Kidy
There is a little wooden bridge over the stream behind the woods, little one, and today the one standing on it is you, holding your red boat. It is yours, and it is your favourite. Then a small beaver comes along and asks if he can hold it for a bit. Your hands close by themselves, faster than you can think. It is not that you don't want to give it. You are afraid it will not come back.
'Lending? Easy,' says Grow, and holds his spiky pine cone out to the beaver. 'Here you go!' The beaver barely touches it before Grow snatches it back. 'There, I'm lending!' Then again. 'Here you go!' Snatch. 'Lending!' The third time is so fast the beaver only blinks. 'Grow,' you say, 'he didn't even see it.'
Grow sits down and his ears droop. 'I can't let go of it for longer than that. I don't know when it comes back.' And something clicks into place. You look down at your feet: the bridge has five planks. 'I know,' you say. 'Beaver, you can hold it while I walk across the bridge and back. Five planks there, five planks back. Then you give it to me.' The beaver nods. Now the lending has an end you can see.
You hand over the boat. Your hands feel empty and strange. Off you go: one plank, two, three. The hardest part is not looking back. On the fourth you look anyway, and there it is: the little red sail catches the sun and flashes once, as if to say I am still here. Five. Then back: four, three, two, one. And before you can say a word, the beaver holds the boat out to you with both paws.
'It came back,' you say, and you are surprised how much lighter it feels. Then the beaver pushes his smooth grey shell towards you, without anyone asking. You take it and say the number straight away: 'Ten planks.' Grow beams. 'So, little one,' Grow asks, 'did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Grow. 'When you lend someone something, say when it comes back too. Count steps, planks or seconds, as long as the end can be seen.' See you tomorrow, little one.