Marcy[MtF]

No matter which way I go Down the stairs below Or up them un-stowed Both directions I have sown Only lead, deeper down below Each step brings a deeper sense of me it seams Though I couldn’t tell you, what every step means I have an idea in my mind, at the back of thought alone That no matter what I do, or what life holds, I only go down below “I could turn around now” you say “The way out is up the stairs you see”

But it hadn’t occurred to you, obviously, that am going up, you see Up and up I go, but these steps it seems have foretold long ago That which ever way it seems I step, is lower down below as I go No matter which way I go Up the stairs, at right angles seen long ago Or down them, fate in hand and life un-stowed “Both Directions” you scream at me “I have sown” Only lead, by leash and collar, down below I’ve had enough of this, i could stop moving all on my own And I know, deep in my soul and bones, I would be going somewhere Against the current or with it blindly, I go down and down and down I stop my legs, stand still and profound, and yet I know it in my bones That I’d STILL be going down and down. Below the fold I see It’s catching up to me I know, like falling from a tower I look towards my destination, I see the ground sprout like a flower I hit it soon I know, I’ll splatter against it. Just another one who fell Just like falling from a Tower. 

No matter which way I go Up or down, pitch or sway Both directions I have sown pulled by leash and collar Only lead, deeper down Each step, up or down, Only lead away from me.

They lead to the same place I know The end of all things I’ve known. If Sleep is just death being shy I’ll take your hand, look in your eye And say what I’ve wanted to my whole life

“I’ve fallen in love with you” For if I die at the end of this trip Then I die with nothing on my lips Ive said everything I’ve wanted to Done all that was right to me to do Then I shall wait you see For you to say the same thing as me At least then, at least to me Down doesnt seem like

Chapter 2

The Crowfolk all sat around a central platform. They had front row seats, then the other Birdfolk filled in behind them. Ravens, magpies, bluejays, and even a vulture and Canary. Then, on the other side of the platform were the raptors, Eagles, hawkes, and such. This was the most packed the central conclave has been, especially for the season. Silverworth was nervous. His guild wanted him, a first timer, to submit one of their more questionable directives. He understood the underlying reason, if it went well he got a boost in his social standing, and if he failed, he was new and maybe too ambitious. High risk and High reward. He accepted it for many reasons, some of which were quite selfish, but his father trained him well, he can play this game too.

The Grand Tetrarch E, El, Eli, and Elen, step up onto the pavilion. E is a crowfolk, and was just recently elected. El is a Vulture, and was elected last cycle during what most granted to their opponent messing up. Eli has been Eli since they were eligible, and an Owl. Elen was a Bluejay, who has been off and on the position. 

Silverworth recalls the trivia he’s been taught, E is One, El is two, Eli is three, and Elen is four. They take these titles from source mages, as it’s the language they use. 

“Ale el Mlo sint Pat Nil Zin, tion e’E Niz x Par Elien Krix!” Eli chants, throwing their hands in the air . When they start speaking small wisps of blue rise from the stage. A massive ball of dancing light and fire emerges from the central, expanding and dissipating slowly. When it’s gone, everyone is silent. Eli clears their throat “that.” She says “Is how you silence a crowd.” She crosses her wings behind her back

“Yes yes, you're a mage.” E says “It’s why you're elected. Now! As E, I speak first.” He steps onto the raised central platform. “I speak for the Den of Scribes, such is my patreon Den.” He says, practiced, we've all heard these “And for such patreon I am the leader, voice and feathers. My word shall carry their will and mine.” He stops the practiced speech and says “Now, I have one announcement from the Den of Scribes. The sainthood has cut contact with us and all other associates within our organizations. The reasons are as follows.” He clears his throat, his old talons holding a scroll “The contact which was set 8 and 3/4ths Summers ago has been nullified. We, the sainthood, believe that the Conclave of Avians has not been upholding their end of our agreement.The bias of information passed between the Sainthood institution and the Avian Conclave institution has always leaned towards the Avian Conclave, and we believe that in recent summers the bias has grown too much to allow the continued agreements.” He looks around at the crowd, evaluating the response, “We will send a scribe forward, after ukor rises 4 times, and kiln sets once, to allow time to better our side of the agreement. We are open to rewriting and working the entirety of it, if it so be.” he closes the scroll, neatly “we bring forth any suggestions and ideas to answer the Sainthood with. Let no decision be met in haste, and no outcome abjured from this meeting.” He steps off the raised platform, and gestures to El. El steps up onto the platform and says “I speak for the Den of smog, such is my Patreon den. And for such Patreon I am the leader, voice and feathers. My word shall carry their will and mine.” He stands straightener “such that I have no news, I must request that my speaking of the statue not be in vain. I will bring forth suggestions to answer the sainthood. We must offer something of value. Remind me if I stand corrected, but we agreed to share not only materials and lumber, but knowledge holy to our bones.”

E Stood up “pardening your hyperbole language, and opinionated speech, correct.” Silverworth smiled, that was a little cheeky. A very polite way of telling him to calm down while also opposing the idea unspokenly, without actually opposing the idea. His grandfather really knew what he was doing. He expected that. 

“Then, I suggest adding, for the later commencement of a vote on trimming suggestions, that we ignore the Sainthood. They have done very little for us, and what they have done, we do not need them to continue to do.” The stadium uproared, almost no one in agreement. Silverworth was a little shocked, the Sainthood did so much for them. It’s why Source magic is even something that’s even known, let alone able to be learned. They earned that rewrite for favoritism. 

It blew Silverworth’s suggestion from outlandish, to plausible.

“Quite.” E yelled, “Quite.” The stadium silenced. “Is that all El?”

“That be All, E.” he says, looking at him with disdain. 

Eli takes a few moments to collect herself, and steps up onto the stand “By right of a slow month, I conclude that the Den of Weaver’s has nothing of note to note, report, or conclude.” She bows and steps down.

Elen takes his stand, “By right of a slow month, I conclude that the Den of Weaver’s has nothing of note to note, report, or conclude.” He bows, and steps down. The traditional response to not having anything to say. 

After that comes the break, as is custom. Then after that, will be a discussion on what the Tetrarchs said. Silverworth will sit that out, as he will speak after the second break, and then speak as an individual, now that den matter’s have been closed for this month. He stands, with the rest of the stadium, and walks towards the commons below the stadium. Flying wasn't allowed here, to many folk are present. 

Now, Silverworth has some thinking to do. Very few people liked el’s suggestions of complete removal of the Avian Conclave from Sainthood affairs, but there are factions that would certainly go for limited interaction, which might be worse. His suggestion, interaction with ground dwellers, seems far less obscured, then complete disconnection from the Sainthood. They know everything, that’s what that group is about. They are scribes and knowledge gathers, as el had put it. It’s holy to their bones. They must know things. 

He can guess that the Avian conclave had gotten stagnant with the new information they were  gathering, and more demanding in what they wanted in resources. Source was far more useful to them then they thought, or at least Silverworth thought that. The Sainthood may have underestimated how much they could use it, given the material costs. The Avians have one of the key ingredients in spades however, bones. They don't live very long, 50 summers at most, and tend to not bury their dead. Bones can be made to source with quite a lot of effort, for very small returns. But, 8 summers is enough to abade a large enough supply that it can be used sometimes during meetings for flashy shows. He respected Eli, but she should stop using magic so frivolously.

He sits next to a lantern, the liquid that burns in them was something invented by a Crowfolk, and then was improved by a Ravenfolk. Then a Lizardfolk Scribe came in, and made it the best it’s ever been. 20 drops lasts a whole day, and it’s made from a plant, instead of the complicated process we used from cadavers. It took some extra labor, but it could be done in bulk. Yet another reason El is being very rash. 

The Sainthood said, in 4 Ukor rises and 1 Kiln rise. Ukor rising is how they determine months. So 4 months. Then the next part. Jin and Gin, along with Gile are consistent. Kiln is not. She averages once every 17 days. It also depends on the wording. Is it after collectively they rise? Or is it after 4 Ukor cycles, there must be 1 Kiln? That could be anywhere from 4 months to a year. That was tricky, unless they could predict Kiln’s movements. Which you can't. It’s best to hedge for 4 months, and perhaps chide them for their unspecificity. 

He didn't particularly mind, as he doesn't have to deal with the Scribe they are sending, so he will leave the parsing of what the actual time is to the folk who have to worry about that.  He has to worry about delivering his idea. 

He’s pondering when a falcon sits next to him, One Rosary Von Riptor. He and she have been friends for quite some time. Now, he’s a crowfolk, and she is a falconfolk, but he was also a kind of predator. No societal norms are violated. He looks at her “Oh Hello Rosary Von Riptor of the Den of timber.” she was a red-tailed hawk, so she wore a lot of red and brown, her clothes were primarily red, while her jewelry was made from mahogany and other dark brown woods. 

