Maybe there's actually a mole living inside you

"So

summer is the best!" the rabbit said, hopping along ahead.

The fox and the beaver exchanged a glance and shook their heads with a smile.

"Yesterday, while you were gnawing on fruit, you said autumn was the best," the beaver said.

"Because I'm always changing," the rabbit said with perfect confidence, ears twitching. "My outlook is very flexible!"

"All right, all right," the fox sighed. "If you say it's the best, then it's the best."

"Don't be so unconvinced," the rabbit said without turning around, one long ear swiveling toward the fox. "Just look at the scenery here, and you'll see I have a point."

The little stream leapt and flowed along, its water singing a light, cheerful song. The grass by the bank was a bright, clean green, dotted with clumps of small white flowers. The low hill was covered in a fuzzy layer of green that met the clear blue sky in the distance. Sunlight slanted down, swaying gently in the wind.

The fox twitched his ears and took a deep breath. The breath of early summer flowed through the fox's whole body, and every pore felt as refreshed as if he had rolled in fresh green grass.

"Summer really is nice," the fox nodded.

"Wow,

when did such a big patch of flowers bloom here!" The rabbit had already tossed the argument about seasons out of his mind. "Come quick, come look!"

On a rather abrupt-looking large rock, a layer of gentle plants had taken hold, blooming with big, big blue flowers that hung down like a vivid little waterfall.

"They're blue," the beaver ran over and carefully touched the petals. "You rarely see blue flowers. I only remember seeing larkspur last year, and that was blue too. Fox, you've traveled to so many places, you've seen blue flowers too, right?"

The fox nodded and walked up as well. "Mm, I saw them when I crossed the plateau, great swaths of blue and purple flowers, though not this big. It was probably around this time last year..."

The fox stopped.

"What's wrong?" The rabbit leaned in to sniff the big flowers spread over the whole surface, mouth still busy. "Did you remember something?"

The fox's mouth gave a slight twitch. "I remembered a Pallas's cat I met last year, probably around this time too. A round, fluffy big cat."

"What about the Pallas's cat?" the rabbit asked.

"Nothing really..." The fox shook his head. "The Pallas's cat had four little short legs and always lay in its burrow planning to ambush something. He looked chubby, so you'd think he was an optimist, but he said he was very lonely. And I thought so too, he did seem very lonely."

The bea

ver nodded, fingers slowly brushing over the petals. The rabbit laughed. "Why does looking chubby make you feel like someone should be an optimist? The mole isn't very optimistic either."

The fox was startled for a moment. "Just a feeling..."

"Then should thin ones look depressed?" the rabbit said. "Doctor Badger doesn't look depressed either."

"Doctor Badger looks very spirited." The fox didn't know how the topic had gotten here. "Maybe it's a feeling, that chubby ones should always be happy and cheerful?"

"That makes no sense." The rabbit turned back and leaned toward the flowers again. "Isn't that right, little flowers? Oh no, I mean big flowers, look how big these petals are. What flower is this?"

"I think it should be Jackman's clematis." The beaver scratched his nose, seeming not very sure. "It should be."

"Learned that from the mole's books again?" the rabbit teased.

"I bought some myself too." The beaver was a little embarrassed. "I want to learn more about plants. After all, I live with plants all the time."

"It's over, you've been infected by the mole." The rabbit pursed his lips. "Another bookworm. Well then, tell us about it."

"Mm

..." The beaver thought for a moment, then pinched one of the clematis petals. "For example, look at this, it's actually not a petal."

"Not a petal?" The rabbit leaned in to look. "No matter how you look at it, it's a petal."

"This is actually the flower's sepal," the beaver explained. "The sepals of most flowers are green, pointed, and sit under the flower holding it up. You must have seen them."

The fox thought about it and nodded.

The rabbit blinked. "I guess that really is the case."

"This clematis has no petals, so the sepals have taken on the appearance of petals. What you call petals are actually sepals," the beaver said.

"So it's just a fake flower then." The rabbit pursed his lips. "Though it does look like a real one."

"You can't really call it a fake flower..." The beaver scratched his head, a little unsure how to explain. "It's still a real flower..."

"Ugh, so troublesome." The rabbit waved his hand. "It looks like a petal, so just call it a petal."

The fox's expression suddenly froze.

"Stri

ctly speaking, you can't call it a petal..." The beaver waved his hand. "Petals have a clear definition. It's not a petal, it's a sepal..."

"Just call it a petal." The rabbit pursed his lips. "It looks like a petal anyway, no need to be so precise..."

"But you still need to be precise..." the beaver retorted in despair. "Mm... for example, we saw an orchid mantis last year. She looks like an orchid, but she's not an orchid either."

"A little flower with a monkey face isn't a monkey either," the fox said quietly.

The rabbit and the beaver stopped and looked at the fox with some surprise.

"Why say that all of a sudden?" The rabbit's ears went stiff, and he asked softly.

The fox suddenly stood up, took two steps, then sat down again. "I remembered a plant I once came across, called the monkey-face orchid. It's a kind of orchid, but its petals come together to look like a monkey's face."

The beaver nodded. "I've seen it in books. It really does look like one."

"Your voice sounds a little strange." The rabbit asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

The fox gently shook his head. "I was just thinking about what you said. You said if it looks like a petal, just call it a petal. I remembered when I came across the monkey-face orchid. At that time I was confused, I couldn't figure out who I was."

"You're a fox," the rabbit said, reaching out to touch the fox's forehead. "You don't have a fever, do you? Should we go see Doctor Badger?"

The beaver looked at the fox with a worried expression, tightly clutching a piece of bark in his hand.

"Mm

"I don't have a fever." The fox gave a light smile, but his expression was a little odd. "I think maybe I'm not a fox. Foxes are all solitary, but I'm very afraid of being lonely. I've traveled so far, searching and searching, just wanting to find a place where I won't be lonely."

The fox sighed. "A fox shouldn't be like this. How can I know that I'm a fox?"

"But you..." The rabbit stamped his foot. "You are a fox."

"Mm... yes." The fox nodded and sighed. "Every animal I've met says I'm a fox. But what if I'm like the clematis sepal, looking like a petal but actually not one? What if I only look like a fox but actually am not one?"

"If you're not a fox... then what would you be?" The rabbit circled around the fox. "Could you be a mole? Disguised this well?"

The rabbit burst out laughing, and the beaver gave a short laugh too. The fox grinned, but the smile didn't linger, it just slid off his face.

"I know, my appearance is a fox no matter how you look at it." The fox gave a soft sigh. "But what about inside? If inside I'm not a fox, maybe I'm a wild goose, or a capybara, or a wolf? How can you tell from the surface?"

The rabbit's brows knitted together. He thought for a while, then stamped his foot hard. "You're right. Maybe inside you're a mole."

"Yeah, maybe so." The fox shook his head. "But what do I have to do to know who I really am? Where do I have to go to find the self inside me?"

The beaver slowly walked over and handed him a piece of fruit.

The fox gave a slight nod, took the fruit, held it in his mouth, and said nothing.

The beaver gazed at the fox, looking straight into his eyes.

"So..." the beaver said slowly, "are you... going to leave?"

The rabbit's eyes suddenly went wide, and a big teardrop spilled out.

The fox slowly lowered his head. "I don't know either."

"I really don't know," the fox said softly.

The beaver patted the fox on the shoulder and gave a long sigh.

To be continued