They sat by the table, like they did almost everyday for the past… years? Wow, time sure has passed, hasn’t it?

Meryl the Mole sure didn’t felt any old. Time did not affect them like it affected flesh beings. Physically, I mean. But they sure could feel the passage of time. Their thoughts getting slower, yet sharpier. Their movements getting weakier, yet more controlled. Their heart - oh, Graces, who could have said? - getting SOFTIER. And all because of that silly bum, that somehow made them not an inventor, not an automata, but a… friend.

He was older now, Meryl thought. Hard to believe this once was an annoying prick of a young man, invading private propierty and self-proclaiming sleepover and friendships.

Well… guess he only got older.

Graces, sometimes he could still be really annoying. But he was undeniably a good company. Meryl was proud of him. Proud of how he had evolved, from an inconsequent adventurer to a wise wanderer (most of that evolution could be atributted to the hours they spent studying through Meryl’s vast library, covering the most assorted topics, from history to botanica, from magic to mechanica). Hoho, some could say he was even a little bit SMART.

Meryl the Mole trully liked their good friend, Mr. Rabbit.

That was why their heart was aching so much when they asked, in a forced casual tone:

“so… when do you leave?”

“As soon as possible, if I want to find my journey in conditions of prevailment.”

“are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Yes. In fact, I have calculated that this is, precisely, the only exact time of the year this a GOOD IDEA.”

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