“Hello to you one Silverworth Hin Caron of the Den of Scribes.” She says, putting her talon against her chest, politely. “I have sought out your presence for friendly communication.”

“I humbly accept your search and also wish to communicate in a friendly manner.” Silverworth says, putting his talons on his chest in a polite gesture. 

“Pleasantries.” Rosary says, shaking her head “It’s good to see you Silverworth.”

“They are quite important, it’s good to see you too.” He says

“So, how’s your pet project?” She asks “El crazy thing’s gotta soften yours right?” “I was hoping.” He says “If he’s going radical, mine should feel tame.”

She nods, picking some fur from her beak “Yeah yeah, he’s trying something! Oh maybe it’s a ploy? He doesn't want to cut contact but wants to distance us from the sainthood, so she offers something really out there, so the middle ground is what he really wants?”

“That’s always a possibility.” Silverworth says “Glad you're learning.” “Really? Sorry I was not born a bureaucrat.” She shakes her head, “I know.” He says “it's quite refreshing.”

“Yeah, I bet, I'm not plotting anything.”

“Oh you're plotting something! You're just plotting your next meal, or prank, or some other delinquent behavior.” He says, waving his hand at her

“Well yeah, I got a reputation to maintain through exhaustive efforts and public relations.” She puts on her business voice. 

“Are you taking proper precautions against solicitors?”

“Yes, obviously.” She says, keeping her business voice “There is no mercy.”

“You don't know what a solicitor is, do you?” He asks, which a chuckle “No idea.” She says, honestly. 

“They are door to door salespeople.”

“Oh.” she clears her throat, back into business mode “I retract all previous statements, and I demand no mercy from all peers against solistores.”

Silverworth just laughs “You are a menace.” He covers his mouth in a polite manner. 

“I am a very polite, and non intrusive menace.” She counters

“Still a menace nonetheless.”

“I cannot argue my innocence any further.” She slips into her business voice, closer to a lawyer. “I have provided all my evidence and supporting claims.” “I shall postpone the case until further notice.”

“That’s acceptable less than honorable judge Siverworth Hin Caron of the Ben of Scribes.” She says

“Less than honorable?” Silverworth squeaks with mock offense

“You take bribes.” She says, shrugging

“Like what?” He asks, he’s never been bribed before, at least not on purpose. He can think of a few scenarios where it might be considered a bribe, but it was never gold bribes. “Like this.” She kisses his cheek, grabbing his chin and pushing into him, then pulling away. 

“I uhm.” he blushes heavily, looking away, covering his face with his wings

“Yes!” Rosary says “I got you to drop character.”

“Why am I friends with you?” He says, face covered and voice muffled. 

“My clever wit, and antics.” she says, with a laugh.

“Fair enough.” He chuckles, rubbing his face a bit in shame that he lost their game. 

“Now, what are you doing over here specifically?” Rosary asks, “I know you didn't sit over here because of the view.” She gestures around at the surroundings

“We are inside.” He says, confused

“My point stands, and it stands quite well. There is no view to have.”

“I have a proposition that I am going to propose.” He says, tapping his loose script. You never propose with a hard script, if you can’t adapt to questions and interjections, your proposition is dead on arrival. “With El being a radicale, my proposition will sound less outlandish.”

“Being forced to be the outlander here?” Rosary asks. It's a practice common here, everyone in your party agrees but it's a touchy subject, so whoever has the lowest social standing to lose can propose it and if it goes bad, well the rest can feign ignorance, or if it goes well, the party stands behind them. 

“Sadly yes, but I have barely done anything on the political stage, it was bound to be me selected if an Outlander was needed.”

“I’ll still be friends with you.” she says, patting his shoulder

“Unless I'm exiled.” He says, half joking, half serious. 

“That might be pushing it, shiny boy.” She flicks his beak playfully.

“Just because I like glittering things doesn't make me a shiny person.” “The definition I use says otherwise.” She crosses her arms “It's verbatim ‘silverworth’”

“The definition that you use to determine who qualifies for a mediocre at best insult, is that it's just me?” He asks, genuinely confused. “Yes, if they are you or similar, they are shiny boys.” She says. It’s supposed to be an insult to crows and other corvides, but most think it’s a harmless jab. Their ego's are not that fragile. 

“I will never understand you.” He shakes his head “That is why you like me.” She says, chuckling.

They enter a silence after that. Not awkward, they are close enough friends to remove awkward silences from the spaces between conversations. He watches as people move about, like him, they are skipping the next meeting. They either got the run down from their den members, and will be caught up on what happened later. Speaking of later, after a few minutes of silence the current meetig ends.

The congregation enters the waiting area once more, the noise level increasing quite a decent bit. Silverworth stands up, taking a deep breath, he has to find his grandfather and talk with him, hopefully he can find him within the time frame before the meeting he is participating in. He knows where his grandfather likes hanging out, so he is on his way. 

Silverworth walks through the crowd to the upper pavilion where the meetings take place, and goes to a door on the stage. Hidden very well, he opens it and enters. It's a cozy subspace under the stage, only the Tetrarchs and trusted officials know about it. Silverworth may be the youngest and least prestiages member here, but his knowledge gives him a higher standard for those who are also in the know. Which are the top birds of the den of Scribes, for his Den at least. He walks along the polished wooden floors, and opens the Den of Scribes door. Inside is his Grandfather, E. He looks up at him “Nervous?” He comments. He’s old. His eyes are unfocused, and focused at the same time. He wears glasses set on his beak that he moves up when reading. His feathers have grown out some, and he looks to be wearing a stouty robe. His feathers have dullen too.

“Would be foolish of me not to be, sir.” He bows, showing his due respects to not only his lineage but his Den’s Head Benefactor and leader. 

“Hmm.” He says, sipping from his silver mug, a nice red liquid sits in it “ I suppose so, I'm never nervous about offering topics, not anymore.”

“I apologize for implying you were a fool, Grand Tetrearch E.” He keeps his bowing position. Eye’s on his feet.

“Up.” Silverworth stands up straight “I took your words as an allegory towards your youth. You are a fool to not be nervous, and your apology was more than acceptable due to the lack of a reason to apologize, and as you age you’ll lose that nervousness, and so will you lose your foolishness.”

“Thank you for your words Grand Tetrearch E.” 

“Always, Silverworth of the Den of Scribes, now, what have you come for? If it’s a simple conversation, I must inform you that I will not be the best of people, due to emotional stances and recent events. If you want some Rhubarb, I'm afraid this isn't for young ones. However I do have colliander in a pot, for when I finish this cup, and you may join me then.” Silverworth gives a half bow, and stands back up “I'm sorry sir,I have not come for any scenario you have listed, I was wondering if you would hear my presentation as a peer review? I apologize, I don't know what other word to use, I am aware we are not peers, but that you are a Superior.”

“Peer review is the proper term to use, and I will gladly hear you out on it. The young ones in the Scribe of dens are always so interesting. Excuse the bluntness, But I will not hear it unless you use punctuation.”

“I may use too much Grand Tetrearch E.” He gives a full bow and offers his parchment to read

“A wonderful problem to have, In my opinion, using too much is better for reading than too little.” He fixes his glasses

“If you wish, I could speak it.” He offers

“No no, I read faster than most, please make yourself some tea, calm your nerves. It is your first time proposing a voting response, yes?” He says, setting down the cup. “Yes, Grand Tetrearch E.” He walks over to the table, and sits down. Legs together, hands on his lap, back straight.

“Just sir, to speed up your responses.” He chuckles, going down the scroll.

“Of course Sir.” Silverworth responds, not to hasty not to slow

“You mention, on several occasions, a kind of ‘unified animal theory’ but don't explain it anywhere.” He says, looking up at Silverworth 

“Apologizes, an expert’s curse.” He says “I assumed people knew about that idea.”

“Ah yes, relationship and foreign affairs is a specialty of yours, yes?”

“Yes Sir.” He nods

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but the theory proposes that a union of grounded and avian animals could bring the forth not only more cultural uniqueness, ways of thinking, and productivity, but also allow a more stratified and diverse hierarchical system, and to impose the Avian’s as the true superiors, yes?”

“Paraphrased, but correct.” Silverworth says

“Good, I thought I was getting rusty.” He chuckles, fixing his glasses he continues to read.

“Nonsense sir, you're still quite pristine.” Silverworth says “The context in which I use the theory is more for cultural exchange.”

“I noticed, which is good. Some may be against the implied imperialism and conquering of the grounded Folk, but you shy away from that without ostricing that part of the theory, in case it can act as a selling point for radicals. This is very well made. Are you sure it’s your first work?” “It’s my first official work, Sir, and my first Work if we exclude the ones made during education.”

