A Weewoo's Journey

     It wasn’t just his feathers that made the Weewoo stand out from his siblings. He wasn’t content to lounge around the island, letting out the haunting cry in the night that gave the Weewoos their name. He spent his nights staring at the midnight sea and pinpricks of light in the sky, wondering what else was out there. He knew there was no way to find out. Weewoos could fly, but not far; without even a glimpse of land, he doubted he would be able to make it to even another island. He wanted to explore the world and report on everything he found, and he never thought it would be possible – not until the storm.

     Krawk Island was no stranger to a rough storm. The summer months were full of them, ranging from a downpour that ended in a minute to nights of strong winds battering the houses and ripping up the palm trees. This storm was unlike any other. The wind howled louder than a Werelupe, picking up the sand and clouding the vision of anyone who dared to go outside. The ships in the harbour succumbed to the waves, pirate flags that used to fly proudly tattered and sinking. The low beaches had already started to be engulfed, creating a new shoreline.

     The Weewoo hadn’t planned on being out in the storm – who would plan to be in the deadliest storm in the known history of Krawk Island? The mayor had even opened up his mansion for all the residents – it was the highest and most fortified building on the whole island. The flock had already joined it with all the other Petpets of Little Nippers – but the Weewoo had been missed. They were making the trek and he got caught in a gust of wind, looking like a fluffy little cloud, a dot of peace in a grey and violent sky.

     “Weeeewoooo!” the flock cried, squawking and trying to get the attention of the shop owner, but there was nothing he could do. The white WeeWoo was already high in the sky, out of the reach of anyone without wings stronger than the hurricane.

     He tried to right himself, but it was useless – he had to give in to the wind and trust that an air faerie would take mercy and bless him. He flipped and turned, the tornado only lifting him higher and higher. Krawk Island became a tiny dot in the distance. He could see – though blurry – different lands of Neopia. So this is what it looks like, he thought. As he tumbled about, he could catch little glimpses of faraway lands he had only ever dreamed of. There was an icy mountain, its peak looking close enough to touch. There was a dark patch of woods, despite the sunshine surrounding it. There were pyramids and… a giant hamburger? It was the last thing he remembered seeing before blacking out.

     When he awoke, it was on… another island. This was somewhat disappointing, though he was grateful he seemed undamaged. His feathers were ruffled, and he was a little sore from the impact, but he was whole – no broken bones, no patches. Maybe an air faerie had blessed him. He hopped up, digging his claws into this new sand. It was much softer and lighter than the sand at Krawk Island, which was rough and coarse but good for making sandcastles. This sand had tiny grains that slipped and slid, difficult to gain purchase on. A wave lapped over his claws. It was warm, the water light, a stark contrast to the dark and choppy waves of Krawk Island. With no other clues and not another creature in sight, the Weewoo dusted himself off with a shake of his feathers and marched down the beach. His adventure had begun.

     ***

     It didn’t take long for the Weewoo to find a boardwalk. All he could think about was how different this island was – he was surrounded by brightly coloured buildings that boasted all sorts of flashing lights and games. Even the ships in the harbour were different – built for speed, for only a few passengers, with pale blue sails that mirrored the hue of the ocean and sky. The dominant species that seemed to populate this island were Blumaroos. While a few others were playing games and winning prizes, they were clearly tourists. Blumaroos were at the helm of every tent and bounced around with the confidence of someone who called the island home. It reminded the Weewoo of the permanent pirates – the ones that had given up sailing and spent their time on Krawk Island, facilitating shady deals.

     It occurred to the Weewoo then that he was very small, and this was a very big island. Adventure had sounded like a lot of fun – until he got hungry, until he got lost. His stomach gave a loud gurgle, something he was sure the Blumaroos nearby heard.

     Food. He would have to find food. He could smell delicious pastries, funnel cakes, and an aroma that was somewhat bitter but still called. His beak had never lead him astray before. He dodged between all the springy tails, the stomping feet, and the loud noises, becoming a little overwhelmed. It wasn’t as if Krawk Island hadn’t been noisy, but it was a different kind of busy.

