In the days when the Glen was young, on the noble Isle, there lived a rabbit. His fur was as soft as the clouds that dance atop the mighty Snaefell, and his eyes gleamed like stars caught in a net of dreams. Rabbit knew all the ways of the Glen and the world, from the whisper of the wind through the ferns to the secret dance of the dawn over the sea.

Now, it so happened that on a brisk morning of new beginnings, there came a sound most distressing—a plaintive chirp, a melody of discomfort. It was the Little Red Bird, who had feathers as fiery as the sunset and a heart just as warm yet troubled she was with the matter of sleeping poorly.

"Oh, Little Red Bird of the black turf ground," Rabbit began, for that is how in the Isle of Man one addresses a creature of such vivid plumage and delicate constitution, "where did you sleep last night?"

The Little Red Bird fluttered her wings, weary from nights spent uncomfortably. "Upon the briar, and oh! It was a poke here and a prod there! A most disagreeable bed."

And thus she continued, "Upon the bush, and oh! It was a scratch here and a snag there! A bed most harsh."

"Upon the ridge of the roof, and oh! It was a slide here and a slip there! A bed perilously slick."

Rabbit, whose ears were as tuned to sorrow as they were to the earth's music, felt a great stirring in his heart. It occurred to him, in a flash as bright as the lightning that sometimes danced upon the sea, that what the Little Red Bird needed was not just any spot of rest but a properly comfortable sleep—a sleep wrapped in warmth, steeped in peace, and story.

Thus, he set about making preparations. He guided the Little Red Bird to his burrow, which was warm as the noon sun and soft as the night's embrace. First, he filled a leafy basin with warm spring water, for a good bath is the opener of doors to the land of dreams. The Little Red Bird bathed, and her feathers fluffed up with the steam.

Then, the Rabbit brewed a tea from the golden blooms of the meadow, sweetened with a dash of nectar, for a warm sip can soothe the tired wings of any bird. The Little Red Bird sipped, and her eyes twinkled with the stars of gratitude.

At last, as the shadows grew long and the world prepared to pull its blanket of darkness tight, Rabbit laid a bed of satin, moss and soft down. He tucked the Little Red Bird in, and from the great library of his mind, he chose a tale. It was an old tale of magic and moons and mysteries of the Glen. He narrated this tale, his voice a gentle lullaby.

"Little Red Bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night? In a burrow deep, where tales are wept, As soft as a cloud, as warm as a hug, And oh! what a peaceful sleep it was!"

The storm that night howled like the wolves of old, but inside the burrow, there was only the glow of a good tale and the warmth of friendship. And so, the Little Red Bird truly slept, as she had never slept before.

In the morning, bright with the promise of new songs, the Little Red Bird chirped her thanks, her heart swelling with joy. "Oh, dear Rabbit, you have taught me that the secret to a good night's sleep is not just in finding the right place but in the right preparation and company."

Rabbit, wise and kind, simply nodded. For he knew, as all good guardians do, that every creature deserves not just safety but comfort and joy.

And from that day to this, the Little Red Bird sings of warm baths, soothing teas, bedtime stories, and how the Rabbit taught her to sleep 'just so'. And all who hear her sing sleep a little better, dream a little sweeter, for knowing how it all came to be.

As you tuck yourselves or your little ones beneath the blankets tonight, remember the comfort of the Little Red Bird, who found rest in the most tender of ways and the gentlest of companies. Carry with you the magic of our stories and let them remind you that the proper preparation, a warm heart, and a listening ear are the keys to a peaceful slumber and a life filled with joy.