The First Light
Drip. Drip. Idris heard it before he opened his eyes. The rain had stopped in the night. Now the ferns were letting go of it, one drop at a time. Pip was already awake beside him, ears up, nose in the air. The valley was dark and still asleep. Big slow shapes breathed under the tree ferns. Idris sat up in his warm moss bed and listened. Far up the hill, something small and gold was shining.
Pip trotted to the edge of the moss and looked back. Idris came after him. On top of the tall grey rock lay a thin line of morning light. It sat there like a ribbon someone had dropped. Everything under it was dark. "That's the first light," Idris whispered. "It hasn't come down here yet." Pip's ears turned one way, then the other. All around them, the valley slept on, breathing and breathing. Idris wanted to watch it wake up.
Between the moss bed and the rock grew the tall ferns. They were taller than Idris, and dark underneath. In there he could not see his own feet. The dark under the ferns made his tummy feel fluttery. He stood at the edge of it for a long while. Then he put one foot in. Pip stepped in beside him, a warm shoulder against his knee. "One slow step, then one more," said Idris. And that was what they did.
The fern path was soft and wet. Idris counted his steps out loud, slowly, so the counting filled the dark. His footprints filled up with water behind him. Pip's tail brushed his hand each time he stopped. Warm rain smell rose all around them, green and sweet. Once, something huge sighed in its sleep nearby, and Idris stood very still. Then the sighing turned into snoring. Idris laughed a small laugh. "One slow step, then one more," he said.
Halfway up, a long grey tail lay across the path like a fallen log. It went up and down, up and down, breathing. Idris looked at it. Pip sniffed it and sat down to wait for him. Idris stepped over the tail with one leg, then the other, careful as careful. The snoring never stopped. On the other side, the ferns grew shorter. Idris could see his feet again. Above them, the grey rock was getting closer and brighter.
They climbed the last stretch together, Pip first, Idris just behind. And there it was. The light lay along the top of the rock, warm as a hand. Idris put his palms in it and watched his fingers turn gold. Pip's fur went from red to fire. Below them the whole valley was still grey, still sleeping, still full of soft breathing. Idris looked at the light in his hands. Then he looked down the hill. "Come on," he said.
Idris tipped a big wet fern leaf toward the rock. The light ran down it, drop by drop, into the leaf below. That leaf poured into the next one. Slowly, slowly, the light went down the hill the way water goes. It slid over moss. It filled a footprint. It touched the long grey tail, which stopped breathing, then stretched. All through the valley, heavy eyes opened. Idris stood on the rock and watched the gold come after him.
The valley began to hum. It was a low, round sound, like many big throats saying good morning at once. Steam rose off warm backs. Birds dropped out of the tree ferns. A long neck came up through the leaves below the rock, up and up, until a great kind face was level with Idris. She blinked at him. Idris blinked back. "One slow step, then one more," he told her, and she lowered her chin to the stone.
Idris climbed on. Pip hopped up and curled in his lap, warm and heavy and smelling of rain. The long neck lifted, swayed, and started down the hill. The ferns went by slowly underneath, all of them lit now, every drop shining. Idris leaned forward into Pip's fur. The humming went on below him, soft as a hand on his back. His eyes closed on the way down. The valley carried him home, and he slept.
