Weaselchirp Weaselchirp
Not everything needs a reason, just a vibe.
Not everything needs a reason, just a vibe.
I'm a young soul in this very strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate? Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout what is true and fake
But why all this hate? Try to communicate
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make
.
Weaselchirp drank in the silence of the tunnels like one savors the last drop of warm prey, her paws barely touching the ground as she half-scampered, half-floated deeper into her beloved cave. The storm's destruction had left scars, muddy smears along the walls, shifted stones, small dents where water had run too boldly... But oh, oh, the earth still held. The earth was still breathing. A delighted hum trilled from her chest at the faint glow of insects above, their tiny lights blinking like stars trapped under soil.
" Generous... " she echoed herself, nose twitching. " So, so generous. The rain may bite, but the ground still cradles us. Clever thing, the ground... " Then she remembered her apprentice. Slugpaw. Slugpaw who was not Cloverbloom. Slugpaw who did not stride forward in the same way that Cloverbloom had done back then. She stopped, pivoting sharply so her large orange eyes locked onto him. They gleamed strangely in the low light, all warmth and oddity.
" Why do you wish to become a tunneler? " she asked, head tilting so far sideways a pebble slid off her ear. " Why dive where others fear to step? Why follow the whispering soil, hm? " she questioned as she padded toward the tunnel leading upward, where a thread of wind spiraled in like a breath of the sky. One paw rested near its lip as she peered back over her shoulder. " I know why I love it. It's home. It's freedom. It's where the world stops being loud. " she spoke, a soft, honest purr unfurled in her throat. " But you, Slugpaw... What stirs in your paws? What makes you want this path instead of running with the moor wind? What secret of the earth calls your name? "
Her whiskers twitched, crooked and expressive. " Tell me... " she urged, voice like wind brushing moss. " I want to know what's growing inside you. "
Speech, thoughts/emphasis