Tamsin and the Laughing Horn — Every afternoon, Tamsin rode Noodle along the meadow road, collecting chuckles for the evening parade. Read the full story →
Every afternoon, Tamsin rode Noodle along the meadow road, collecting chuckles for the evening parade. She liked the squeaky gate laugh, the duck-sneeze laugh, and the tiny hiccup laugh from the flower fairies, but she wanted one grand laugh big enough for everyone to hear at once. Noodle’s jeweled harness jingled as they trotted, and dust puffed up smelling like warm clover.
Until one day, Noodle’s striped horn began to tickle. He crossed his eyes, snorted, and sneezed a silver spark that made the clouds wobble. Because of that, the shooting stars overhead swerved like slippery noodles. Because of that, one star landed with a plink inside the plainest horn stripe, where nobody ever polished because it looked perfectly ordinary.
“Hold still, you sparkly pickle,” Tamsin whispered, twisting the stripe. Pop! Out sprang a rolled-up joke, tied with moon thread. Tamsin read it aloud, and the meadow burst into such wild laughter that even the road curled twice to hear better. If you trace the path by Noodle’s hooves, can you tell where that giant giggle went next?
