The Night Pip Followed

When the sun slid down behind the hill, the forest pulled its shadows up like a blanket.

The blackbird sang one last song and forgot the ending. The snails went indoors. Under the old oak tree, behind the round wooden door, a little fox opened his eyes.

"Sun down," whispered Nuno. "Fox up."

He wound his blue scarf twice around his neck. He took his lantern pole from its hook. He stepped outside, leaned close to the lantern on the lowest branch, and breathed out as softly as he could.

Hhhh.

The lantern woke, warm and yellow.

And somewhere behind him, something went crunch.

Nuno turned round. There was nobody there.

There was the path. There was a fern. And behind the fern there was a very large, very fluffy red tail, which was trying hard to look like part of the fern.

"Good evening, fern," said Nuno.

The fern said nothing.

Nuno smiled and walked on.

At the Bridge he breathed on the lantern — hhhh — and the water turned gold. Behind him something went pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat — and stopped when he stopped.

At the Pond he lit the next one. In the golden water he could see himself, and the lantern, and, upside down, a small squirrel standing on one leg behind a reed.

"Pip," said Nuno, without turning round. "Are you following me?"

"No," said the reed.

Then, after a moment: "Yes."

Pip came out. He was a very small squirrel, and his tail was nearly as big as the rest of him.

"I want to see the end," he said. "I've never seen the end. I always fall asleep, and then it's morning, and I've missed it."

"The end is a long way off," said Nuno. "The whole night is in between."

"I'm not sleepy," said Pip. "I'm not sleepy at all. I'm going to stay awake until the very last lantern goes out."

Nuno thought about that.

"Then you had better walk beside me," he said. "It's easier to stay awake when you're not hiding."

So they went along the Lantern Path side by side.

At the Meadow, Pip counted fireflies to keep his eyes open. He got as far as nine, and then they all moved.

At the Stone, he asked questions. Why is the moss soft? Where do the frogs go? Is the moon a lantern too, and who lights it?

"I don't know," said Nuno. "Somebody who is awake, I think."

At the Birch, Pip walked more slowly. His questions got shorter. Then they were only "Why?" And then they were only a yawn, with his whole mouth, so wide that Nuno could see all his teeth.

"I'm not sleepy," said Pip. "That was a stretch."

At the very top of the hill sat a large round owl, with her eyes half closed.

"Good evening, Oona," whispered Nuno.

Oona never answered. But when the Hilltop lantern began to glow, she started to hum — low and slow, like wind in a bottle.

That was how the forest knew that the night was safe.

Nuno sat down beside her to keep watch. Pip sat down beside Nuno, very straight, with both eyes open as wide as they would go.

"A lantern is a little light that says someone is awake," said Nuno quietly. "So you don't have to be."

Pip did not answer. He was leaning against Nuno's side, warm and heavy, and his tail had curled over his nose all by itself.

All night long the lanterns shone, and not one went out.

When the sky turned pale at the edges, Nuno lifted Pip onto his back and started home. At every lantern he breathed in — just a little sip of air — and the light folded itself up and went to sleep.

Hilltop. Birch. Stone. Meadow. Pond. Bridge.

Last of all, his own lantern on the old oak.

Nuno stopped. He reached up and gently tickled one small ear.

"Pip," he whispered. "It's the end."

One eye opened. Only one, and only halfway.

Nuno breathed in. The last light folded itself up, as small as a seed, and was gone.

"I saw it," said Pip. And he was asleep again before the words were finished.

Nuno tucked him into his nest in the hazel tree and went home.

Inside, the hollow smelled of warm porridge. Mama Fox was awake.

"Did you have company tonight?" she asked.

"A fern," said Nuno. "And then a reed. And then Pip."

"Did he see the end?"

"Half of it," said Nuno. "With one eye."

"That's the best half," said Mama Fox. "Sleep well, my night fox."

Nuno curled up in his bed of leaves. He put his tail over his nose. Outside, the birds were beginning to sing.

And Nuno slept. All day long.

Natten hvor Pip fulgte efter

Da solen gled ned bag bakken, trak skoven skyggerne op om sig som en dyne.

Solsorten sang en sidste sang og glemte slutningen. Sneglene gik indenfor. Under det gamle egetræ, bag den runde trædør, åbnede en lille ræv øjnene.

"Sol ned," hviskede Nuno. "Ræv op."

Han viklede sit blå tørklæde to gange om halsen. Han tog sin lanternestang ned fra krogen. Han trådte udenfor, lænede sig helt tæt på lanternen på den nederste gren og pustede ud, så blidt han kunne.

Hhhh.

