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poem, taking a line each.
    â€œSnick and Snock are very nice…
    â€¦Snock and Snick are mighty mice…
    â€¦Never mind how bad the weather…
    â€¦Both are always seen together…
    â€¦If you have reflexes quick…
    â€¦You can always pick out Snick…
    â€¦What a disappointing shock…
    â€¦To find it isn’t Snick…
    â€¦It’s Snock.”
    Gleefully they linked arms and danced enthusiastically to the words until they collapsed in a fit of giggling, which continued until Digger found his marching spectacles and the journey began. The deer mice each held a leg of Mouse’s pajamas and skipped happily beside him as the procession made its way along the tunnel, with Mouse brushing aside the tendrils that dangled from the roof in places. He was so interested in his new surroundings that he wasn’t watching the ground; his feet hit a tree root and he almost fell.
    â€œLook out…
    â€¦Mouse Mountain…
    â€¦before you…
    â€¦flatten us,” Snick and Snock screeched, dodging out of the way as Mouse, hands on the wall, regained his balance. Just in front of him, Podge’s sharp quills quivered with each step the porcupine took, and Mouse decided to be more careful; he had no desire to fall on that lot.
    Soon they arrived at an open space where many tunnels came together at a crossroads. A crosstunnels really, thought Mouse. An almost-bare signpost, its signs scattered in all directions, stood at the center of the clearing.
    â€œI guess your storm made it this far, Mouse,” said Alkus.
    Mouse was embarrassed. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “Can I put them back?”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” said Chuck. “It needed updating. My workers and I,” he sniffed proudly, “have dug several more tunnels whose signs weren’t even on the post yet.”
    Mouse picked up one of the signs. “Danger. Creepscreech’s Lair,” he read. “What’s a Creepscreech?” he asked.
    â€œNot a very nice character at all,” said Qwolsh.
    â€œSomeone to avoid at all cost,” said Alkus.
    â€œYes, indeed,” echoed Digger as he rummaged through the signs on the ground. “At all cost to be avoided. This in a foreign language seems to be,” he said, picking up one of the signs and holding it close to his face. Looks as though he’s smelling it, not spelling it, thought Mouse.
    â€œIt’s upside down, you daft mole,” said Alkus good-naturedly. “It says ‘ The Ancient Rhymer,’ and it used to point in that direction.” She indicated a passageway with her clipboard.
    â€œSure about that, are you?” asked Podge. “I thought…never mind. Very good. Right behind you,” he said, strolling ahead down the passageway. The others just shook their heads and followed. Digger fell in behind Mouse, muttering, “How odd. How very odd. Why would anybody want to paint a sign upside down?” In companionable silence, except for the chatter of the deer mice, they went on in single file until Mouse became aware of a faint voice in the distance, which got louder as they approached. The deep voice was speaking in a measured, singsong manner, and Mouse felt sure they had reached their destination.
    â€œIs that the Ancient Rhymer?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s him,” Alkus replied.
    The ground beneath their feet was littered with paper, and the pile got deeper the closer they got to the voice, which now seemed to be coming from just around the next corner. “Oh, my gosh,” said Mouse, looking at the mess. “Did I do all this with the wind?”
    â€œNo,” said Alkus. “I’m sure it didn’t reach this far.”
    â€œEven if it did,” said Chuck, “it wouldn’t make any difference to the Rhymer. His cave is even worse.”
    â€œWe were lost…
    â€¦for three days…
    â€¦in