She is no bigger than a whisper
but rides like thunder.

She is the head of the mischievous ones.
They follow her lead,
her loud squeak splitting the air.

They fight great dragons with whiskers,
escape deadly traps baited with cheese,
laugh in the shadows of giants.

They are a kinship scattered across the world,
a hidden nation beneath floorboards and fields.

And she, their leader,
will travel to the darker side of the meadow
to feast on fruits and stolen grains,
then slip into gilded hideouts
to taste the most expensive plates.

Small, yes.
But never powerless.