Lanternen vågnede, varm og gul.

Og et sted bag ham sagde noget knas.

Nuno vendte sig om. Der var ingen.

Der var stien. Der var en bregne. Og bag bregnen var der en meget stor, meget busket rød hale, som gjorde sig umage for at ligne en del af bregnen.

"Godaften, bregne," sagde Nuno.

Bregnen sagde ingenting.

Nuno smilede og gik videre.

Ved Broen pustede han på lanternen — hhhh — og vandet blev til guld. Bag ham sagde noget tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap — og holdt op, da han holdt op.

Ved Dammen tændte han den næste. I det gyldne vand kunne han se sig selv, og lanternen, og, med hovedet nedad, et lille egern, der stod på ét ben bag et siv.

"Pip," sagde Nuno uden at vende sig om. "Følger du efter mig?"

"Nej," sagde sivet.

Og lidt efter: "Jo."

Pip kom frem. Han var et meget lille egern, og hans hale var næsten lige så stor som resten af ham.

"Jeg vil se slutningen," sagde han. "Jeg har aldrig set slutningen. Jeg falder altid i søvn, og så er det morgen, og så er jeg gået glip af den."

"Slutningen er langt væk," sagde Nuno. "Hele natten ligger imellem."

"Jeg er ikke søvnig," sagde Pip. "Jeg er slet ikke søvnig. Jeg bliver vågen, lige til den allersidste lanterne går ud."

Det tænkte Nuno over.

"Så må du hellere gå ved siden af mig," sagde han. "Det er nemmere at holde sig vågen, når man ikke gemmer sig."

Så gik de hen ad Lanternestien, side om side.

Ved Engen talte Pip ildfluer for at holde øjnene åbne. Han nåede til ni, og så flyttede de sig alle sammen.

Ved Stenen stillede han spørgsmål. Hvorfor er mos blødt? Hvor går frøerne hen? Er månen også en lanterne, og hvem tænder den?

"Det ved jeg ikke," sagde Nuno. "En, der er vågen, tror jeg."

Ved Birken gik Pip langsommere. Hans spørgsmål blev kortere. Til sidst var de kun "Hvorfor?" Og så var de kun et gab, med hele munden, så stort, at Nuno kunne se alle hans tænder.

"Jeg er ikke søvnig," sagde Pip. "Jeg strakte mig bare."

Helt oppe på toppen af bakken sad en stor, rund ugle med øjnene halvt lukkede.

"Godaften, Oona," hviskede Nuno.

Oona svarede aldrig. Men da lanternen på Bakketoppen begyndte at lyse, gav hun sig til at nynne — dybt og langsomt, som vind i en flaske.

Sådan vidste skoven, at natten var tryg.

Nuno satte sig ved siden af hende for at holde vagt. Pip satte sig ved siden af Nuno, helt rank, med begge øjne så vidt åbne, som de kunne blive.

"En lanterne er et lille lys, der siger: nogen er vågen," sagde Nuno stille. "Så behøver du ikke være det."

Pip svarede ikke. Han lænede sig op ad Nunos side, varm og tung, og hans hale havde helt af sig selv lagt sig over hans snude.

Hele natten lyste lanternerne, og ikke én gik ud.

Da himlen blev lysere i kanten, løftede Nuno Pip op på sin ryg og begyndte at gå hjem. Ved hver lanterne trak han vejret ind — bare en lille slurk luft — og lyset foldede sig sammen og lagde sig til at sove.

Bakketoppen. Birken. Stenen. Engen. Dammen. Broen.

Til allersidst hans egen lanterne på det gamle egetræ.

Nuno standsede. Han rakte op og kildede forsigtigt et lille øre.

"Pip," hviskede han. "Nu er det slutningen."

Ét øje åbnede sig. Kun ét, og kun halvt.

Nuno trak vejret ind. Det sidste lys foldede sig sammen, så lille som et frø, og var væk.

"Jeg så det," sagde Pip. Og han sov igen, før ordene var sagt færdige.

Nuno puttede ham i hans rede i hasseltræet og gik hjem.

Inde i hulen duftede der af varm grød. Rævemor var vågen.

"Havde du selskab i nat?" spurgte hun.

"En bregne," sagde Nuno. "Og så et siv. Og så Pip."

"Fik han set slutningen?"

"Halvdelen," sagde Nuno. "Med ét øje."

"Det er den bedste halvdel," sagde Rævemor. "Sov godt, min natteræv."

Nuno rullede sig sammen i sin seng af blade. Han lagde halen over snuden. Udenfor var fuglene begyndt at synge.

Og Nuno sov. Hele dagen lang.