The Scorpion Mouse

“Are you sure?” Kicker asked, twitching his whiskers.

“Yes, I’m telling you. It’s dead.”

Perrimin and his closest friend Kicker, whose given name was Siminor, were both behind the rock that was too small to hide either of them, both watching the scorpion.

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The Northern Star that guides those who are lost from sky to earth to ocean was born of a flower. So was the giant Scorpion, the Herald of Death, who carries the departed past the veil into the afterworld. And so was the Blue Butterfly, the Emblem of Life, who guides newly arrived souls to their earthly anchors. The star, the scorpion, and the butterfly. The three are bound by an ancestor at once humble and extraordinary. It had no name in its short life.

Now it is called Imberflos, the Stormflower.

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