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It is a strange arrangement they have found themself in. They are corraled in with the children of this unknown place when night falls, alongside faces strange and bright and incessantly questioning. It makes the fur along their spine raise, makes their throat feel choked. They do not belong here, they know this much.
It is the first of the strangers who found them who lays claim, it seems. Such is the way of the world; finders keepers, they think to themself. Like the leaves and petals they squirreled away in the curch, they are given to his child's caretaker. Two strange faces, one large and one small. They keep to the fringes of the nest, not wanting their pelts to brush. It is cramped enough here as it is. Where once they slept scattered beneath pews, here all the littlelings cram themselves into nooks and crannies of burrows beneath the open field. They shiver.
They are awake, when the slivers of moonlight are cut from the burrow. A shadow comes over the opening, lingering for a moment before leaving. Someone watching, someone familiar.
They clamber from the confines of the tunnel, catch this familiar stranger before he can slip away into the night.
It is the first of the strangers who found them who lays claim, it seems. Such is the way of the world; finders keepers, they think to themself. Like the leaves and petals they squirreled away in the curch, they are given to his child's caretaker. Two strange faces, one large and one small. They keep to the fringes of the nest, not wanting their pelts to brush. It is cramped enough here as it is. Where once they slept scattered beneath pews, here all the littlelings cram themselves into nooks and crannies of burrows beneath the open field. They shiver.
They are awake, when the slivers of moonlight are cut from the burrow. A shadow comes over the opening, lingering for a moment before leaving. Someone watching, someone familiar.
They clamber from the confines of the tunnel, catch this familiar stranger before he can slip away into the night.