     It felt like he had travelled the length of Krawk Island twice over before he found the source of the delicious smell. His wings and feet were tired, sore from the impact of the storm and now all the walking he had done – he hadn’t had the energy to fly. What he wouldn’t give to cuddle up with the other Weewoos and melt into their down! He nestled under the window, his stomach growling as the smells of sweet baked goods and milky beverages grew stronger. How would he ask? Did the Blumaroos here know how to talk to a Weewoo? He was shy, and afraid of these strangers. It was a lot to take in in one day.

     He watched the different patrons of the shop go in and out, noting what they ordered, and what they were talking about. It was almost like a type of reporting – he created little headlines for the more interesting snippets. Roos Lose their Minds Over Jelly Dice. Or maybe Count Roo – Fact, Fiction, Fangs. There was a goldmine of material here. He was starting to doze off, still hungry but mostly tired, when a sweet Yellow Shoyru approached him.

     “Hey, little guy,” she said, murmuring comforting sounds. They reminded him a little bit of the momma Weewoos back home and the way they cooed to the babies. “You’re a Weewoo, aren’t you? You’re a long way from home. Are you hungry?”

     “Weewoo!” he said, nodding. She chuckled and tucked him into a pocket of her apron, a pink patchwork thing that he found cosy. She set him up in a little shelf on the back, finding a tiny cup to fill with a warm brown liquid. It smelled vaguely of asparagus. She also found a little cake and gave him half, taking the other half for herself and an iced tea.

     “What brings you all the way out here? As far as I know, Weewoos only live out on Krawk Island.”

     The Weewoo tried to explain with a series of chirps and hoots, but it was clear from the expression on her face that the kind Shoyru had no idea what he was saying. A brilliant idea hit him – he had learned to write the Neopian language when he was practising to be a reporter! Plucking a feather out of his wing (it would grow back), he reached for paper and began to frantically scribble, using his hot borovan as ink. It was messy – a Weewoo’s claws weren’t meant for gripping a quill – but he got the message across. About the storm, how he’d always wanted to explore, how he wanted to see the world and report on it.

     “Ahh, a reporter!” The Shoyru chuckled to herself. “I think I have just the place for you.” She went to finish helping some other customers as he finished his meal, then closed up shop when he was satisfied. “Come on, I’m going to take you someplace very special.” It had started to get dark, and the Weewoo was comforted by how the sky had the same stars as back home.

     This time she let him ride on her shoulder as she made her way down a secret staircase underground. Despite being a cave system, it was strangely cosy. Torches lit the way with soft flames, and faint jazz music could be heard in the distance. Various tunnels seemed to lead to different creative activities. It was at the very end of this catacomb that the Shoyru stopped, knocking a complicated pattern on the heavy wooden door. Whoever was on the other side approved and let her in.

     “What do we have here? I wasn’t expecting a coffee run this late.” It was a young Blue Aisha speaking, rapidly writing something in her notebook.

     “Not a coffee run!” said the Shoyru. “I had a brilliant idea. I know you all were looking for a mascot for that new paper you’re running. Well, I found him!” She swooped the Weewoo off her shoulder and presented him with a flourish. “He’s a sweet little guy. I think the storm earlier swept him in all the way from Krawk Island. But he’s adorable, and smart to boot. Look what he wrote!” She shook the paper he had written on at the Aisha, who paused her own scribbling to examine it. “He wants to see the world! Be a reporter! And I’ve never seen a white Weewoo before. I think he’d be perfect for the Neopian Times.”

     “Hmm.” The Aisha scratched her ears and gave the Weewoo a long look. “He is pretty cute. I’ll have to run it by with the other editors… but I think he’d be a great fit.” She took him from the Shoyru and cooed at him. “Wouldn’t you?”

     It didn’t take long for the other editors to approve of the Weewoo’s addition to the team. Not only was he going to be the mascot for the hottest newspaper in all of Neopia, he was going to be a regular reporter to boot. His first assignment was to report on the storm at Krawk Island, where he was able to reassure everyone that he was okay. He was living his wildest dreams! Days full of exploration and nights fueled by coffee and friends, all working to meet a deadline. In time, he’d see the highest peaks of Terror Mountain to the darkest depths of Maraqua. He couldn’t be happier.

     And all it had taken was a little storm.

     The End.