Rufus

Rufus would like to make one thing perfectly clear: he is not a rhymer. He has never been a rhymer. And if words happen to line up in a pleasing rhythm, that is purely accidental… mostly… maybe.

The trouble is, every time Rufus speaks, his sentences tumble out with a musical bounce. Conversations turn into playful poetry before he even realizes what’s happening. His friends giggle, and Rufus groans dramatically — though his eyes sparkle with mischief.

He tries very hard to speak plainly. Truly, he does. But somehow his thoughts dance like fireflies, pairing themselves into rhymes that feel too fun to ignore. Even silence around Rufus seems to hum with rhythm.

Despite his protests, Rufus secretly enjoys the laughter he inspires. He believes joy should surprise you — like stepping in a puddle and discovering it splashes sunshine instead of water.

At night, when the pasture grows quiet, Rufus whispers tiny rhymes to the stars. Just between him and the sky, of course. He’d never admit it… but rhythm feels like home.