The Road to the Republic

A Republic Bedtime Story

As the sun dipped below the velvet hills of the Republic, the air grew still. Sophia stood high upon the plush ramparts, gazing into the horizon. She did not bark. She did not move. She simply waited—ears forward, heart steady.

Far beyond the borders of the Republic, Moo Moo trudged quietly through the soft wilderness of the postal plains. A crumpled map lay before her, lines tangled with mystery. The stars blinked above, and though she was brave, she felt the weight of solitude. There was no one to moo to.

She whispered to herself:

“The Republic will be kind. I just have to get there.”

Somewhere else—miles and dreams apart—Rainbow galloped through fading sunlight, leaving flecks of color in her wake. Her eyes shimmered with wonder, but sometimes, when the skies grew dim, even her light flickered. She missed the sound of voices. She missed the feeling of being seen.

Back in the Republic, Wendell practiced his stealth in silence—leaping softly from pillow to rug, whispering words in languages only the ancestors knew. His training was a ritual now.

“I must be ready when they arrive,” he thought.

Buff and Bobo sat near the fire, sharing gentle stories about the two who were still on their way.

“I heard Moo Moo grazes only upon the finest pastures,” said Bobo.
“I heard Rainbow invented the double rainbow,” whispered Buff.

No one had seen them.
But everyone could feel them.

And Sophia—ever vigilant, ever loyal—turned her head slightly to the wind.

“They’re getting closer,” she said.

And so, the Republic rested.
Some journeys are long.
Some travelers are alone.
But all are moving toward something beautiful.

Goodnight, world.
The Republic dreams of arrivals.