In a little village, there lived a dragon named Mommy.
Mommy was a small green dragon with soft wings and a warm, gentle puff of fire. She liked to help. She warmed soup. She dried wet socks. She gave tiny candle flames to anyone who said, “Please.”
Every morning, the village was bright. Red roofs. Yellow doors. Blue flowers. Green grass.
But one morning, Mommy looked outside and gasped.
“Oh!” she said.
The village had lost its colors.
The roofs were gray. The flowers were gray. Even the round, red apple in Mommy’s basket was gray.
“Where did the colors go?” asked Mommy.
From the biggest tree came a rustle-rustle sound.
“Down here,” said a kind voice.
It was Tree Spirit. Tree Spirit had a little face in the bark, leafy hair, and two shiny acorn eyes. Tree Spirit was old, wise, and very patient.
“A Ghost took the colors,” said Tree Spirit. “Ghost was lonely in the misty hill cave. Ghost thought, ‘If I take all the pretty colors, someone will come to see me.’”
Mommy’s wings made a tiny flap.
“Ghost should not take colors,” she said. “But Ghost should not be lonely either.”
Tree Spirit smiled. “You have a caring heart, Mommy.”
Mommy packed a small bag. She packed a yellow bell, a blue scarf, a red berry, and a green leaf. Then she walked from the village, past the sleepy pond, up the misty hill.
Step, step, step.
At the cave door, Mommy heard a sound.
“Boooo,” said Ghost.
Mommy stopped. Her knees felt wobbly.
Then she took one slow breath.
“Hello, Ghost,” said Mommy.
“Boooo!” said Ghost again, but this boo was quieter.
Inside the cave sat Ghost. Ghost was pale and round and wore a very sad frown. Around Ghost were jars and jars and jars. One jar held red. One held blue. One held yellow. One held green.
“My colors,” said Ghost.
“They are the village colors,” said Mommy softly.
Ghost hugged the jars. “The village is happy. I am alone.”
Mommy sat beside Ghost. She did not grab a jar. She did not shout.
“You can come to the village,” she said. “We can have soup. We can ring bells. We can look at flowers together.”
Ghost looked at Mommy. “Even me?”
“Even you,” said Mommy.
Ghost made a little sniffle. A tiny gray tear rolled down.
Mommy opened her bag. “Look! A red berry. A blue scarf. A yellow bell. A green leaf. Colors are nicer when friends share them.”
Tree Spirit’s voice floated from the hill below. “Share, share, share!”
Ghost gave a small smile. “I would like a friend.”
So Ghost opened the red jar.
Whoosh! Red flew out. It painted the roofs bright red.
Ghost opened the blue jar.
Whoosh! Blue flew out. It painted the pond blue-blue-blue.
Ghost opened the yellow jar.
Whoosh! Yellow flew out. It painted the doors and the baby chicks.
Ghost opened the green jar.
Whoosh! Green flew out. It tickled every leaf on Tree Spirit’s branches.
The whole village glowed again.
The villagers cheered. “Hooray for Mommy! Hooray for Ghost! Hooray for Tree Spirit!”
Mommy puffed a tiny golden flame. It was not hot. It was like a happy little star.
Tree Spirit gave Mommy a present: a smooth treasure stone that changed color in the sun. Red, blue, yellow, green.
“For the brave dragon who used a gentle voice,” said Tree Spirit.
Ghost came to the village for soup. Ghost liked pumpkin soup best. Ghost also liked ringing the yellow bell. Ding-ding!
And every morning, Mommy checked the village colors. Red roofs. Yellow doors. Blue flowers. Green grass.
They were all there.
Mommy smiled her dragon smile.
“Colors are best,” she said, “when everyone has a friend.”