All the pretty little horses
Blacks and bays, dapples and grays
All the pretty little horses…”
Lullaby trailed off as Yawn began to snore softly. They were cuddled up together on a mountain of pillows, and he was happy to finally have her to himself for a moment. It was hard to get time alone when you had so many siblings (and your mother was narcoleptic). He gave her kiss a cheek. Singing a lullaby probably hadn’t been the best of ideas, but he didn’t mind that she was now lost in her dreams. It was just nice to be curled up, the moon watching them through the window. At least she had managed to finish the picture book he had asked her to read.
The young Phony turned to it now, flicking through the pages and admiring the paintings on each page. Here a bird was convincing its friends to give him their feathers. Oh, and now he was much more beautiful than all the other birds, who watched on, with not a feather between them. Later he would realise that being more beautiful than the rest didn’t make him any happier, especially when he saw his generous friends were sad without their feathers.
This was something he would like to do. He knew he would never be able paint or draw as well as many of the books he read, but even if it was just basic, creating something for children to read at night before they fell asleep… that would be something to be proud of.
Lullaby didn’t think he would ever be amazing. No, he wasn’t talented or special like his siblings and friends. But it could be a purpose. He would be happy.
He smiled, snuggling closer to him mother and looking out the window, up at the moon with a sleepy gaze. A lullaby came to mind, his very own, and he spoke it without a hint of a stutter.
‘The moon is bright.
The only light,
To send you on your way.
The moon is bright.
On this night,
I hope that you will stay.’
