The weasel was curled up in a small hollow, allowing the gentle glow of the mosses around them to wash over them. With eyes narrowed almost to closed and their body curled up into a circular formation, the weasel might look asleep to the untrained eye. small breaths caused their emaciated side to slowly rise and fall, the end of their tail vaguely twitching in the only sign of life.

The green hue of the weasel's fur had deepened, the light that fell upon them slowly giving way into warmth and energy, that slowly nourished them. As the energy flowed through them, the weasel felt almost at loathe to leave the warmth, but the last traces of sleep had long since left. They wanted to milk the light that fell upon them for all it was worth, though, and so they remained. Listening, awake, impatient... until finally, the stillness got too much, and the tiny creature rolled onto their belly, and onto their feet.

They shook scraps of dust from their fur and stretched.

"Speech."