Sun Mote Copse of the changes it will confront,

A casualty had transpired overnight in Weejay's garden.

Dumbstruck by the destruction, Weejay let the bundle of dandelion leaves slip from her muzzle; they fell in little featherlike arcs, fluttering mutely down to the grass.

Her garden looked as if an elephant had traipsed through it. Her poppies were cropped and chewed down the the bare dirt; her string of ivy had been uprooted and dragged over to her mountain lilies, its leaves chewed to bits. The beargrass and basalmroot clippings she had saved for refreshing her grandparent's graves had been razed down to the stem -- destruction in every sense of the word.

"NO!" Weejay wailed, buckling to her belly with a soft cry as tears of frustration stung her eyes. "No... no... ". Who -- or what -- had razed Weejay's garden?