Crown of Thorns: The Morning the World Shook

No one in the meadow ever forgot the morning the ground learned how to roar.

Rosy woke before the sun, as she always did. While other mice slept curled in nests of soft moss and dried petals, she preferred to sit at the mouth of her burrow, whiskers twitching in the cool pre-dawn air. The world outside was a tapestry of towering grass blades that swayed like cathedral spires, dewdrops glistening like tiny stars caught in their green weave. She told herself she loved the quiet—the way the first pale light crept between the stems, painting the earth in soft gold. But the truth was simpler, and sharper: she was waiting for her parents to come home.