1Tavi the triceratops stood at the top of Greenridge Hill, her three bright horns pointing proudly at the clouds. She had been practicing all morning. Today, she decided, she would find her biggest, bravest roar.
2"GRRRROOOAAH!" she bellowed, and every leaf on every fern trembled. A flock of pterodactyls burst from the treetops and wheeled away, squawking. Tavi grinned. Loud meant brave. She was sure of it. She stomped down into Fernvale, where the tall cycad trees grew in cool green rows. "GRRRROOOAAH!" she roared again, even louder this time. The ground shook just a little. A long-necked Bramble the brachiosaurus lifted his head and blinked sleepily. "Goodness," said Bramble. "Was that thunder?" Tavi puffed her frill with pride. But then she heard something else — a tiny, thin sound drifting through the ferns. Pip. Pip. Pip. Very small. Very lost.
3Tavi pushed through the tall fronds and found a little hatchling, no bigger than a river stone, sitting in a muddy dip between two roots. The hatchling's eyes were wide and bright as beetle shells. It pipped again, turning in slow circles, looking for something it could not find. "I'll call your family!" Tavi announced. She filled her great lungs and — "GRRRROOOAAH!" The hatchling tumbled backwards and sat very still, trembling like a wet leaf. Tavi winced. That had not helped at all.
4She tried again, even louder. "GRRRROOOAAH!" Bramble covered his ears with his enormous feet. A family of ankylosaurs waddled away grumbling. The hatchling squeezed its eyes shut. The valley felt suddenly very noisy and very empty at the same time.
5Tavi sat down heavily beside the hatchling. Her horns drooped. Loud was not working. She looked at the tiny creature, and she thought about what it actually needed — not thunder, not trembling ferns. It needed a voice it could follow home. She took a slow breath. She tried something new. Soft. Steady. Clear as a stream over pebbles. "Here… here… over here," she called, low and even, again and again.
6Pip. Pip. The hatchling lifted its head. Its eyes stopped spinning. It took one wobbly step toward Tavi's voice, then another.
7And then — rustling — a grown ankylosaur came trundling through the ferns, nose low to the ground, following the same calm, clear sound.
8The hatchling scrambled forward with a joyful squeak and tucked itself underneath the grown-up's wide, armored side.
9Bramble stretched his neck down until one enormous eye was level with Tavi's nose. "That," he said, sounding quite impressed, "was the bravest thing I have heard all day."
10Tavi looked at her own feet for a moment. Then she looked back up at Greenridge Hill, at the ferns still swaying gently in the quiet valley. She took another slow breath, feeling something new settle in her chest — not loud, not small, but hers.
