The sun had just dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of sleepy lavender and soft peach. The fireflies were beginning their evening dance, blinking their little lanterns to say, "Hello, friend! It’s time for rest."

Barnaby let out a big, wide yawn. Yaaaaawn. He wiggled his toes, which were tucked deep into his cozy, moss-covered den.

"Is the moon ready?" Barnaby whispered to his mother, who was curled up beside him, smelling of sweet honey and pine needles.

"The moon is very ready, my little bear," she murmured, stroking his fur. "And so are the clouds."

Outside, the wind hummed a gentle lullaby, rocking the tall pines like giant green cradles. One by one, the forest animals were tucking themselves in.

High above, the little owl tucked its head under a soft wing.

By the stream, the tiny frog pulled a lily pad over its head like a blanket.

Deep in the burrow, the field mice curled into a warm, furry ball, dreaming of dandelion seeds.

Barnaby closed his eyes. He imagined himself floating on a fluffy, silver cloud, drifting slowly, slowly, slowly across the velvet sky. The air felt cool and quiet, and the stars twinkled just for him, like tiny, glowing nightlights.

"Are you dreaming yet, Barnaby?" his mother asked, her voice as soft as a falling leaf.

But Barnaby didn’t answer. He was already tucked away in the land of dreams, where the rivers flowed with starlight and the bears danced with the moonbeams.

The forest grew very quiet. The trees stood still. And everything, from the smallest beetle to the tallest oak, settled in for a deep, peaceful sleep.

Goodnight, little bear. Goodnight, world.