The sun lay low in the sky, casting long dramatic shadows onto the unassuming rocky outcrop beneath it. Parents were calling their children in for the night, and quiet was slowly beginning to embrace the village. They kept their homes well hidden in rocky holes beneath the shrubs in the flat lands, safe from the sun and most dangers.
There were no stories of it's history or the founding of the village. It was plain and unremarkable. Nobody would be telling tall tales of a couple of measly rodent filled holes in the ground, and they liked it that way, out of sight and out of mind, and while children were being tucked in for the night, some were being roused from their day sleep, washing their paws for their breakfast of worms and weevils.
The mice and jerboas (or jumpers) happily shared their living quarters together for many years. While the mice rose during the day and the jumpers at night, there were always wary eyes on the village, and while the two tribes were together, none of them slept with their backs unguarded or unprotected.
So all was peaceful. Mostly.
"Give it back!"
"What's the fuss Flitz, they're just sticks."
"No they're not!" She protested. "They're perfect sticks!"
"Perfect for what?"
"I told you it's a secret! Now give them back!"
She hopped after her much larger assailants fruitlessly. "GIVE THEM BACK OR I'LL TELL MY GRANMA!"
"Go ahead tell you granma, you lousy tattletale!"
Flits shook her fist furiously, tears welling in her eyes out of frustration. She didn't want to be a tattletale, but she wanted her sticks back! It was so unfair! "Please just give them back." She tried a more diplomatic approach.
"No! Not until you tell us what they're for!"
They were going around in circles.