She thinks about the Clever Tailor instead. Maybe she could start the story there. Sometimes the Tailor is the Little White Bird’s friend, helping him with his traps and games, but in other stories, the Tailor is the one trying to stop the Bird from getting what he wants. Or is she remembering it wrong?

“I think…” She pauses. The idea of stories makes her sleepy, makes her think of her mother tucking her in, and now she wants to lay down. She yawns, her jaw cracking as her mouth stretches wide. Peter shakes her shoulder, and she sits bolt upright.

“Once upon a time,” he prompts.

“Once upon a time.” She repeats the words dutifully, even though her tongue feels thick and clumsy. “There was a Bird who wanted to go to the king’s palace. So the Bird asked the Tailor to make him a suit of all the feathers he could find. The Bird couldn’t fly anymore, so the Tailor helped the Bird build a kite.”

She stops, shaking her head. She’s getting the stories mixed up. Those things happened in two different tales. She wants to snuggle down into her blankets and listen to her mother tell the story right. It would be raining outside, and every now and again a big crash of thunder would make the story more delicious. All the angry scary things outside, like the storm, and her safe inside with her mother.

When she was very young, some of the stories about the Little White Bird would scare her. She could never work out exactly what sort of bird he was supposed to be. Sometimes he seemed fierce, like a hawk, and other times he would strut around proud like a peacock. Still other times, he was as small and gentle as a dove, and he seemed terribly sad. The way the Bird kept changing so she could never tell exactly what he was, so that at any given moment what he pretended to be might be a lie, frightened her most of all. Beside her, Peter taps his foot impatiently.

“You aren’t telling it right.” His voice is snappish.

Her shoulders hunch automatically, forgetting Cook’s lesson and shrinking in on herself. How has she managed to get it all so wrong? There are other stories, aren’t there? Stories where the Little White Bird is sweet, where he is the kindest, most gentle creature in the world.