Far away on Dogavios, when the pink sky slowly turns purple, the flowers fold up their petals and whisper “good night.” That was the time of day Pigúiça liked least.
She was a blue-eyed husky pup, brave about almost everything. She climbed tall rocks, jumped over giant puddles, and sniffed beetles without a single shiver. But the dark... the dark was a different story.
That night, as soon as the lamp went out, Pigúiça saw a long shadow on the wall. It had skinny arms and lots and lots of fingers. “Fofuxo!” she called. “There's a monster in here with a hundred fingers!”
Fofuxo appeared in the doorway, big and golden, his fur all rumpled from sleep. He looked at the wall. He looked at the window. Then he smiled. “Want to come outside with me and see that monster up close?”
Pigúiça's eyes went wide. Go outside? In the dark? But Fofuxo held out his paw, and it was warm and soft. She took a deep breath and went, snuggled right up against his side.
Outside, the hundred-fingered monster was only a branch of the backyard tree, swaying in the breeze. “Oh,” said Pigúiça. “You're just a branch.” The branch went creak, creak, as if it were saying sorry.
They walked a little farther, all the way to the clearing. Then Pigúiça stopped short. In the middle of the dark, a tiny light blinked on. Then another. Then ten. Then so many she couldn't even count them.
“Fireflies!” Fofuxo whispered. “They only come out when it's really dark. If the world stayed bright all night long, we'd never get to see their party.”
Pigúiça sat down in the grass and watched. The fireflies floated up and down, blinking slowly, like little stars that had decided to live closer to the ground. The rocks in the clearing hummed a song so soft it was almost a whisper.
“So the dark isn't just dark,” she said. “It's where the little lights come out to play.” Fofuxo nodded and lay down beside her.
One firefly landed right on the tip of Pigúiça's nose. She went cross-eyed trying to look at it, and the two friends giggled so quietly that not a single flower woke up.
When they got back home, the branch's shadow was still on the wall. But now Pigúiça knew exactly who it was. “Good night, branch,” she said. And outside, the fireflies kept on blinking.
She curled up in her bed, tucked her nose into her fluffy tail, and let out a long, slow yawn. Blink, blink, went the little lights. Her blue eyes blinked too. Once. Twice. And then they stayed closed.
Maybe, right outside your window, there's a firefly playing this very minute. Let it shine, and close your eyes too.