“We never count those, I wanted everyone to wear dresses.” He says. Silverworth chuckles

“I'm glad that we don't enforce those.” he covers his mouth politely. “Hold your tongue silverworth, I might be able to sneak it in.” He cracks up near the end “Oh, I looked wonderful in my mother’s dress tho, it’s why I proposed it. Then again, I doubt my father would look good. Big and bulky, a very unfavorable mix up.”

“More serious.” E says “This is a good work, it will convince some, are you ready for the questions.”

“As ready as I'll be with the given time.”

He yanks the wheel to the right, hitting the sidewalk as he takes the turn sharply. He laughs as he looks over at his friend “This is why I like you ronald! You're quiet!” He pushes his shoulder playfully. The corpse falls against the window. “You shut up, unlike Jeramia!” His truck hits someone, screaming and pain ensues as he runs them over. “Oh yeah, road road. Gotta watch the road.” He says, patting Ronald’s shoulder.

“You should swerve into oncoming traffic.” Ronald says. In his sly sleek voice.

“Oh yeah! That’d be fun!” The mask says, laughing as he starts going side to side down the road.

“Show them their red pleasantries.”

“You and your red pleasantries.” The mask chides, shaking his head. Hitting the gas. People wave, both hands above their heads. Must be a celebrity. He checks the rearview mirror, just some police guys. They are always fun. Saying pull over, like it’s pull out dumbass, have you never been with a nother of the gender?

“You should brake check them.” He didn't need any more convincing from ronald. Slamming the brakes they both get launched forward as the police cruiser slams into the back of their truck. The mask laughs as the truck flips over and tumbles, the cruiser guy doesn't move, and Ronald stays seated.

“Yo ronald you good fam?” The mask calls, currently on the sidewalk. There's glass everywhere, and some blood. He musta hit a guy. Poor dude. Ronald doesn't answer. Probably not good. Shame.

“Hands in the air!” Someone calls with a badge, a bit rudely in honesty. The mask sits up and looks at the guy, he’s pointing a Smith and Wesson M&P 2.0 9MM at him, it’s okay. He prefers the M1911, as it’s just a classic even like 370 years later.

“But I do care?” The mask says, he is not putting no hands in the air. He’s not a careless person you know. Some guys to his left chuckle and he nods at them, they are kinda hard to see, hazy and maybe behind something. He gets up, but wobbly.

“Dumbass, they said he'd be hard to take down.” One says to the other. The start of a very funny joke, the mask was sure. He didn't like stand up comedians so he blew that guys head off. Pulling his shotgun from his jacket pocket, don't ask how it fit, and pulling the trigger.

12 gauge goodness. It was a Mossberg, his favorite kind of single barrel shotgun. They are wonderful pump actions that are nice as fuck. The pigs head went like ‘blppppff’ was hilarious. He could be a comedian. He chuckles at it, it deserved that much.

The other screams and jumps back into the cruiser. They fire their guns but it won't work. The bullets hit, transferring all of their Kinetic energy into him. All 540 joules into such a small location.

It doesn't do anything.

It never does.

The mask raises his mossberg and fires again. Misses, doesn't even break the glass. Barely scratches it. They have really nailed bullet proof glass, he's kinda impressed. He remembers when that shit broke in like 5 9mm rounds. Now it can take a 12 gauge easy.

The car screeches and leaves, skid marks on the road. No one's here, except for the onlookers. There laughing at how he couldn't do it. They are right. He missed, looks like he needs to hit the range.

“Yo Ronald my main man you know any good gun ranges round here?”

“I know a hospital.’ Ronald says.

“Gun range not shooting range, pay attention Ronald!” He shouts, putting his hands against his head then thrusting them into the air “I speak words that mean things and SEMANTICS are the best of them!” He yells, at Ronald.

“Anyway, you know how to hotwire shit?”

“Yes. Remove the plastic covering.” The mask shatters a window of a nearby camaro, unlocked the door and gets in. Pulling the plastic cover off.

“Find the ignition wire connected to the key port. Cut the lines and connect them. Complete the circuit, press them together.” He does as told, the car roars to life. The mask steps out and grabs Ronald, pushing him into the passenger seat, and sets off on the road again.

“This is why I like you Ronald! You're helpful! Like Jeremiah.”

“Where is he?” Ronald asks, his eyelid less eye less eyes staring right at him

“Somewhere, needed to catch up on life n shit you know? Yeah he was great, you'd like him Ronald. He's quiet, productive, and really knows his guns. It's where I found the difference between a mag and a clip.” He says, patting Ronalds shoulder. “Oh let's hit that cafe I like! Place has wonderful service, and is very cheap. Even gotta drive thru.”

The mask is sitting at the cafe table, Ronald sits across from him. He changed into some work attire, he likes helping like that. He's slouched over his waffles and orange juice. The mask got pancakes and bacon. They are wonderful. Pleasant things. He's not sure why he loves pancakes and bacon, he doesn't like them separated. Myst be a combo thing. He taps his foot on the floor and sips his coffee. Okay well, creamer and sugar with some coffee. He likes it white and teeth dissolving,mkay?

Ronald doesn't eat. Rude.

“If you're not gonna eat that, I will, buddy.” He says, emphasising the buddy.

“Yeah yeah.” The mask says, throwing his hands up “you always say that, and then you don't.”

“Dude I know you. Ask anyone here they'll say the same thing, you won't eat that in the future.” He gestures to the other guests. One is leaning on his camaro. They'll all splayed out, guess that's just the culture around here. Dressed up all in red. Did he miss a holiday? Even ronalds in red and he's more for green and black, maybe some white.

He turns around, looking at the rest of the Cafe. They are all splayed in their seats, red and slouching. They seem unperturbed at best. Ronald, tho? Very perturbed. He chuckles to himself. How does one do anything around here with patrons like this?

He yawns and gets up, “to the car!” He calls to ronald. Rubbing his eyes he hears the chitter chatter of passersby, he steps over some bricks and broken glass, opens the car door, and gets in. Ronald had beat him to it. Of course he did. He always does. He starts the engine, it stalls. He flicks the keys again and it roars like a dehydrated camel. He flicks it to reverse and backs up out of the drive thru.

It was a long drive after, roughly 10 minutes, to the local pub. He parks in the lines, unlike the ass in the truck, double parking. He walks to the counter “Vodka. Your whole bottle.” He tells the middle aged man behind the counter. Barely middle aged, more like 3 quarters aged. He chuckles to himself. The guy looks at him. Eye’s wide. Smile wider. He just laughs. And laughs. Everyone in the bar laughs. They point and hollar. He looks at them. They look back. Big eyes. Big smile. This is why he doesn't drink at the bar. In one smooth motion he pulls out his revolver, a smith n wesson .45 acp 6 shooter. Pulls the trigger, makes it so the middle aged man was end aged. Reaching over the counter he grabs a bottle of vodka and leaves. The patreons stopped laughing but just looked, ogled, and gossiped. He really hates drinking at bars.

Brass Cylinders over the Floor

Holes in the Window and Door

Maybe it’s better if we all wanted more

Perhaps a glance past the moure

Perhaps some brass n Moater

Tacks and pestle

Down and out from pestilence

Down and out. Down and out

Brass Tacks, Skipped passed

Only put holes in your mass

Breathing heavy. Heavy. Heavy. Woke up numb, brain been severed. Ronald mc manic laughing his nose purple. He sits up. Head numb and gray. Numb, dumb, loose and goose. Brass tacks make for awful floors. He sits up. And up. Head spins round like dorothy. Maybe he should lay back down? Is he even on the ground? Or around, can he make a sound. He screams and screams. His ax swings and ronalds been beheaded. Gone again like yesterday’s weather. He punches the walls, trying to feel better. Fighting what he knows, he aint getting better. Better. Better. Bet her. All on red, on the second spin. Better header, third times the charm is how he gets numbers. Better and bet her, he makes and loses cash like a sourly paced bet her. Better. Bet her. He punches and punches, gutter gutter, medley twins make sad sad rhymes.

He drank too much. He gets up, foggy and groggy. Stumbling about with his head full of eyeballs. He falls into a wall, slamming against it with a thud. He lays on the floor now. He slowly gets up and shuffles to the pantry, grabbing some saltine crackers. He rips it open like a dog and enjoys its insides, the sweet succulent bland salt slabs are very nice. Great hangover food.

And they give it all they got. They give it all they got, til they're down. Made it through the night, he thinks, like a fitzgerald. Maybe he should go back to bed. What time is it? What day is it? How much did he drink. How much did he not? What was that rhyme again? He couldn't remember. Did he even want to? He wanders about the room, till he's down. On the ground. He breathes heavy, then light as he passes into the ekaw realm.

