Nights when the snows came the little girl would lie wide awake in her bed and let her vision blur until moonlight, snowflakes, branches, and shadows conspired to carry her far away. On those nights her bed was a raft in the middle of a sea shimmering with purple fish, or a carpet flying high above the blazing desert, or the back of a dragon to which she clung as the great beast cut through clouds.
Nothing about those nights was ordinary. There were caves to explore, ancient relics to discover, kingdoms to reach before dawn. And over time the little girl learned, as she traveled through the dark, that to be alone isn't always lonely, and the company of one's own thoughts can be a fine thing, indeed.