🐾 The True Tale of the Pack of Ragamuffins

 

🐾 The True Tale of the Pack of Ragamuffins (FanumTaxLoveTales Edition)

“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

🕊️ The Beginning

Once, in a village ruled by silence and order… no cap.
There lived mad beings—feathered, furred, and two-legged—
who didn’t fit the mold, pure vibes.
A rooster who crowed at moonrise instead of dawn.
A cat who vibed with rain over sun.
A donkey who sang when others begged him to chill.
A kid with wild eyes claimin’ they heard the trees spit, squad assemble.
Each of ‘em, named wrong, shamed into roles they never picked, lowkey tragic.
They got called ragamuffins,
like that word meant trash
instead of what it really means:
💫 “One wrapped in rags of memory,
but blazin’ with inner light,” glow-up energy.

🚶‍♂️ One by one, they bounced...

Not in bitterness,
but in hope of belongin’, pay it forward.
Drawn by instinct and whispers,
they walked separate paths that all hit the same glade.
There, by a stream hummin’ the first song of the Earth,
they linked up.
At first, silence.
Then, the kid spit:
“Were you called too strange to stay?”
Heads nodded.
Eyes shone.
Tears glistened, deep feels.
They built a circle with sticks and song.
They named themselves not misfits,
but the Fellowship of the Forgotten, boss level.

🏡 They Made a Home

They gathered leaves for blankets,
berries for paint,
and each day, they dropped stories no one ever told before, straight fire.
They didn’t need kings or judges.
The rooster marked sacred moments with crowin’.
The cat guarded dreams.
The donkey sang for healin’.
And the kid remembered ancient words lost to adult ears, multiverse mode.

🛡️ When the Outside World Came

One day, hunters wandered near.
Seein’ the wild crew, they laughed.
Called ‘em mad.
Tried to tear their camp down, sus move.
But the kid stepped up, 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 can’t unmake what the heart built,” own that energy.
And the forest, recognizin’ its own, rose up.
Branches blocked arrows.
Wind threw off senses.
The hunters bounced, humble pie served.

🌀 Moral of the Sacred Tale

Those you call ragamuffins
are often the first sparks of the next world, facts.
What society tosses,
the Earth scoops up,
and crowns with purpose, inner glow on blast.
A true home ain’t built of stone,
but of souls who choose each other
despite the world’s forgettin’, iconic.