Example stories · Dinosaurs · Ages 8 to 10

Bellow and the Trail of Stars

A read-aloud bedtime story, about 5 minutes.

Bellow was a young Parasaurolophus with a long, curved crest that swept back from her head like a graceful horn. When she blew air through it, the crest made a deep, hollow sound, half honk and half song, that could travel farther than any dinosaur could run. Bellow's herd was famous for these calls. On the long migration across the wide golden plain, the grown-ups used them to keep everyone together, calling out from the front, the middle, and the back, so that no one ever felt too far from home. Bellow practiced her own call every chance she got, proud of the way it echoed off the far hills.

One evening, the herd stopped beside a wide, slow river to graze and rest before the last stretch of the journey. The sky had turned the color of ripe peaches, and fat golden beetles rose up from the reeds, glowing faintly as the light faded. Bellow had never seen anything like them. She told herself she would follow just one, just to see where it went, and then hurry straight back.

One beetle led to another, and another, deeper along the riverbank than Bellow meant to go. By the time she looked up, the peach-colored sky had faded to deep blue, and the beetles' glow was the brightest light around. Bellow turned to trot back to the herd. Except the riverbank now looked nothing like it had before. Every bend looked the same. Every clump of reeds looked the same. And there was no herd in sight.

Bellow's heart thumped harder. She told herself not to panic, the way her mother always told her. She tried one direction, then stopped, unsure. She tried another, then stopped again. The plain that had felt so open and friendly in daylight now felt enormous and confusing in the dark.

Then Bellow remembered something her mother had taught her on quiet evenings just like this one. "If you ever feel lost," her mother had said, "stop moving. Use your crest. Call, and then listen twice as long as you called. The plain carries sound farther than your legs can carry you."

Bellow planted her feet in the soft earth, lifted her long crest to the sky, and blew. A deep, round note rolled out across the darkening plain, further and further, until it faded into the night. Bellow waited. She listened as hard as she had ever listened to anything. Nothing came back but the wind in the reeds and the soft rush of the river. She called again. Still nothing.

Just as her eyes began to sting, a low, creaky voice spoke from the shadows. "That's a fine, strong call, little one. A bit fast, though." An old Ankylosaurus, broad and slow and covered in bumpy plates, ambled out from behind a boulder. "Sound needs a moment to travel. And an answer needs a moment to travel back. You're not giving it time."

The old Ankylosaurus settled her heavy body down beside Bellow, patient as stone. "Call once," she said. "Then count slowly to fifty before you call again. Your herd will be listening for you, same as you're listening for them. Trust the waiting as much as the calling."

Bellow took a deep breath and called once more, long and clear. This time, instead of calling again right away, she waited, counting the way the old Ankylosaurus had shown her. One, two, three, all the way to fifty, with the stars coming out overhead one by one. And on forty-eight, faint and far off but unmistakable, an answering call rolled back across the plain.

Bellow's whole body lit up with relief. She called again to mark her spot, and this time the answer came sooner, and closer. She followed the sound along the curve of the river, past bends that slowly began to look familiar again, until at last she saw the dark shapes of the herd gathered on the hillside, and her mother's crest lifted high, calling her home.

Bellow ran the last stretch and pressed herself against her mother's warm side. "I got turned around," Bellow admitted. Her mother nuzzled her gently. "Everyone does, sometimes," she said. "That's what the calling is for." The old Ankylosaurus caught up a while later and settled nearby for the night, and nobody minded at all.

The herd quieted as the moon rose full and silver over the plain. Bellow curled up close beside her mother, her long crest resting against the cool grass. Somewhere far off, another young dinosaur called out into the dark, just to check, and a dozen sleepy voices answered back, soft as a lullaby passed from one dinosaur to the next. Bellow listened until the calls faded into the hush of the night, and then, safe and found and warm, she closed her eyes and slept.