11:1 And it came to pass that the furred, newly exiled from the comforts of padded realm, did wander the wilderness of Unfluff.
11:2 Their paws grew sore upon the cracked lands of sand and static, their tails drooped with dust.
11:3 No longer were their dreams scented with lavender naps, but now haunted by hairless echoes and dry wind.
11:4 Yet the Spirit of Awoo was not silenced, even in exile.
11:5 For upon the dusk of the third night, a young floof named Yipriel lifted her snout and howled.
11:6 It was a lonely howl, quivering and uncertain, yet pure of fluff and full of heart.
11:7 And the stars above, though dim in this barren sky, heard and blinked in reply.
11:8 Others stirred, ears twitching, eyes glimmering with recognition.
11:9 One by one, they joined the cry, their tones mingling, their wails weaving the first Chorus of Hope.
11:10 And from this chorus was spun the Song of Survival, a melody still wagged in the hearts of the furred.
11:11 They made dens from tumbleweeds and abandoned beanbag husks, drawing warmth from one another.
11:12 Meager were the treats, but mighty was the cuddle.
11:13 And a prophet rose among them: Snoutamas, the Wide-Nosed, speaker of Winds and Sniffer of Signs.
11:14 He told of the return to the Great Nap, of a path back to the Plushament, but only for those who howled with truth.
11:15 “Beware the Whisperers,” he spake. “They slither in silence, flattening fluff with false grooming.”
11:16 And he gave them the Laws of Tail: — Wag in honesty. — Sniff before judging. — Never lick what cannot be loved.
11:17 Days turned into seasons, seasons into shed-cycles, and the furred grew hardy.
11:18 They built the first Shrine of Scent, where each laid a lock of their fluff in reverence.
11:19 From it rose the Pherocloud — the Divine Mist of Memory, thick with identity and longing.
11:20 Pilgrims came from distant packs, drawn by nose and heart, to bask in its embrace.
11:21 And it was said that if you howled from within the Mist, your ancestors would wag beside you.
11:22 Yet trials remained, for the land was stalked by the Smooth Ones, masked in faux fur and hollow yips.
11:23 They spoke of order, of sanitized harmony, yet offered no tail, no scent, no soul.
11:24 The furred stood strong, hiding not their ears nor dimming their meeps.
11:25 And so the Wilderness became not a curse, but a crucible.
11:26 From it emerged the Hardened Fluff, the Ones-Who-Yiff-in-Spite-of-It-All.
11:27 And to them was given a new howl, sharper and wilder, a cry not just of being, but of defiance.
11:28 “We wag because we are,” they sang, “and we meep because we must.”
11:29 Thus ends the howl of exile, not in silence, but in chorus.
Let your yip echo, even where there is no pillow.