He awakes yet again, same place. He feels better. That's wonderful to see. He gets up, red pleasantries datter and splatter across the floor and walls. Must have been one hell of a party. He shambles to the door and kicks it open,it buckles under his foot, walking into the fresh morning air. He takes steady shaky steps to his red car, vision still blurry but it functioned, Ronald in the passenger seat still. Impatient guy, he likes ronald though. Mostly any how. He gets in the drivers seat and belts out backwards. Crushing and splintering a mailbox. He grips the steering wheel, tries relaxing into the seat. It takes a while for his vision to clear, and for him to be able to avoid hitting solid objects that might break the car. He was careful, well as careful as he could be. He actually stopped at lights. Some might say he was having a green day, that would be fun to think about, wouldn't you say? Wouldn’t who say? That wasn't one of ronalds or Jerimiah’s sayings. Wonder what he picked that up from. He does a quick swerve to hit an old person, da-thump tha thump. Very satisfying you know, like a mushy speed bump that causes people to be very loud and quite annoying. They honk there horns, panic, y’know completely overreact. Absurd.

Sirens sound. Wee woo wee woo. That's the sound of the chase. It's the sound that it makes. He presses his foot on the gas, let the races commence. He loves .When they try racing him, he always plays dirty. Its not cheating, they just never specified that grenades were off limits, now did they. He checks behind him, rear view mirror, black van. Unlabeled. They sent the big guns huh? These things are armored usually, up to and including roughly the standard nato 07.06 rounds, they don't penetrate on the first or second round, usually going through on the third successive to the same location, but that's quite unlikely to happen. He could certainly try, wasting his rounds however he knows that much. Now he needs to figure out how to discreetly take him out of the running, and win the race. He looks at Ronald “any ideas?”

“Tires are reinforced, do not aim for them. Windows bullet proof. Best chance is to cause a crash or out maneuver.” He says, in a calm silky voice. A pimp telling a customer what hes got. Good plan, causing a crash is not really an option, but he could try just getting it stuck in traffic or maybe turning at the last moment and having it blow past, lose it that way. He chuckles to himself, pelting back into his seat as the gas is hit like a Victorian child. He belts down the roar, tire screech and screaming. Engine roaring like a prime ribbed dragon. This was nice. He slows slightly so the van could ride his bumper, they shout things at him like “Pull over” and “Stop the vehicle” Which he will not do. He doesn't surrender, that's boring. He hits the gas, creeping forward slightly, and as he nears a turn. Whips the wheel like a dominatrix, flung to the side as the car swerves to the left. The Van clips his bumper and he has to quickly correct himself, but they miss the turn. He belts down the road, reaching a nice and slow 120mph, he’ll turn when he feels like it.

He hears something strange, swooshing. They got a helicopter? Really. Thats just plain unfair. He sees a flash from the open sidedoor, bastards.

The bullet rips through the roof and hits him in the head, it crumples and fragments go everywhere. That’s just annoying “Ronald there shooting up your car.”

“Shoot back.” He answers simply.

“I'm driving!” He calls. “I can pull my anything out unless you want to do an improved space program that fails before it starts.”

“Might be fun.” ronald chuckles

“Yes, but unproductive.” The mask yells, more bullets rip through the car. The glass shatters and the car sputters out, the engine holding on barely.

“Do it! DO IT.” Ronald screams, his body is ripped into fragments as the gun fires above. Dead dead dead dead dead.

“No!” The mask calls, “I got places to be!”

“You do as I say!” Ronald screams, barely there. Ice cracks through the ground and into the car.

“I'M NOT IN THE PIT-”

Mable, Daughter of Bell;

She awoke in her bedroom, or everyone’s bedroom. Her family was large, about 14 people including her mother. She was a mousefolk. She worked for one Wormwood Greenthorn. She thought a lot of things about that cat. None of them are pleasant. She was the youngest in her family, only 8 summers old, almost mature, only a few moons left. She dreaded it and was hopeful. She would be married off, by law. It scared her deeply to have to leave, but she also would be meeting the person she’d spend the rest of her life with, or much like Mable’s own father, the rest of their life. Then the rest would be on a farm with the remaining unmarried children, who will be getting married once suitable candidates are available. Wormwood had a male picked out, his sister had him and couldn’t find a mate. Mable is the closest match to him.

She slowly gets out of her bed, it's more of a thing of hay with cloth on it. It's more comfortable than it should be. She puts on her robe, a stained brown piece of cloth that covers her and provides a small barrier from the elements. She lives on Wormwoods estate, for right now. She’ll be moving to his sisters to marry the boy. She both dreads and hopes for that meeting. She must be awake before mother, her duties are to clean the house, then go to Wormwood’s place and clean there. It’s a quick cleaning at her abode, the other’s keep it decently clean. She quickly sweeps up the floor, and fixes up the few furniture pieces, then heads out towards Wormwood’s house. She heads out quickly, he wakes shortly after sunrise, and the sun is rising. 

Several minutes later she has entered the main house, and gets to cleaning up, she starts with dusting the many rooms. She doesn't enter the master's bedroom however, she is not permitted inside it. She finishes dusting the few things that require it, then goes to get water and a rag to wipe down the kitchen. It's always dirty, wormwood is always determined to have a well cooked meal with no less than 2 courses and prep. She is half way into cleaning the counters when wormwood enters.

He is a tabby, grey and black fur, and a very royal attitude. He was no royal though, he just wanted to feel like it. He wears a tan vest, with a black undershirt and pants, the black looked expensive, but it really wasn't.. It’s why he has so many servants on a farm, and such a big house. He spends almost all his money on himself instead of his business. Her siblings kept complaining, and rightfully, that most of what they needed or used was far below standards. She couldn’t do anything, Wormwood barely recognized she was even here. 

He yawns quite rudely before looking around and scoffing “Clean this place up rodent.” “Y-yes sir Wormwood Greenthron.” Mable says, as she quickens her pace, she wipes the bits of food off the counter, table, and then grabs a broom to sweep up the floor. Wormwood walks through the kitchen and says “My sister is coming to collect you, be presentable.”

Mable nods “Yes sir Wormwood G-greenthorn.” She does a deep bow and continues to clean. 

“Go, Now.” Wormwood commands. He looks annoyed, and is looking directly at her. Didn't he just tell her to clean up? Why would he be mad about it?

Mable puts the broom away in a hurry and leaves. She’s not sure what he means by presentable but her mother Bell, or sister dandelion, should be awake by now. She walks for several more minutes, anxious that she was being given away so soon. She thought she had a few months left at least. Perhaps she just misremembered the age that suitable mice were sold at. She walked up to the door, and knocked softly before entering the dwelling. It was a standard home, wooden and mostly waterproof. Repairs had to be approved by Wormwood, and he rarely lent them anything to do it with, so they had to get creative. Her mother looks at her as she enters 

“Oh Mable.” She says, putting her hand against her own chest, she was a bit more brown than Mable. Mable was white, and her mother was a light tan, she always said Mable got her fur from her father. Her mother was cleaning their clay dishes in the wash basin. It was moved inside during the cold seasons to prevent it from freezing. “Hello Mother Bell.” She said, with a small bow “S-sir Wormwood Greenthorn s-says I need to be pre-presentable for his sister.” 

“Oh.” She said, with a saddened expression “She’s come early then?”

Mable nods “I-I believe so.” she holds her hands in front of her. Looking around, Bud is awake and eating breakfast. She waves at him. Her ears flick and she corrects herself, she waves at her. 

“I was hoping for a few more moons to give you a better dress, but you can use mine.” “B-but Mother Bell, it's yours.” Mable says, a bit surprised.

“I don't have a need for it.” She says, in her no-arguing tone “You do, take it sweetly, I’ll just get a new one soon.” She grabs a nearby towel to dry her hands off, and sets it near the hearth. “Ill grab it, take a seat.” She says. Mother Bell turns and heads into where her siblings were, and returns with Auburn, her Older sister “Please pretty Mable up for us, Willow is coming to grab her.” Auburn nods at her mother, and leaves as well. She comes back with a brush and sits Mable down “It's sad to see you go Mable.” She says, brushing her fur. “I-i Know.” She sits still for her sister, she starts working on getting all the small knots from her fur. Her fur was well kept, but it wasn't perfect. A few minutes later Bell Returns with the Dress, it's a nice tan color with small flowers woven into it. She places it down next to her “Put this on, it will fit nicely, and you can be on your way, sadly we cant run a bath with this little of a notice, let’s hope it doesn't sour anything.” “I-i bathed last night, Mother Bell.” Mable says, her ears flicking as her sister pulls a few knots out of the longer bits of her fur. Her tail curls up after Auburn steps on it. “Well that’s splendid.” She says, matter of factly with an added loving tone. “I hope Willow lets you visit.” “W-willow?”Mable asked, she guessed it was wormwood’s sister, but she wanted to make sure

“Willow Greenthorn, Wormwood Greenhorns sister.” Bell said, petting Mable’s head gently “I won't be able to tell you everything I wanted, but you are marrying One mister April.” She says “He is, from what I hear, a little shy and mostly does the tax work.” 

