Once upon a time—so long ago that even the freezing winds said,
“Well, today is a bit chilly!”—there was a land called the Polar Kingdom.
In this icy place lived a polar bear named Fluffy.
But Fluffy had a big secret.
He hated the cold.
While the other polar bears happily dove into icy waters, slept through snowstorms, and sighed,
“Ahh, perfect weather!”
Fluffy shivered nonstop. His teeth chattered like little drums.
“I must have been born in the wrong place,” he often said.
“Maybe I was supposed to be a tropical bear.”
One day, while cleaning the corner of his igloo, Fluffy found something unusual:
a pair of old wool socks left behind by a wise old walrus.
The moment he pulled them on, his eyes sparkled.
“This is it!” he cried.
“I’ve found the solution: a sweater!
But not just any sweater… a HUGE sweater!”
Fluffy got to work immediately.
He asked the penguins for yarn, borrowed knitting needles from the seals, and even hired a snow rabbit as his “knitting consultant.”
Unfortunately, Fluffy was terrible at counting stitches.
“One stitch… two stitches… fish… penguin…
Hmm. Where was I?”
Days passed.
The sweater grew… and grew… and grew.
Soon it was so enormous that two penguins, one seal, and half an igloo could fit inside it.
At last, the big moment arrived.
Fluffy put on the sweater.
It was so heavy that he couldn’t move.
“Well,” he sighed, sitting down with a soft poof,
“this might be a little too warm.”
Then the wind caught the sweater.
Slowly… very slowly…
Fluffy began to roll.
Down a hill.
Across a valley.
All around the Polar Kingdom—like a giant ball of wool!
Everyone burst out laughing.
Eventually, the sweater got stuck against an iceberg and came to a stop.
Fluffy wriggled free, took a deep breath, and smiled.
“Alright,” he said,
“maybe the cold isn’t so bad after all.
But the socks are staying.”
From that day on, Fluffy stopped knitting—but became the only polar bear who truly enjoyed winter.
Of course, he always wore his wool socks.
And even today, in the Polar Kingdom, when someone laughs a little too hard, they say:
“Fluffy must be knitting again!”
Three snowflakes fell from the sky:
❄️ One landed on Fluffy’s nose.
❄️ One slipped into his wool socks.
❄️ And one tangled itself around the knitting needles.
The story ends here—but Fluffy’s socks never quite dry. 😄
Enjoy another bedtime story: Little Star’s Soft Night