did not dare twitch.
The next day, sunbeams striped the floor again. Nimble Pip patted his mat, folded his paws, and settled down before anyone asked. He smiled at the quiet creak of the roots and waited for the first golden moth.
