Kai and the Starry Tent

Kai and the Starry Tent

The red car stopped under the tall pines. Kai sat on a stump with his elephant and counted: one lake, two mums, a hundred trees.

Mum had packed snacks for nine people, maybe ten. Sandwiches, apples, crackers, grapes.

Kai found a flat grey stone and held it up. "That one's a skipper," said Mama.

After tea, Mama and Mum pulled a big yellow bundle out of the car.

It flapped open flat on the pine needles. Kai pressed both hands on it. Crinkle, crinkle.

The poles bent into tall curves. Mum held one steady. Mama pulled a rope tight.

Kai pushed a peg into the soft ground with both thumbs. Push, push, done.

The tent stood up like a little yellow hill. Kai looked inside.

Three striped sleeping bags lay in a row. One for Mama, one for Mum, one for him.

But the sky went grey, then blue, then nearly black. The pine trees seemed to lean closer.

Kai's shoulders went tight. A tent has no door to shut. No walls at all.

Inside, the tent glowed like a lantern. Kai sat in his pyjamas, hugging his elephant tight.

The walls were only cloth. Every tiny sound came right through them.

"I don't like it," Kai said, with his chin down. "I feel scared.

" Mum didn't say silly. She said, "New places feel big. I know that feeling too. "

Lights out. Kai lay small in his sleeping bag, the blue torch held against his chest.

Branch shadows swayed across the tent wall. Up and down. Up and down.

Then — a rustle! Kai sat straight up. His torch beam wobbled over the roof.

Mama lifted her head. "I heard it too," she whispered. "Shall we listen? "

Mama held him close. Kai squeezed his eyes shut and squashed his elephant under his chin.

The rustle stopped. His heart kept thumping anyway. Being brave was taking ages.

So Mum unzipped the door, just a little way. Outside, the fire had gone soft and orange.

Above the black lake hung more stars than Kai had ever seen.

"There," said Mum. "Our star." The same bright one they looked for every year, on the night Kai came home to them. It had come all this way too.

Then Kai did a brave thing. He pulled on his boots and stepped out, two whole steps, by himself.

He shone his torch at the tall dark shape. Rucksacks! Only rucksacks.

Back inside, Kai stood on tiptoe and hooked his torch to the loop in the roof.

Now the tent had a small moon of its own. He tidied all three beds.

Three in a row, laughing. Kai made his hands into a bird, then a rabbit, then an elephant with a very long nose. "That one's a dragon," said Mum.

Outside, the stars kept watch over the little glowing tent. Mama knew plenty of their names.

The ones she didn't know, she made up: Old Teapot, Sleepy Fish, Kai's Star.

And Kai slept, with his elephant tucked under his chin, Mama on one side, Mum on the other, and the pines humming softly outside.

Goodnight, lake. Goodnight, pines. Goodnight, little blue torch. Goodnight to every star — the named ones, the made-up ones, and the brightest one of all.