Where did the Weewoo come from?

     It’s infamous. It’s legendary. It’s a gorgeous mascot for our favourite publication, the Neopian Times. It’s the white Weewoo.

     But how did the Weewoo attain its status as one of the most iconic Petpets of all time? How does it keep track of every single neohome and deliver papers with such speed and accuracy? And what exactly makes it white, anyway?

     It was a quiet, misty day on Krawk Island. Legend says that a lonely Krawk meandering the island’s shores heard a haunting, mournful song coming from a small cave. The Krawk went to investigate, peering through the darkness. From the cave emerged a small, round, brown creature with tiny feet and a delicate, frayed tail. It was searching for a friend.

     The lonely Krawk extended his hand, and the Weewoo toddled over to it clumsily. It sat squarely in his palm, looking upward expectantly. The lonely Krawk scooped up the Weewoo in his arms and its mournful song stopped. It nested under his chin and they journeyed away from the cave.

     The lonely Krawk carried the Weewoo back to Warf Wharf to see if any of the townsfolk could identify what it was. A group standing outside of Krawk Fashions saw him approach. He held out his hand and the Weewoo hopped down into his palm happily. One particularly grouchy Krawk rolled his eyes at the little critter.

     “Is it a dirty seagull?” he said, scrunching his nose.

     “Is it an armless Pidgeon?” another asked.

     “Should we return it to the rubbish dump?” someone inquired.

     The lonely Krawk, insulted, brought the Weewoo back to his treehouse — a place he spent his time studying and writing about the events of the island. His writings filled many volumes, and his work was piled throughout his home. The Weewoo jumped from his shoulders and opened one of the books.

     “No, no, nobody wants to read those,” said the lonely Krawk. “I’ve been writing for years, and yet nobody is interested in my stories. When I showed them my volumes, they turned their noses up at me, so I retreated into the forest so I could be alone.”

     The Weewoo looked at him expectantly.

     “Really, they’ll bore you,” said the lonely Krawk.

     The Weewoo stared back, unblinking.

     “Okay,” sighed the lonely Krawk.

     He read to the Weewoo late into the night, sharing his enthralling stories of his adventures on the high sea, the many wars he fought to save Faerieland, and the current tensions on Krawk Island. The Weewoo chirped and chimed along with him, fascinated by his many exciting tales. They fell asleep in the lonely Krawk's favourite armchair, their lantern burning until morning.

     But when the lonely Krawk awoke at dawn, he found himself alone again. He rubbed his eyes, searching for the Weewoo. Certainly, it must be hiding in his den. This was the first time he had shown his work to another creature. Did the Weewoo find him so loathsome that he escaped in the night?

     The lonely Krawk searched high and low for the Weewoo, but his treehouse was empty. He searched the forest, singing the Weewoo's mournful tune. All he heard in return was the sound of his own echo through the trees. By the time the sunset, he decided it was time to turn back.

     Once again, he was completely and utterly alone.

     Heartbroken, he retreated into his sleeping quarters. For days, the lonely Krawk could hardly lift pen to paper. The clouds greyed, and the lonely Krawk settled underneath his thick quilt, the sting of rejection on his heart once again.

     Days later, he heard a light scratch at the door. The lonely Krawk rolled over, ignoring the sound. He heard his door creak open. He sat up, alarmed. Who could be coming at this hour? After all, it was pouring rain. Nobody would visit, much less at this hour.

     A small shadow skittered across the den. And then another. And then another.

     The lonely Krawk unsheathed his sword, which was hanging in the hallway. He was prepared to chase away anyone looking to steal what little dubloons he had. He rounded the corner and leapt into the den, brandishing his sword and baring his teeth.

     The Weewoo stared back from in between two large piles of books, looking terrified.

     Then, another Weewoo popped its head out from under a heap of books piled near the fireplace. And another. And another.

     Five Weewoos toddled over to the lonely Krawk as he lowered his sword in apology. They gathered around his feet, chirping excitedly. He hadn’t been abandoned! His new friend had gone to find its family. The Weewoos flipped through pages of the lonely Krawk's work, absorbing his stories and adventures. The lonely Krawk was delighted to have the company, scurrying around the treehouse, making tea for the new family and running to the Warf Wharf for bags of seeds. Every time he left the treehouse, the Weewoos would scuttle together, as if they were sharing some kind of secret. And curiously, their brown colour started to fade.

     After two months, the not-so-lonely Krawk arrived home after lugging a particularly heavy bag of seeds home. The now-white Weewoo tugged at his pants with its beak, leading him into his sleeping quarters. It had been several nights since he had fallen asleep there since he usually stayed up late into the night, reading to the Weewoo family. A bulky item stood in the center of the room, covered by a blanket. The Weewoo hopped over to the mass, beckoning the not-so-lonely Krawk to unveil it. The not-so-lonely Krawk pulled the blanket to the floor to reveal a contraption made of twine, sticks, leaves, and squid ink pulled straight from the sea.

     The Weewoos had been working diligently on this surprise. To thank the not-so-lonely Krawk for giving them a warm home, they worked every night after the Krawk fell asleep to build a humble printing press for him. As they ventured to the sea every day to collect ink from the squids, the saltwater would fade their feathers until they became a snowy, salty white.

     The other Weewoos scuttled in and began to chirp excitedly.

     The not-so-lonely Krawk's eyes filled with tears.

     “For me?”

     The Weewoo crooned warmly.

     And from that moment, The Neopian Times was born.

     The not-so-lonely Krawk got to work. He took his many writings about Neopian history, current events, and his adventures on the high sea and got to work. The first issue was published, and the Weewoos used twine and leaves to tie the papers to their little ankles and flew to each home on Krawk Island to deliver them.

     The first morning the grumpy Krawk received his Neopian Times Issue #1, he nearly threw it in the trash. But something caught his eye: it was a story about him on the very front page — the story of how he lost his leg in the Battle for Faerieland and the young Krawk that pulled him from the wreckage after his ship crashed into the Wheel of Excitement. Something about that young Krawk was so familiar … he had to keep reading.

     All the townsfolk were captivated by the first issue of The Neopian Times. They asked the now-white Weewoos who was behind crafting such insightful and entertaining stories. The Weewoos scampered away, off to deliver their next paper.

     The inhabitants of Krawk Island began looking forward to each Neopian times issue — so much so that the rest of Neopia started to demand it, too. The now-white Weewoos began flying all over Neopia, and the paper’s reach expanded. Soon, the not-so-lonely Krawk began employing more writers offering to share their brilliant stories with the world. All the while, the not-so-lonely Krawk tenderly cared for the Weewoos as they built nests all over his treehouse.

     One day, there was a knock at the door. The not-lonely-at-all Krawk opened it to see the grumpy Krawk standing on his doorstep, looking apologetically.

     “The Weewoo told me. It was you who saved me that day.”

     The not-lonely-at-all Krawk nodded.

     “Welcome. Can I make you some tea?”

     The grumpy Krawk smiled and walked through the door.

     The End.