Benny Bear Won't Sleep

The first cold wind of winter came swirling through the forest on a Tuesday evening, rattling the dry leaves and turning the tips of the grass silver with frost.

Benny the bear's mother looked at the sky. "Time for bed," she said.

Benny frowned. "Already?"

"It's winter," said his mother. "You know what that means."

Benny did know. It meant a very long, warm, cosy sleep in their den under the roots of the old cedar tree. He normally loved that. He loved sleeping. But tonight, for some reason, he didn't feel ready.

He climbed into the den and burrowed into the pile of dry leaves and soft bracken. He closed his eyes.

Then he opened them again. "What if I miss the snow?" he said. "I love snow."

"The snow will still be there in spring," said his mother.

He closed his eyes again.

Then he opened them. "What if Bramble the badger has adventures while I'm asleep?"

"You can hear about them in spring," said his mother patiently.

He tried once more.

Then: "What if I get hungry?"

His mother settled in beside him, her warm fur like a soft blanket against his back. She began to hum — a low, rumbly sort of hum that Benny could feel as well as hear. It vibrated gently through his whole chest like something comfortable and very old.

Benny's thoughts grew softer. The snow and Bramble and the hunger all went quiet. The world outside became very distant.

His breathing slowed.

"The forest will look after itself," his mother said quietly, "and I will look after you. And when we wake up, everything will be fresh and new and ready for us."

Benny smiled sleepily.

He pulled his paws under him, pressed closer to his mother's warmth, and let the long winter sleep carry him gently away.

Outside, the first snowflakes began to fall.