Mole stared. “That’s not wicked. That’s useful.”
One autumn, a famine crept through the forest. The nut stores ran low. Berries shriveled. The stream shrank to a trickle. The animals gathered in the clearing, frightened and hungry. lala wicked weasel
As night fell, the animals gathered around a small fire. They divided the apples into tiny slivers. Even Fox shared a piece of dried meat. Lala watched from the edge of the darkness, her stomach aching. Mole stared
In the heart of the Whispering Woods, there lived a weasel named Lala. She had the silkiest coat and the brightest eyes, but her heart was a knot of thorns. The other animals called her “wicked” for good reason. The nut stores ran low
Then little Mole, whom Lala once tripped for fun, trundled past with a thimble of water. He stopped. “You look terrible,” he said bluntly.