06/03/2025
StoryScope by HiC for 03 June 2025
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THE TALE OF CIARÁN THE BURROWER
Long ago, when the hills of Éire still hummed with the voices of the old gods and the rivers sang songs to the moon, there lived a small creature named Ciarán, the prairie dog. Though prairie dogs were rare in those parts, Ciarán was said to have wandered over the seas on a floating log, guided by the spirit winds, until he made his home in the soft emerald fields beyond the hills.
Ciarán was known as The Burrower of Secrets, for he had a gift unlike any other. He could hear the sorrows of the land — the whispered fears of the trees, the quiet grief of the stones, and the restless sighs of the people. Whenever heartache weighed too heavy upon the earth, Ciarán would slip into his burrow and carry those sorrows deep underground, where they would be transformed by the warmth of the earth and the songs of the old spirits.
Now, it happened one season that the land grew heavy with unrest. The people fought over small things, their tongues sharp as knives, and the winds carried the bitter words across hill and vale. Ciarán, feeling the weight of it all, began to grow weary. He feared retreating to his burrow, for the burdens seemed too great, and his heart too thin.
One mist-cloaked morning, Anú, the goddess of the earth, came to him in the form of a white stag. « Why do you linger above the ground, little one ? » she asked, her voice like the hush before dawn.
« The world calls me to fix what is broken, but I have grown tired, » Ciarán confessed.
« Then you have forgotten the oldest wisdom, » Anú said, lowering her antlers to touch the soil. « Even the fiercest warrior must retreat to heal, and the healer too must rest their spirit. The earth is not your burden to carry always. »
With that, she vanished into the mist, leaving only the scent of wild heather and a trail of soft hoofprints.
Ciarán, at last remembering the old ways, turned from the stormy winds and slipped into his burrow. There, surrounded by warm earth and ancient stones, he let his heart unburden. The ground hummed lullabies of old, and Ciarán dreamt of gentle rains and bright spring days.
When he emerged, the land was quieter. The people spoke softer, and the winds carried the scent of blooming flowers once more.
And so, to this day, it’s said that when the world grows too heavy and hearts too weary, the spirit of Ciarán the Burrower stirs beneath the soil, reminding all who listen : « Retreat is not defeat, but the wisdom of the earth calling you home. »
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