Stories where they're the hero.

On the night the sky turned the color of plums, Maya tiptoed into the backyard in her softest socks. The grass was cool, and the air smelled like the very end of summer.

Under the old willow tree, something small and orange was hopping in circles.

"Hello?" said Maya.

The little fox looked up. He had a white chest and the brightest eyes Maya had ever seen. "Oh good, a friend!" he said. "I am Pip, and I have a very big problem for such a small fox."

He pointed one paw up into the branches. There, tangled in the willow leaves, was a tiny star. It blinked slow and sad, the way you do when you are far from home.

"It slipped right out of the sky," Pip whispered, "and I am not tall enough to reach it."

Maya was not very tall either. But she was a very good thinker. She found her garden bucket and turned it upside down. She climbed up on her tiptoes, slow and careful, while Pip steadied her ankle with one soft paw. She reached up through the cool leaves until her fingers found something warm and humming, like a heartbeat made of light.

"There you are," Maya said softly.

She lifted the little star high, and it floated up, up, up, back into its place in the sky. The whole backyard glowed gold for one quiet moment.

"You did it," Pip breathed. "Maya, you are exactly the kind of friend a fox hopes for."

Maya yawned a great big yawn. "Will you come back tomorrow night?" she asked.

Pip pressed a paw to his heart. "Every night this week," he promised. "I would not miss it for the world."

The next night, Pip was waiting by the willow with his tail curled neatly around his paws.

"There is someone I would like you to meet," he said. "But she is feeling very shy tonight."

He led Maya to a little hollow under the hedge. Inside, a small hedgehog sat rolled into a tight ball, her nose tucked all the way in.

"This is Hazel," Pip whispered. "She tripped over an acorn this morning, and some of the other animals laughed. She has been a ball ever since."

Maya knelt down in the soft dirt. She did not poke, and she did not rush. She just sat close, the way you sit beside someone who is sad.

"Hazel," Maya said gently, "I trip over things all the time. Just yesterday I tripped over my very own shoe."

One tiny eye peeked out.

"And once," Maya went on, "I tripped right into a puddle in front of everybody." She smiled. "It made a very good splash."

Hazel uncurled, just a little. "A good splash?" she said.

"The best splash," said Maya.

Pip rolled over a fat blackberry, and Maya brushed the leaf bits gently from Hazel's prickles. Soon Hazel was giggling a small squeaky giggle, like a tiny door opening for the very first time.

"You were kind to me," Hazel said, "even though you only just met me."

"That is the easiest time to be kind," said Maya.

The three friends watched the moon climb over the hedge. Hazel fell asleep first, safe and snug between her new friends, not rolled away at all.

On the fifth night, the willow tree was wearing tiny lights, hundreds of them, soft and floating like sleepy fireflies.

"Fairies," Pip whispered, his eyes round as buttons. "They only come when the moon is exactly half."

A fairy no bigger than a dandelion puff landed right on Maya's knee. "We need a brave helper," she said, in a voice like a tiny wind chime. "The path to the Moonberry Meadow has gone dark, and only someone new can light it again."

She pointed. Across the little creek stretched a bridge made of glimmer, thin and shimmery and just a little bit wobbly.

Maya's tummy did a flip. "I have never walked on glimmer before," she said. "What if I fall?"

"New things feel wobbly at the start," said Pip. "That is just how brave begins. And I will be right behind you the whole way."

Maya took one slow breath. Then she set one foot on the bridge. It held. It felt like standing on a little cloud that believed in her.

She took another step, and another. Everywhere her foot landed, a warm light bloomed and stayed, until the whole bridge glowed like a string of small moons.

When she reached the other side, the fairies spun around her in a happy ribbon, and the Moonberry Meadow lit up sweet and silver.

"You tried something brand new," the fairy sang, "and look what you made."

Maya looked back at the glowing bridge she had lit, all by herself. "It was wobbly," she said, "and then it was wonderful."

Pip grinned. "Most wonderful things are wobbly first."

Maya yawned the biggest yawn yet. The fairies dimmed their lights, softer and softer, like a lullaby you can see, and she headed home to bed, already half dreaming of tomorrow night.