The midday sun beat down on N'Djamena, Chad, turning the city into a shimmering mirage. Perched precariously on a power line was a tiny kingfisher, Skibidi, his emerald feathers ruffled in distress. Unlike his brethren, whose calls echoed with a sharp, vibrant "kee-kee," Skibidi's attempts came out as a pathetic mewling.

"Ohio, Ohio," he whimpered, his beak barely parting. "This mewing is ridiculous! How am I supposed to impress a mate like this?"

A deep, gravelly voice rumbled from below. "Mewing? Is that what all this racket is about?"

Skibidi craned his neck down to see a magnificent tuatara, Sigma, basking on a nearby rock. Sigma, easily

the oldest creature Skibidi knew, was rumored to have witnessed the rise and fall of empires.

"It's supposed to improve my jawline," Skibidi mumbled, feeling a flush creep up his nonexistent neck.

Sigma chuckled, a sound like rustling leaves. "Ah, the follies of youth. In my time, strength came from hunting, not... mewing."

Just then, a sleek, black darkling beetle landed on the power line beside Skibidi. "Mewing, eh? Sounds like a waste of mandibles to me." This was Gyatt, a notorious scavenger with a sardonic wit.

Skibidi bristled. "It's all the rage amongst the younger mewing kingfishers! Supposedly makes you look

more... distinguished."

Gyatt snorted. "Distinguished? You look like a fish gasping for air. Here's a tip, little one: confidence is the best jawline enhancer there is."

Skibidi considered this. He'd always admired Gyatt's fearlessness, the way he could navigate the bustling city with such purpose. Maybe this mewing nonsense was just that - nonsense.

"Perhaps you're right," Skibidi said, puffing up his chest. "Maybe I don't need to mew to be impressive."

Suddenly, a flash of turquoise caught his eye. A female mewing kingfisher, her feathers shimmering like sapphires, landed on the line beside him.

"Skibidi," she chirped, her voice a melody. "I heard your 

call. It's... different."