“No,” said Lala. “I’m the same weasel. But I learned that ‘wicked’ is just speed without kindness. And speed without kindness runs in circles—fast, but going nowhere.”
One autumn, a famine crept through the forest. The nut stores ran low. Berries shriveled. The stream shrank to a trickle. The animals gathered in the clearing, frightened and hungry. lala wicked weasel
In the heart of the Whispering Woods, there lived a weasel named Lala. She had the silkiest coat and the brightest eyes, but her heart was a knot of thorns. The other animals called her “wicked” for good reason. “No,” said Lala