In the sun-baked, sand-swept expanse of the Great Plains, the jerboa clans found themselves locked in a conflict as absurd as it was devastating. What began as a heated debate over the proper preparation of dew-drop nectar—some preferring it chilled, others insisting on a lukewarm, slightly fermented brew—had escalated into the First Great Jerboa Civil War. Lines were drawn not by ancient grudges, but by the subtle twitch of a nose or the length of a leaping bound, with the fiercely traditionalists of the South facing off against the free-spirited North. Battles were a chaotic ballet of enthusiastic hops and, (surprisingly) devastating barrages of rocket fire, punctuated by the high-pitched squeaks of indignation and the occasional dramatic flop into a conveniently placed sand dune. Yet, beneath the undeniable senselessness of their squabbles lay a genuine and heartfelt conviction, for even the smallest of creatures could find grand principles to fight, kill, and die for…