American Pika — Pip the Squeaky Prophet

American Pika — Pip the Squeaky Prophet

You’re high on the edge of a gravel bluff, where the rocks hum with leftover sun. The medallion glints from between two stones—warm, round, waiting. You touch it.

“EEP! YOU!”

A fuzzy blur rockets up onto a nearby ledge. She’s half a paw tall, ears twitching like question marks.

“Finally! Finally finally finally!” she says, bouncing in place. “Do you know how long I’ve been squeaking into the void?! Months! Maybe years!”

You take a slow step.

“I’m Pip,” she says with an eye-roll so aggressive she nearly tips over. “Don’t say it’s cute. Everyone says it’s cute. I could have been Tempestra! The Whisper of the Peaks! But noooo. ‘Pip’ is easier to embroider on blankets.”

You bite your tongue.

“It’s hot,” she adds, flattening dramatically. “I was made for snow. Now it’s sweat and tourists and snakes. This isn’t nature, it’s a sauna with predators.”

You crouch beside the medallion. “What happens if I find all of them? All the medallions?”

She freezes. Then grins.

“Easy. You ascend.”

You blink. “What?”

“You become the Beacon. The Listener of Mammals. You get a crown made of antlers and moss. All creatures will follow your wisdom. Even the moles. Even the weasels.”

“That’s… a lot.”

“I bet the marmot ten acorns it’s true,” Pip says proudly. “He says you’ll just unlock a secret subway map. But he also thinks clouds are edible, so.”

She puffs up her chest. “And if I win, I get his sun-rock. Premium lounging real estate.”

She zips a few circles around you, then pauses. “Okay, I’m hungry and my feet are too warm and I need to go yell at some moss.”

A pause.

“But hey. If you do become Queen of Critters or whatever, remember who believed in you first. Pip. Not cute. Prophetic.”

Then she squeaks once, wiggles her ears like punctuation, and vanishes between two rocks.