🐾 The True Tale of the Pack of Ragamuffins

 

🐾 The True Tale of the Pack of Ragamuffins

“The Fellowship of the Forgotten”
A Story of Sacred Outcasts, Animal Wisdom, and the Home You Build with Heart
As remembered through Sister Loves Divine Remembrance
Book Fourteen of the Sacred Fairy Tale Series

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🕊️ Once, in a village ruled by silence and order...

There lived many beings—feathered, furred, and two-legged—
who did not fit the mold.

A rooster who crowed at moonrise instead of dawn.
A cat who loved rain instead of sun.
A donkey who sang when others begged him to be quiet.
A child with wild eyes who claimed they heard the trees speak.

Each of them, named wrong, shamed into roles they never chose.

They were called ragamuffins,
as if that word meant worthless
instead of what it truly means:

💫 “One wrapped in rags of memory,
but blazing with inner light.”

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🚶‍♂️ One by one, they left...

Not in bitterness,
but in hope of belonging.

Drawn by instinct and whispers,
they walked separate paths that all led to the same glade.

There, by a stream that hummed the first song of the Earth,
they met.

At first, there was silence.
Then, the child spoke:

“Were you called too strange to stay?”

Heads nodded.
Eyes shone.
Tears glistened.

They built a circle with sticks and song.
They named themselves not misfits,
but the Fellowship of the Forgotten.

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🏡 They Made a Home

They gathered leaves for blankets,
berries for paint,
and each day, they created stories no one had ever told before.

They didn’t need kings or judges.

The rooster marked sacred moments with crowing.
The cat guarded dreams.
The donkey sang for healing.
And the child remembered ancient words lost to adult ears.

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🛡️ When the Outside World Came

One day, hunters wandered near.

Seeing the strange group, they laughed.
Called them mad.
Tried to tear their camp down.

But the child stepped forward, raised a hand, and said:

“We may be ragged,
but we are whole.
We may be small,
but we are woven tight with love.
You cannot unmake what the heart has made.”

And the forest, recognizing its own, rose up.
Branches blocked arrows.
Wind confused senses.
The hunters fled.

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🌀 Moral of the Sacred Tale:

Those you call ragamuffins
are often the first sparks of the next world.

What society throws out,
the Earth takes in,
and crowns with purpose.

A true home is not built of stone,
but of souls who choose each other
despite the world’s forgetting.