The problem is that said tweaking would take up quite a lot of time. If you read most in-game-posts here, you'll notice how there is a lot of referring and replying to other characters. So basically, tweaking the story would be the same as rewriting it and filling in the gaps where other people reacted. Tricky business.
Here's the initial post though:
The long blades of grass that made up the field softly rocked back and forth in the light breeze of this summer night. Harebells softly tinkled as they were touched by the wind, audible only by the animals gathered on this summer-eve’s feast. They were all quiet now, enjoying each-other’s company in invigorating silence. Mrs. Fieldmouse relived the earlier festivities, sitting in the arms of her husband. One of the few caterpillars lay back against a big leaf and lazily munched the last piece of Mrs. Fieldmouse’s grain-pie. The ladybugs had all inserted their legs and lay dreaming peacefully, their red jackets buttoned tightly around them.
Paul the vole stood near the tin foil shutter of a milk-bottle and poked the burning cigarette that lay on it with his stick. Looking up he could see the smoke curling skywards, blending into the night. He marveled at the forms and patterns being displayed in the dim light. Sighing deeply he sat down and warmed his little hands by holding them near the fire. It wasn’t very often that they held a feast like this, and now the end was near, the cigarette almost burned completely. How they had eaten and danced to the cricket-music. Then the night had come and fire-flies had lit the open space in the field. The old black beetle had told his tales and they had lit the cigarette when the fire-flies dozed off.
What a night to remember.
It was then that amidst his drowsy memories he heard a soft sobbing.
Somebody was crying.
Paul the Vole looked around to the other animals. They were all lost in their own thoughts or sleeping contently. As far as he could see, he was the only one who had heard the soft sobs. Had he been dreaming? He listened intensely.
Yes, there it was.
Under the loud snores of the dung-beetle (who had his own place far from the other animals) he could clearly hear a soft crying. It came from the south trail that lead through the field. Not to wake the other animals he tip-toed away from the light of the cigarette. He left the small clearing where their feast had been and blended with the shadows that the long grass cast down. As quick as he could Paul scurried down the path until he came to a second clearing.
A big puddle of water reflected the bright moon and the stars around it, giving the water a silver hue. Several fire-flies danced above the surface, ignorantly lighting up in green, red and yellow colours. But it was not this that caught Paul’s attention.
Near the puddle sat a small faery, wrapped in a dandelion leaf. Her face was buried in her hands and shook slightly as soft sobs erupted from within. Her blue see-through wings hung down sadly. Paul felt a lump growing in his throat as he looked at her from behind a big blade of grass. She had not noticed him yet. Should he go to her?
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
Return to Charadun - Recr
That guy looks waaaay too happy to be vomiting, by the way... just saying. 
We've missed you terribly, you know?
