Rex had a round belly, tiny arms, and one very big dream: he wanted to sing. Every morning he climbed onto his favourite log — the mossy one by the big bent tree — and opened his mouth wide. Pip the little blue bird sat on the branch above, chirping the melody, waiting for Rex to join in. But instead of a song, out came a ROAR. A rumbly, tumbly, window-rattling roar that shook the leaves and sent three beetles skittering into the mud.
Stomp, stomp, stomp. Rex tried again. He took a slow breath, felt the air cool in his chest, and opened his mouth as gently as he could. ROAR. Even bigger this time. So big that Pip — whoosh — tumbled right off his branch and disappeared into the ferns. Rex looked at the empty branch. He looked at his tiny arms, tucked tight against his tummy. Then he climbed off the log and stomped off into the forest to find his friend. Stomp, stomp, stomp.
"Piiiiip?" he called, in his most careful, quietest voice. A family of frogs leapt sideways into a pond. His most careful, quietest voice was still pretty loud. Deep in the ferns, Rex spotted something enormous trying to hide under something very small. It was Mira the Stegosaurus, crouched beneath a single fern frond, one yellow eye peeking out. One of her tail plates had jammed sideways and was stuck against a rock. "I heard THUNDER," Mira whispered loudly. Rex explained it was only him. Then he took a deep breath and — accidentally — roared directly at Mira's tail. CRACK. The stuck plate popped loose. Mira blinked. "Oh," she said. "Thank you." She shook her spiky back and fell into step behind Rex.
Stomp, stomp, stomp. Now there were two of them rumbling through the trees, following the sound of distant splashing. They found Bron the Ankylosaurus in a mud puddle, spinning slowly in circles like a round brown boulder that had forgotten how to stop. He had been startled by the roar and rolled backwards, and now the mud kept him turning. His little legs windmilled uselessly in the air. Rex leaned down close and breathed out one long, warm, slow breath — right across the puddle. The mud cooled and thickened. Bron's spinning slowed. Then stopped. Bron blinked mud out of both eyes. "Dizzy," he said, which everyone agreed was fair.
Now there were three of them. They rumbled on together, deeper into the forest, where the trees grew so tall their tops were hidden in the white morning mist. And there, right at the very top of the tallest tree, was a small blue dot. Pip. Perfectly fine. Perched on the highest twig, chirping the melody down through the leaves like nothing had happened at all. Rex looked up. He took a breath. He opened his mouth to call — and what came out was not quite a roar and not quite a song. It was both. Rumbly and ridiculous and rising up through all the branches. Pip heard it and trilled the high notes right on top, and the whole forest hummed. Pip glided down and landed on Rex's head, right between his ears.
Then they paraded home. Rex's rumbly song led the way. Mira plodded. Bron waddled, still slightly dizzy. The trees thinned. The light went gold and low. By the time they reached the mossy log, the song had softened to a hum, and the hum had softened to breath, and Pip had tucked himself gently under Rex's chin. Tiny arms, tucked tight. Eyes, closed.
