A cautious daydreamer who yearns for adventure. Eli Dawnwood is a worry-free myce in the peaceful village of Cloverfield. After losing his sister due to his inaction, he strives to protect his people and vows to himself to never falter when others a...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
In a time of peace, when life and nature were in harmony, there lived a happy and prosperous mischief of mice, living in their tiny, modest village. Its foundations hidden from the rest of the world; deep were its roots in the forest's most tranquil nooks and crannies. These were not any mice, however, like those from ancient times that simply scurried about, scavenging for scraps; no, these were myce. Intelligent, compassionate creatures, the myce of Oregonia. While small in stature they overcame their shortcomings by sprouting with bravery, courage, and might, despite being dwarfed by all around them; majestic and ferocious creatures alike, colossal in comparison.
The myce from this particular neck of the woods lived in a village appropriately named Cloverfield, due to it being surrounded by a green bay of three leaf clovers and in the center of their village was a tall tree that nearly enveloped their sky producing melon sized acorns now and again. Although the myce, being as small as they were, could live in just about anything from a hollowed-out hill to a musty, old, human boot, many traditionally chose to craft a home from an acorn, however.One of these massive acorns, overgrown and plump, finally fell to the earth after its branches struggled to keep it from gravity's unyielding grasp. Like a meteor, it careened to earth on the outskirts of the village, plowing the ground into a crater on impact.
Near the fallen acorn, inside the shelled walls of one of the unkempt acorn huts, lived a friendly and humble myce by the name of Eli Dawnwood, a young lad who spent little time at home, as anyone who knew him could tell from his frequent outings, day and night. Woken abruptly in the early morn, early even for a myce, Eli emerged from his home, still wearing his small leaf cap and leaf green tunic with a few faded speckles of brash yellow here and there. He ruffled his messy, unmistakably long, pointy ears with tufts of hair billowing outwards, as his sleepy eyes gleamed like emeralds in the dawn's early light, emphasizing his already spring-like charm. He let out one last yawn, stretching his whiskers, masked behind a beard he was quite proud of but never hid his inviting smile.
