Beneath the great oak, in a cozy burrow lined with dry leaves and soft moss, little mouse Mina nestled against her three kits as the forest wind began to stir.
A violent gust tore through the burrow, sending her three kits tumbling out into the storm. Mina scrabbled at the muddy opening, her tiny paws slipping on wet leaves as they vanished into the dark.
She froze, one ear still twitching. Then she bolted after them into the howling dark.
Her nose worked the wet air, searching. A leaf swirls around her — and then, faintly, a squeaky cry drifts from somewhere to the left. She darts toward the sound.
Branches whipped her fur until her paw brushed against something soft — a tuft of shredded scarf left behind on a bramble. She follows the trail deeper, toward the great oak.
Deeper into the roots of the great oak, three small shapes shiver in a damp hollow. Mina wraps her body around them, and one kit immediately burrows into her striped scarf.
Mina holds them close, her trembling slowing, the last of her fear melting away into fierce relief. One kit sighs against her chest, tiny and warm.
The storm softened to a gentle drizzle as Mina led her three bundled kits back through the silver-rain woods.
They squeeze into the burrow, warm and damp and impossibly safe. Mina tucks the scarf around all three as the moonlight pools golden on the floor.
The kits' breathing slows to little sighs. Mina rests her chin on top of them, never letting go.
The forest settles into quiet. Deep below, in a burrow lined with dry leaves, the little mouse and her three kits sleep — safe, together, in the golden hush of moonlight.
And if you listen very closely on a quiet moonlit night, you might hear the smallest sighs coming from deep beneath the great oak — where the little mouse and her kits dream together.
