Gorgox in Search of Socks

Young Gorgox and the rest of his clan live down the path past the end of the garden and into the woods, just past the Feezle encampment.

Here in Strangeland the weather has been unseasonably warm causing the heaps of snow to quickly transform into trickling streams cutting deeply through the thick ice. The poor creatures who hibernate in little mounded piles under the woodland earth have been woken rudely by soggy cold pillows and sloshy bed socks as the icy waters rise in their tiny dens.

Gorgox was no exception and wandered up up to the house this morning seeking refuge and warm dry socks. Naturally, I let him in but as I peeked out the window I saw he was followed by a menagerie of other mound dwelling denizens, some quite cranky and disgruntled. As I feared I will have a house full of soggy cold woodlanders soon, perhaps you might make room for a wet waif.

3.5 inches tall from above his teefies to curly tail tip. Made of wool through and through by the needle felting method which requires a specially barbed and sharp needle, nerves of steel and a big hank of fluffy combed wool. A bajillion pokes later, as if by magic the creatures form takes shape.