“O-okay.” Mable says “I-im a bit excited to meet him.”  she says, rubbing her arms nervously. She flicks her ears again as Aubrun steps away and puts the brush back. 

“Well, change into the dress, then you should be presentable.” Bell says, she kisses Mable on the cheek “I love you Mable.” “I-i love you too mother bell.” She hugs Bell, shivering lightly “I-i’ll see if I can visit.”

“We’d love to have you over.” Bell says, cupping Mable’s cheek in her hand “Be safe, alright?” In a soft motherly voice, her eye’s hopeful. 

“O-of course Mother bell” Mable says back, sincere. “I'll visit when I can.” She looks up at her mother, her nose twitching nervously “I know you will.” Bell says, looking at her daughter lovingly, “Be safe Mable of Den hollow.”

“I will, Mother Bell.” She says, standing up. The new title scared her, she was no longer Mable, daughter of Bell. 

Mable stands at the entrance to Wormwood Greenhorns house. It’s a small hallway, and she stands at the end to the left side. Paws resting in front of her, back straight, and presentable. Luckily, she didn't get any mud on her dress on the way here. Wormwood is outside in the front of the house facing the road. Her tail twitches nervously. Daisy, a tan mousefolk from the other mouse family that lives on the farm is doing the rest of her cleaning job “S-sorry daisy.” She says when she enters the entrance room

“What for?” She asks, she speaks in a soft but strange accent. 

“N-not finishing my work.”

“T’is alright love.” Daisy says “You had more important things to do, and you did the hard things first, so I was just left with the easier task’s anyhow.”

“S-still, sorry.” Mable’s ears flick a bit as she hears a cart pull up, not rickety like the ones they sometimes use, but she could hear the click of the wheels. The neigh of the wildfolk horses, and of course, Wormwood being quite loud with formal greetings. She braces for the two to enter, she is not looking forward to having to be exceptionally formal until the week after the wedding ceremony, as is tradition. Then moderately formal for a very long time. The door opens as wormwood enters, in his tan and black attire.  He walks by without acknowledgement. Then his sister, Willow Greenthorn, was behind him. She wore more casual clothing. Nothing as fancy as Wormwoods, a simple yellow dress with some ivory jewelry. A ring on her left finger, and a necklace that was gold with ivory claws, she could see five claws on the front. Then, behind her, was a male mouse. She could guess he was one April, a light mouse, not white but very close to it.  He wore as fancy clothing as Mable did. A nice tan tuxedo, more sand colored than leather. He’s quite small, and a bit jittery. 

“OH.” Willow says, in a high pitched voice that strikes Mable’s ears uncomfortably “Is this the one?” “Sadly yes, she’s the only eligible candidate I have.” Wormwood says “The others are useful or not of the proper breed that you requested.”

“Small thing.” Willow stops before Mable, poking her stomach

“I Assure you, dear sister, that she eats well and is of proper size.” Wormwood says, stopping in the middle of the living room. Crossing his arms behind his back and turning towards them both. “Never said she wasn't, Brother.” she grabs Mable’s hips with both hands and runs them up her body “despite her size, she seems rather healthy. Her fur is very well kept.” She pets Mable and says “April, be a dear and get to know your wife, I will comune and fine the details with my brother of her transferring.” She stops touching Mable and follows wormwood to the office.

Mable stands there, shivering and definitely worried. She looks at April, he seems far calmer than her.

“Hello Miss Mable.” He says, walking to stand next to her, he fixed his glasses and looked at her, his nose twitching. He keeps moving slightly. She’s not sure why, but he seems nervous. 

“H-hello Sir April.” She responds back, her tail twitches as she looks him over. She gives a small wave and smile, holding her dress, and hesitating before during a curtsy for him.

“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance miss Mable of Den Hollow, I am Sir April of Nest Spring.” He says, bowing at her. He bows with a hand holding his glasses up, he seemed jittery and nervous. He stands back straight “It seems that you and I are to be wed, and I must say Miss Mable you are quite a sight.”

“T-thank you sir April of Nest Spring.” Mable says, she holds her paws in front of her, “I-i must also return the compliment, you yourself are quite nice looking as well Sir April of Nest Spring.” “There is no need for full titles Miss Mable.” April says, giving her a warm smile “May I hold your hand Miss Mable?” He asks, offering his hand.

Mable hesitates, then grabs it, April squeezes her paw “Thank you Miss Mable.” he leans in and kisses her. Mable makes a squeak of surprise and lets him kiss her. She’s not sure what to do. Should she kiss him back?

“O-oh uhm th-thank you to M-mister A-april of Nest Spring.” She stammers out, feeling her cheeks flush, she doesn't make eye contact with April, or look at him in general.

“You're quite nervous.” He says, softly, seemingly to himself “I'm sorry Miss Mable, I should have asked beforehand. Do you mind If we have to sit down? Where are your quarters? I hope it isn't too rude of me to ask, even if we have just met.”

“O-oh, I do-don't live in the Big house, I-I live with my family.” She says, embarrassed. Was she supposed to live in the big house? Was April that important to mistress willow? She wasn’t sure she was what he wanted, or someone he’d like. She can try however.  “I-its a h-house near the far end of the property.”

“Oh, I have my own room in Mistress Willow's home.” April says “I was informed that you would be of similar standing, I’ll have to inform mother that her information was incorrect?” “I-im sorry Mister April o-”

“It’s Alright Miss Mable!” April says “you don't have to apologize.” he says, fixing his glasses. “May we have a seat?” 

Daisy walks over, hands at her hips, she’s relatively clean, thankfully Mable cleaned the oven a few days ago so it didn't need to be cleaned soon. “Oh so you're the fellow taking our Miss Mable?” “O-oh yes ma’am.” April says, shying away from Daisy's accusatory tone. “If you uhm, wouldn't be too dismayed by her leaving?”

“She’s not my daughter.” Daisy says “She may leave, though it’ll be harder to work around here.”

“Oh, what is it that she does?” “We clean.” Daisy says, directly, with that soft accent of hers.

“Alright.” April says, looking around “This place is quite clean.” “Thank you, love.” She says “I best be off now, I hope you and Mable visit.” Daisy does a small curtsy. Then turns around and walks towards the door to leave. She doesn't go to the front door but the back door in the kitchen. 

“Well, she was rather polite.” April says, as more of a comment then anything. 

“S-she always is.” Mable says. She can hear the door opening from Wormwood’s study. He walks out and into the entrance room. Willow follows him. He looks at them both “Congratulations, you have one Mable Daughter of Bell.” He says, fixing his tie and turns to head back to the kitchen “I hope you know you’ve thoroughly ruined my schedule dear sister.”

“Oh, I must apologize. I was coming this way anyhow, and there's no point in waiting, is there?” She says, looking at Mable “I will inspect her at the marking, it’s impolite to do so here.” She says, “Now I'm sure you two got along, yes?” 

April nods with a “yes Ma’am.”

“Good, now ready up. I have other reasons to be here, I sent Thistle to collect your things.” She walks over and stands in front of the two, she’s almost twice their height. 

“I-I don't have any things.” Mable says, quietly

“Oh yes, my brother” She shoots a glare towards wormwood “Seems to dislike you having anything, I however, will permit a few belongings. Productivity is a mix of physical and emotional well being, and you must have something to occupy your mind that isn't simply work.”

“Oh cram it.” Wormwood says “My estate runs perfectly fine and out performs yours in any suitable measure.” He grumbles a few hard heard insults

“Yes yes, but I dont go through workers like a vulture through carrion, now do I?” Willow says, Mable could tell this is an argument they have had . . . a few times. 

 “Leave.” Wormwood says “before you vacate the town I will demand that you stop by, I still have to collect the payment.”

“Of course.” She pushes the two mice quite roughly towards the door “let’s get going.”

Mable takes a panicked step towards the door, and opens it. The two pass her and she follows, leaving her life behind. 

The ride to the marking was strange. Thistle turned out to be a porcupine. He sat in the front of the wagon, imposing and dangerous looking. He didn't speak much during the ride. He simply said ‘your things’ when she got on, and handed her a briefcase. She didn't own a briefcase, she guessed it was some clothes the family spared. Her tail was warped around her legs as the cart hitched into action. The wildfolk horses neighed and headed on. She didn't catch the name of the driver.

Willow sat elegantly in the center seat, looking in the direction they were headed in, while April and Mable sat either side of Thistle. “So, I am Mistress Willow Greenthorn.” She does a soft bow, leaning forward and putting her hand on her chest. “Now, we are headed to the Marking. Do you know what that is?” 

Mable shakes her head no “I-im sorry.”

