1Bramble was a young brown bear, round-eared and four-pawed, and he was not sleepy yet. Outside the den, the night had come in soft and dark, like a blanket tucked over the hills. Bramble padded to the doorway and sniffed the cool air. "I will count the quiet things," he rumbled to himself, very softly. One.
2The stream was talking to the stones — shhhh, shhhh, shhhh — tumbling along in the dark. Bramble listened with both ears. One quiet thing. Two.
3A leaf let go of its branch and drifted down, down, down without a sound. Bramble watched it land. Two quiet things. Three.
4The tall pine trees were swaying, and the wind through their needles said whooooo — so gently it barely was there. Three quiet things. Four.
5A moth opened and closed its dusty wings on the bark of an old log. No noise at all. Four quiet things. Five.
6The moon slid out from behind a cloud and spilled pale light across the mossy ground. Bramble blinked at it. Five quiet things. Six.
7A frog sat very still beside the reeds. It did not jump. It did not croak. It simply sat. Six quiet things. Seven.
8Bramble padded back inside, and the dry leaves under his paws made the tiniest crunch, crunch, crunch. Seven quiet things. Eight.
9Near the back of the den, his mama was sleeping, her warm side rising and falling, rising and falling. Eight quiet things. Nine. Bramble curled himself in close beside her, and he felt the deep, soft thump of her heartbeat under his cheek. Nine quiet things. Ten.
10He breathed in — slowly — and he breathed out — slowly — and he felt his own breath go quiet as a cloud. Ten quiet things. Bramble's eyes grew heavy. His four paws went still. The stream kept talking to the stones outside, and the moth sat on the log, and the moon shone on, and on, and on.
