Deep in a green valley, between two mountains shaped like pillows, there was a little village of stone houses. And every evening, when the sun went to bed, the dragons came down from the hills to light the lanterns.
It was the best moment of the day. The big dragons opened their mouths and… FWOOOOSH! An orange flame shot out, and one by one, the village lanterns lit up. The children clapped. The parents smiled. And everyone knew it was time to go home for supper.
Among the dragons, there was a tiny one, green as an emerald, with wings like two maple leaves. His name was Tison.
Tison dreamed of breathing fire like the big dragons. Every evening, he took an enormous breath, puffed out his cheeks, squeezed his eyes shut and…
Pfft.
Just a little handful of golden sparks, soft and warm, that danced in the air like fireflies, then floated away.
“That's not fire!” laughed the other young dragons. “That's tickles!”
One evening, Tison felt so sad that he went to hide in the forest, behind a big mossy rock. That's where Rosalie found him.
Rosalie lived in the last house in the village. She always wore her yellow raincoat and her red boots, even when it wasn't raining, because they were her adventure clothes.
“Why are you hiding?” she asked gently. “Because I can't breathe fire,” Tison sniffled. “Look.”
He blew. Pfft. A shower of golden sparks fell all around Rosalie, on her braids, on her hands. They were warm, but they didn't burn. They tickled.
Rosalie burst out laughing. “But that's beautiful!” “It's useless,” sighed Tison. “Nothing beautiful is useless,” said Rosalie. “You just have to find what it's for.”
And as it happened, that very night was the Paper Lantern Festival.
Once a year, the people of the village made hundreds of tissue-paper lanterns: round ones, long ones, pink ones, blue ones, with stars cut into them. They hung them everywhere, from the windows to the branches of the trees. It was the most beautiful night of the year.
But there was a problem. A big problem.
When the first big dragon came up to light the first lantern… FWOOOOSH! The flame was so strong that the paper lantern went up in smoke.
“Oh no!” cried the whole village.
The second dragon tried, more gently. FWOOSH! Same thing. The third one blew so shyly that he didn't light anything at all. The big dragons looked at each other, very puzzled. Their flames were made for the big iron lanterns, not for tissue paper.
Night was falling. The children were starting to get cold. The festival was going to be cancelled.
That's when Rosalie came running into the square, a paper lantern in her hands and Tison right behind her.
“Try,” she whispered. “Just a little pfft.”
Tison looked at all those people. The big dragons. The young dragons who had laughed at him. He took a little breath (not an enormous one, just a little one) and he blew.
Pfft.
The golden sparks settled in the heart of the lantern, very gently… and the lantern lit up. No flame that gobbles everything up. Just a warm, round light, like a little sleepy sun.
The village was silent for a second. Then everyone clapped. “Again! Again!”
So Tison flew. From lantern to lantern, from window to window, from branch to branch, he blew his sparks. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. And the square filled with soft lights, pink, blue and gold, swaying in the night like dream bubbles.
The big dragons, lying on the hills, watched little Tison with pride. And the young dragons weren't laughing at all anymore. Their mouths were wide open.
When the festival was over, Tison walked Rosalie back to the last house in the village. In her room, on the windowsill, there was a tiny paper lantern: her very own.
“Would you?” Rosalie asked.
Tison blew one last pfft, the softest of all. The little lantern lit up and filled the room with a golden glow.
“You know,” said Rosalie, slipping under her duvet, “everyone has their own way of shining. The big dragons make big flames. You make light that isn't scary.”
Tison curled up on the windowsill, next to the lantern. His leaf wings folded. His eyes closed.
And all night long, in Rosalie's room, the little lantern glowed, soft and warm, like a dragon's breath keeping watch.
Good night, Tison. Good night, Rosalie.