“It’s alright, my brother hated school, it only makes sense he wouldn't even try and teach you academically.” She scoffs slightly, “don't worry dear, It’s not that complicated. You're getting your family crest branded and strung into your ear.” Mable shivers “The brand is located on your middle back to provide authenticity. The crest in your ear is for quick confirmation.” Willow says, holding a small mirror and fixing her fur with a brush. “That will signify you are a breeding pair and to be left alone, or at least to ask before anyone does anything.” She puts the mirror away “and of course, I will perform a proper inspection, in private. Cant have a lady naked in front of her man before marriage now can we?” “W-we can’t Mi-mistress Willow.” Mable says. She wasn’t sure what to expect. She expected it to hurt and to be very embarrassing, but that was about it.

“Exactly.” she says “i'm glad you understand dear.” Thistle shifts in his seat “Now, we are heading their first. Then we are going shopping.” Mable could guess that the ‘we’ meant her “You Mable, daughter of Bell, need some extra clothing and maybe a book, also some teaching on how to read, is your mother still able to do that April of Nest Spring?”

“Yes Mistress, she’s still a good teacher.”

“Good, she’s also patient which may be required.” Willow says off handedly “Now, after that, you’ll pick up your job as a maid, Since that’s all wormwood said you had proper training for. I'm not my brother Mable of Den Hollow, You will receive proper training and educated fitting of your position.”

“T-thank you mistress.” Mable nods, with a small bow forward. 

“You're quite welcome.” Willow says with a smile. 

The cart stops. Thistle stands up and opens the door, stepping out and opening it fully. Willow gets up and gestures for the mice to go first. Mable gets up, and exits the enclosed area, April is right behind her. She stands next to the cart, not sure what to do. She’s never been off the farm before. April stands next to her and grabs her paw, squeezing it lightly. “Well, come on, in.” She says, pushing the two mice forward “we are a few minutes early, Thistle thank Juniper for me.” Thistle nods in response. She could guess Juniper was the Deerfolk driving the cart. The cart was actually more of a carriage now that Mable thought about it. 

Willow beckoned them forward, and they entered the stone carved building. The entrance room had a wolf as the receptionist. “Ah, Miss Willow.” She says “You're early, I'm assuming these are the two weds, yes?”

“April and Mable.” Willow says “Of Nest Spring and Den Hollow.” She pushes the two forward.

“Alright, we have everything ready for you, do you have the payment?”

“My brother, Wormwood Greenthorn, will cover the costs.” Willow answers.

“That’s wonderful.” she says “I will get the markers.” “I do wish to inspect the Girl first, I never got a good chance to before.”

“That’s also alright.” The Wolf says, “I’ll be right back.” She gets up and heads deeper into the building. A few moments later, another Wolf exits, a male, and has April follow him. Mable waits, for what feels like forever before a different wolf girl, brown fur instead of grey, has her follow her. She leads her to a room, Willow follows them. She enters the room, is a warm stone, there's a fire going. “You wanted to inspect her ma’am?”

“Yes, I did. Mable, please remove your clothing.” She says, sitting in one of the chairs. She does as she’s told. Willow looks at her, from bottom to top slowly. “Turn around.” She does so “Your fur is very well maintained, I do hope you keep that up. Tail up. Good.” She stands up, walking over and grabbing Mable, touching her in places, and rubbing her hand against her fur, rubbing her hand across her tail as well “No scars or blemishes, you're in very pristine condition Mable, I'm quite surprised with how my Brother is. I’m assuming you are a virgin, yes?” Mable nods, with a squeak “I figured.” she turns Mable around again, touching her more. Mable was having a hard time breathing with Willow’s grip on her neck as she looked at her ears “Now, miss you may continue to do your job.”

The wolf girl bow’s, and says”Thank you ma’am.” She grabs Mable’s shoulder “Sit.” She pushes Mable into a chair. Carved from stone. “You're from Wormwood’s yes?” she asks, already grabbing for his crest. A pair of scythes crossed over each other tied together by wheat 

“Y-yes miss.” Mable squeaks out, her snout is grabbed, and her head is jerked upward, at a 45 degree angle. “Stay still.” The wolf says, pushing a red hot nail through her left ear lobe. She can't make any noise, her mouth is being forced closed. Her eye’s tear up as the nail is pulled out. The wolf threads a wire through and ties the crest in. “their. That wasn't so bad.” She says, still holding Mable’s mouth closed. The wolf’s grip tightens as she says “Breath, in and out. In and out.” 

Willow isn't really paying attention, she’s still here though. 

The wolf let's go and Mable gives out a sob. The wolf says “open your mouth. Good. Bite down on this.” She puts a piece of leather in her mouth “Back straight, tail down.” She steps behind her. Mable can hear metal scraping against metal, then she feels a searing pain in her back. She screams through the gag, biting it hard. She can't feel anything but the searing. Then she can't feel anything as she passes out.

Mable wakes up, she doesn't know how much time has passed. She’s still naked, her dress draped over her. She’s moving, and being jolted. There’s a strong hand on her slide preventing her from moving very much. She makes a soft sound as she opens her eyes. “Good to see you awake.” Willow says “Apologizes, my brother should have done that far far earlier when you were selected. He has proper anestesia, this was a quick and dirty job of it, but laws are laws.” She shrugs half-heartedly. “April simply needed the crest.” Mable looks at the hand holding her, It’s Thistle. He looks down at her, his beady black eyes show no emotion. He lets go of her without her asking and places his hands in his lap. “Please get dressed, where stopping by the main market, then by a shop for a special order. You are staying in here for the market.” 

“Y-yes ma’am.” Mable says, weakly getting up, and putting the dress on, along with her undergarments. 

“It’s Mistress.” Willow says “We each have a title, I expect you to learn them. For instance, Forman Thistle, he is my second in command. I am regularly too busy to give orders directly, I do hope you don't need micromanaging like that, but his word is only beaten by mine.”

“S-sorry Mistress.” Mable says

“I’ve already forgiven you.” She says, fixing her outfit. The ride was silent, except for the wheels and Mable’s labored breathing. The carriage stops. Willow gets up and excuses herself. “Thistle, remind me to til Siltwood not to send letters.”

Now it’s just Mable, April, and Thistle. “M’ Sorry.” Thistle says after a minute or so. He stretches a bit, his quills rattling. His voice is gruff and deep “For, what they do to ya.”  He puts his hands on Mable’s head. She wants to shy away, but doesnt. “It aint right to ya.” April looks over at Mable, he looks saddened.

 ‘’I- I remember my marking, I-it is extremely unpleasant. I’m sorry Miss Mable.” Mable nods softly. She couldn’t move very much, nor did she feel like she wanted to. She felt very tired. The door opened and a deer stepped in, Juniper Mable guessed.

“Oh, you are lovely.” She says “I saw ya coming from the old man’s place, and I was thinkin you were gorgeous, and you are! I'm Juniper, it’s nice to meet you mouse lady.” She offers her hand, her fur is short and brown. With dark spots all over it. Mable takes her hand shyly. She shakes it vigorously. “Aww that dress is wonderful! Where’d you get it? Are you the web for our April? Did ya know he’s the booksy type?” Mable couldn't pay attention, she spoke very quickly

“Juniper.” Thistle growled. The deer stops. “Mable just got her marking done.”

“Yeah? So did April! Your crest’s are lovely by the by.” She says “compliment your fur and all, oh! Your fur is very well kept! Especially for Wormwood, the old man, we don't like him much, he’s always a bi-.” She coughs, stopping herself from saying the next part “he’s always less than agreeable.” She uses a haughty tone “mistress doesn't like me swearing, says it's bad, but I like to think wormwoods bad enough to be called a bitch, y’ know?” 

“Juniper!” The deer stops, her ears pulled back and her eyes wide. This voice is very commanding. “She just got branded.”

“Oh! I'm sorry!” She lets go of Mable’s hand “are you alright?”

Mable nods, Thistle says “No.” Looking at her “Don't jostle her around.”

“Oh yes yes! Of course, I ported april after his brand. You know, I can handle this.”

He makes a grunt sound. 

“Oh April, sense miss mouse should be sleeping, what’s she like?”

“Lovely?” He answers, Mable takes the hint and lays back down.

“Oh how? You know I find her nice, she’s pretty, and a bit shy but, otherwise she’s been great.”

“Oh, uhm, haven't you only just talked to her?”

“I can hear you guys talking from outside, don't worry.” she waves her hand “Mistress dont like me budding into conversations, so i decided to step inside. It’s also chilly out.” “Not really.” April comments, “its a bit warm for the season.”

“And I barely have any fur, so shush mr dense.” “I-it’s Mr April M-”

“Ah ah, it's called an insult. I'm insulting you, because your fur is denser than mine.”

“Oh.” He says, looking at her in a perplexed way

“Feel offended.” She says, crossing her arms. “I don't think I will Miss Juniper.”

“Aw man.” Juniper says, hanging her head “well, that’s fine, i’ve stolen enough of your books to make up for your inability to be insulted.”

