Mia slipped back under her own blankets, the weight of them settling around her like a held breath. Outside her window, the stars held steady, the moon rested, and the forest was still. She closed her eyes, and the whole tucked-in world breathed slowly with her.

Mia took the last wide piece of cloud and laid it gently over the moon's curved, heavy shoulder. It settled like a silver-blue quilt, soft and close. She leaned in and kissed the moon goodnight.

Mia folded the mist at the corners, just so, the way she tucked in Bear every night. Each star slipped into its small warm pocket and stopped its frantic blinking. One by one, they settled into a low, steady hum, like a room gone finally quiet.

Then Mia remembered what she always did for Bear: she folded the corners in, one by one, tucking them tight so the warmth could not slip out. She pinched the soft mist between her fingers and folded a corner down, then another, and another. The cloud held still, as if it had been waiting for her to try this.

Mia cupped her hands and reached for a star, but it slipped right through her fingers, cool and quick as a raindrop. She tried again — and again — but the stars kept sliding away, one after another. Her palms tingled with cold, and the sky stayed full of blinking, restless light.

The cloud carried Mia higher, up past the treetops and into the deep cold dark. All around her, the stars blinked and shivered, their thin light flickering against a wind she could feel on her cheeks. Not one of them could keep still.

Mia steered her cloud down until the pine branches brushed her feet. She reached into the soft mist and pulled a wide, warm handful over the fawns and owls sleeping below. One small owl tucked his beak under his wing, and the whole forest went still.

Mia pressed her palm into the cloud and felt it give, soft as wool fresh from a dryer. She pulled, and the mist stretched wide and warm in her hands, glowing like a lantern held under a sheet. The whole cloud was a blanket, waiting to be used.

Mia shook out her small blanket and let it fall, spinning slowly down through the cold air. It drifted over just one fawn and left the others shivering in the dark. It was nowhere near big enough.

Mia stepped onto the cloud, and it lifted her up, up into the deep moonlit sky. Below, the forest stretched out dark and cold, and she could see small animals huddled in the open breeze, trembling. She pulled her knees close and looked down at all that shivering.

Then something drifted to the windowsill — a cloud, soft and round, glowing the color of a nightlight. It smelled of warm wool and something sweet, like sleep itself. It waited there, patient as a pillow.

Mia smoothed the last patchwork corner flat, pressing it gently under the bear's chin. Three blankets, tucked just so — no cold air could sneak in. The bedroom was quiet, and the bear looked very snug indeed.