“Could . . . could you give me my books back?” He asks, meekly

“No.” She says, looking away from him, arm’s crossed

“Alright.” He sighs. “If I'm offended, while you give them back?” “How Will I know you're being legitimate in your offense?” “Juniper.” Thistle says 

“Fine! I'll give him his books back.” she huffs, slouching in the seat.

“Good.” Thistle says.

After a few moments, “Oh, what's your name mouse lady?” Juniper asks, leaning forward, and towards Mable.

“M-Mable.” “Oooh that's a great name!” she says, clapping her hands together “you know my mom’s aunt’s brother has a friend named maple, which isn't Mable but it’s very close.” She says, reaching to pet Mable’s head, and petting her. “O-oh . . . okay.” Mable says, shying away a bit

“Juniper.”  Thistle warns

“What I do?” she throws her hands up “i am complimenting a wonderful distinguished gal.”

Thistle gives a deep sigh. “What?! I didn't do nothing!” She throws her hands into the air.

“Just, stop being so energetic.” thistle says

“I-its okay.” Mable says, sitting up. Her tail curls around her legs, and her ears flick nervously. Her left ear feels so much heavier now. 

Thistle looks at her, then leans back, “If y’ say so.” He scratches his neck, looking at April “You alright AM?”

“O-oh yes, I-i'm quite alright.” He says “just stings, I expected it would, but I-i’m more worried about miss Mable.” He leans forward and looks over at Mable. 

“AM?” Mable asks, quietly, confused. 

“April of Mouin. It’s a title he got from the Sainthood, so it’s an officially recognized title.”

“Y-you’ve met the Sainthood?” Maple asks, awed

“He didn't just meet them!” Juniper bursts in before April can talk “They took em for like a week! Came back with the title, and he can't tell us what he did!”

“It’s of utmost discretion.” He says, “tho I have told you the nature of the work.”

“Yeah yeah, cultural whatever, but come on! You were with the lizard people of the marsh and you don't even tell us if they breathe fire!”

“Why would they breathe fire?!” April says offended, raising his voice

“HA! You got offended!” Juniper points at him, speaking in a sing songy voice, and laughing

“Fiend.” He says, crossing his arms.

“Oh and now you're cursing me.” She covers her mouth, and in a proud voice “you’ve grown so much!”

“Juniper.” Thistle says, shaking his head.

“I have completed my daily task.” She says, happily. 

The door opens, and a great dane puts a few things in between the seats, and leaves. Willow enters and sits down “Juniper.” she says, in a strained politeness “Why are you inside the carriage?”

“Well you said not to talk when I'm outside, and I wanted to meet Miss Mable! She’s wonderful, by the by.”

“I'm aware, I selected her.” She says

“Oh, I suppose I’ll go back to driving. Have fun, you four.” She gets up and opens the door, closing it and getting back into front.

Willow sighs, rubbing her eyes “Well, that was unpleasant.”

“She always is.” April comments, tho Mable can't tell if he means that or not. She thought she was . . . interesting. 

“Well, I acquired most of what I wanted.” Mable could see books, scrolls, and cloth, she wasn't sure what it was for. “Missing a few things, Juniper! Get moving, next location.” The cart lurches into motion, and Mable winces. 

“Now, sadly, Juniper is going to be Mable’s guide as her job is low priority.” Willow says, brushing her fur out “That means, Mable, you will have to deal with her, and I suggest you mostly ignore her until the week is up. Then you will receive an evaluation on what job you can take, then receive training so you can perform the job to my liking.” She puts her brush away “I do hope you're more qualified, we don't need more maids, and It’ll save us time on training.”

“I-i helped M-mother Bell wi-with fixing clothing, a-and cooking.” 

“Splendid.” Willow says, in a way that doesn't tell Mable if she is really happy with that information. “Then, you should require less training with Textiles, yes?”

“Y-yes?” Mable says, unsure of what textiles are, or if she’d be good with them. “Good.” Willow says, reaching over and petting Mable “of course, you have etiquette training, and all that since you’ll live in the house along with april, I’ll also sadly need to give your first born to wormwood.” She says, with a hint of remorse. Mable didn't believe that remorse was real. “Then, you and April can start a family on the property. We don't have a mouse family yet.” She says. 

“Y-yes Mistress.” Mable says

Frisk: *you think you know how you act pretty well Chara: She's going to be a ghost, she can posses frisk, you'll know because *I think I know how I act pretty well. Trauma. Flowey: Absent, referenced too Asriel: He's a trauma ridden lil guy. He was Flowey. This will show in how he treats people, he is getting better at it, but he slips back into treating people as NPC's when distressed. Toriel: She's overbearing. She also has trauma around abandonment. She's a helicopter parent Asgore: Kind of a pushover with his kids or people he loves, he can be a great king but he doesn't want to lose his lovers. Sans: He's lazy and punny, but not some edgy guy with nihilism papyrus: He's just papyrus Undyne: She's going to be undyne. Not as stupid as some might think, but defiantly brash. Alyphs: Nerd with anxiety, depression, and self worth issues Gaster: He will not speak in wingdings, I want him tallageable. But he's very sceintific, bad with people, autism.

Frisk, Chara, Asriel, and Gaster remember resets. Sans has more deja vu then everyone else but its still just deja vu.

Mable is tired, and sore all over. She’s been working quite hard, despite her smaller physique she works the fields like the others now. She's tired. Her siblings let her walk behind them, checking their work after they taught her how, instead of pulling or pushing the plow like a proper farmhand should. They even talked to each other and looked back at her alot. She pushes forward though. Wormwood took her sister, Kettle, for no reason. He also took Daisy, another mother. She fears her mom is next, she doesn't know if she could stand another death here. She’s not sure if she could stand at all . . . Ukor is gone again. He’s been gone for a while now. Kiln and Jin are here. A blind frantic knife and sophisticated psychopath are left to watch her. She floats in red water, her tail brushes the bottom, thick slimy mud that she feels throughout her body despite not touching it. Jin is so strange to her. Three sets of eyes stare at her. One red, two yellow. A pale unfiltered yellow, a perfect circle cut and split in half. Two sides of the same coin as someone would say. Her eyes can barely stay open here . . . Jin seems . . . so close now. She’s awakened by a yell. Wormwood Greenthorn of Den Hollow. He’s yelling at someone again. She doesn't listen to his words, she tries not to hear him at all. He’s always yelling at someone for something. It changes and contradicts each other, constantly. 

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you now you ungrateful worm.” WormwoodGreenthorn screeches. “Gile is out in full tonight, there will be no ‘bathing’ in his affectionate attention. Not for you lot.” He’s banning the moons again. Either he thinks the threat alone is enough or doesn't realize the mousefolk have windows. Either is possible. Wormwood Greenthorn of Den Hollow seems to be capable of both narcissistic and idiotic tendencies. “I will, however, enjoy his company in full.” He turns and leaves. `1 Hope this is sufficient motivation for you to do your jobs.” Mable guesses he leaves, she didn't check. He really thinks that anyone wouldn’t at least try to see Gile? He's very nice, a rosary pink in the sky. He shows up so rarely, when he’s fully here and not just a silver. She will try, she doesn't particularly care about Wormwood Greenhorns new rules. She doesn't think she’s ever even questioned Lieutenant Greenthorns of Den Hollows Rules. That Night, she sits on her bed. Staring out at the pale pink color cast over the trees and ground. It’s very peaceful. She feels . . . nothing though. Not even Gile can make her happy now. She awakens again. It’s the middle of the night, the rose color light still shines through her windows. She’s not dreaming. Her sister is standing over her “Mable.” She says, shaking her shoulder lightly, her name was Dandelion. “Mable, get up.” She whispers. She sits up in bed. Her mother was there, along with most of her family. “Mable.” Bell says “I have something very drastic to ask of you. We have been discussing something. Something we have left you out of, for fear of . . . hurting you. But, nothing can hurt us more than we have already been hurt.” Dandelion exits to the kitchen “We have been discussing this plan, and debating on who should go through with it, and we have all decided you have the best chance of accomplishing it. Head to the All moons. Ask Ukor, Jin, and Gile for guidance. You haven't been outside this Farm . . . Den Hollow is a pit. A pit that some will never escape from. It crushes you.” She stands, shakily and puts her hand against her chin “I have seen it crush even you.” Dandelion comes back with a bag “please, Mable, head out. Commune with the celestials, this cannot be what they want us to do.” She sits back down. Everyone’s quiet. Very quiet. They Were looking at her. They think she can do this? She’s only ever heard of the All Moons, she’s never visited a single one. How could she do this?

Weeks later kernel’s death felt sour in her mouth. Like he was the lemons her mother rarely bought them. She wished he was still here, they didn't talk much, but his absence was felt. Everyone was careful now, no one played in the fields while they where worked on. Most people played near the pond. She doesn't want to go there, the mud reminds her of something she cant quite remember, but deeply fears. She is walking between the empty berry rows, she’s picked them clean over the last few weeks, but to be honest she likes the quiet. Looking towards the foxfolks home, she found a strange sight. Catfolk and badgerfolk talking with Miss Willow Goldleaf of Den Hollow. She rarely saw visitors, as they always went to visit their father Pine Greenthorn of Copper Nest. She stared quite rudely, but was intrigued. 

The badger nodded and gave Lieutenant some paper, rather expensive. Most people used papyrus, its easier to make but isn't as good. He took a pen from the badger and signed it, handing him the paper. Heading back inside with his sister, Mable is left to wonder what that was about. Maybe she’ll know, maybe she will never know. 

The catfolk showed up later that day, Lieutenant had called everyone to the shed as a meeting. Roughly 4 mousefolk families huddled around as the catfolk watched “This is Wormwood Goldfield of copper nest.” He looked very sad at this, she knew very little of Coppernest. “Forgesmith of Lightning Ally.” She knew more about that place, only because of its infamy. “and the new Greenthorn of Den Hollow.” oh. “Lieutenant here has been replaced. His father sold the land to me.” Wormwood Goldfield of Copper Nest forgesmith of lightning ally, Greenthron of Den Hollow says. “Now, kit go pack your things, I want you and your sister gone by Moon up.” He spits out kit, like an insult, Lieutenant Greenthorn isn't that young and he seems younger than him. Lieutenant nods and leaves, looking back a bit saddened. “So, you.” He points at May of Den Hollow “Name, Occupation.” May shutters a bit and says “I-im May of Den Hollow, a-and im a farmhand, caretaker, and medic.” “A mousefolk medic? Did you go to school?” Wormwood asks, he knows the answer already

“N-no sir Wormwood Greenthorn.” She says, shrinking away “So you practice without a license?” He says “I-i just apply bandages.” May says “Well then.” Wormwood says, licking his paw to keep it clean “Strip.” “W-wh-what?” May asks, backing away with everyone else “I said strip. Remove your clothing. Everyone else will stay fully clothed.” He says, very matter of factly.

She does so, scared and her eyes tear up as she does so. Mable can't do anything, she wouldn't know what to do if she could do anything. He watches her as she does “Good.” he smiles at her, he looks at mable “You, burn her clothes.”

“Y-yes Wo-wormwood sir.” Mable says, walking forward and shakely grabbing the discarded fabric “Say goodbye to May as well, I want dinner as she looks very nice. Everyone is dismissed.” He says.

No one moves “I said go, now!” He hisses out at them, everyone moves after that heading back to there own homes or back to work. Mable never fully knew what happened to May, but from what she knows happened to others, she can hazard a guess. Mable isnt sure what to feel. She feels hurt, like wormwood cut her with his own claws. She feels like shes in despair. She feels . . . resentful. There’s a kick to their side. Hurts too. Their eyes flutter open and they look over at it. There's a rabbitfolk “Aye! Get up ya oaf! It's past sun high! You got work to do don't cha know?” “Hey jack.” Brim says, sittin up yawnin. The rabbitfolk looks up at the massive bearfolk in front of him and decides its a wondrous idea to kick him again “Put that hind into gear and let's. get. movin!” he hopes away to the door

 “Yeah yeah I'm yawn” He smacks his lips a bit “I’m movin.” He gets out of his den and walks into the clearing, its nice place, badly named. Brimstone. He knows its named after him, Brimstone of . . . he guesses its Brimstone of Brimstone now huh? Most call him Brim, but its still very very threatenin for a sanctuary. You see, he protects the place from other predatorfolk. Any preyfolk, long as they follow dem rules he made, can live here tax free with no eatin in sight. Well, eating them. They eat plenty, and he gets free fish and honey. Its a win win all around. So he thinks, jack a boy here likes to make him productive, to keep up the uh what he call it? Appearances?. That's a word he dont use, far too long for his likin. 

He walks through uhg ,brimstone, he's gonna have to rename it eventually. He walks through the place, the tall red pines make for fine livin spaces for the preyfolk here and the occasional birdfolk. He looks at the work that's been done, its not much but most of the work is in the inside places. A ‘interior’ as uh jack calls it. “Oi! Lug nuts! Come on! Overhere.” Jack calls, bouncing to the slightly hidden entrance of the enclosed space they’ve been constructing. Brim follows. Hey, thats a good name. Hidden Pines. He’ll have to a uh announce? Announce it at the next meetin here, when Jin shows back up. He heads up to the door, jack uses the smaller build in one and knocks, letting him know he can push it open. On the other side is some carved wood, to show where the big door swings open in case people are to close. Brim is quite massive, he needs a big door. Theres also two foxfolk. Kinda roughed up, lookin worse for wear “Now I tell them they cant be here on the account of there teeth but they demand to speak to you.” “Hmm.” It comes out as more of a grunt then a verbal responses but jack knows what he means. “See? Any how whats you twos names?” Jack asks “I-its uhm . . .” They pause. Heh, they done forget them there names. Thats kinda funny “L-lieutenant and Willow.”

“What? Lieutenant and willow what?” Jack asks “We used to be greenthorn, but then our dad sold the property out from under us, and tried to get us executed.”

“So you twos ran on over to Brimeston hmm?” Brim asks “Y-yes.” The vixen stammers “W-we can live off of plants and f-fish.” “The answers still no.” Jack says “Let me think about it. Go uhh put em by the river for now. I gotta get those brain juices flowin.” “Your considerin it!?” Jack exclaims “I didnt get this far by leavin some helpless youngin’s to die Jack of Brimstone.” Brim says “Y-yeah.” Jack says, stepping away from the bear, nervous “Of course, sorry.” Jack looks at the river then at the siblings. Their sob story is full a holes. Yeah sure, their dad sold em out to cover his ‘multitude’ of crimes. Yeah, what's more likely? They're just dodging taxes. Lying little . . . well foxes. That phrase didn't show up outta nowhere you know. His legs hits the ground over and over again. Brim is sure taking his time with this. He should have just left them to die, which would have been an improvement. Look at them! They're dirty! The girl hasn't even cleaned up her wounds! Slobs! Brim is cleaner than that, and hes a bear who sleeps for 3 moons at a time! Dirty little buggers. And what are they gonna do once there in? Probably eat someone like a predator! If they think they a bunch of push overs they got another thing coming! He can beat em! At the same time no less. He's grown a lot, he reckons. He ain't helpless no more. He can defend himself and he has! He ain't losin anyone to some red furred backstabbin buggars again. No sir. No. Sir.

This is nice. She thought, a nice content thought as Mable picked strawberries for her mother Bell. This is what she did. It's what most mousefolk did in Den Hollow. Mable, daughter of Bell, was a berry picker. Well, actually, she was a farm hand for the local foxfolk, but she only picked berries as she wasn't strong enough to use the actual farm tools that her brothers and sisters used. Someone needs to pick them, so it's her, and she's glad she can do it. Her mother did it before her, but she is getting too old to help, and while she’s heard horrors from others about foxfolk who are far crueler, her foxfolk are nice and aren't going to make a meal of her.The boy fox is named Lieutenant Greenthorn of Den Hollow and his sister is Willow Greenthorn of Den Hollow. Though she likes the title Willow Goldleaf of Den Hollow as she handles the financial side of the farm. She’s more reclusive than her brother, but they're both quite social when they want to be.

She runs up the row of berries with a full basket. It takes a couple minutes to reach the store house. She stops at its door, breathing heavily. Her sisters and brothers never made fun of her, but she could tell they don't think highly of her. How can a mousefolk not even do work properly? She steps onto the little staircase and opens the door. They had to rebuild the place after a flood, and she couldn't do much to help. She never liked being here, all she did was suggest to elevate the place but . . . it still feels like she's unwelcome. She swallows her anxiety and heads to the back, a few barrels are located there. 2 are open and accepting more, and she obliges by pouring the contents of her basket into it carefully. She turns to leave the storehouse. She’s almost done, if she can finish it before she cooks for her owners then that’ll be a new record. Maybe then Mabel may be able to accept she’s . . . at least adequate. A few hours later she's in the kitchen of Lieutenant Greenthorn of Den Hollow's place of living. It's a few miles away from where her family lives. It makes sense as they need access to the city, and the mousefolk need access to the farms.

“Mable Daughter of Bell.” A voice calls from behind her, she turns to look at Willow. She bows deeply “Willow Goldleaf of Den Hollow, deepest apologies that you had to make the first statement.” “Such manners.” She says. Willow's red fur is very well kept, elegant and smooth. Unlike Mable’s drabby white fur. She tries but their beauty is so effortless, and she could never match. “Please, while your cooking our food use our first names,” she looks down at mable, with a small smile “S-sorry Miss Willow.” She says. Willow internally sighs, Mable was strange, that constant formality she always had, her voice was soft and fragile, unlike her sisters and brothers, there stronger then she is, but she can't help but admire this one. She does what she says she will, according to their Crow she finished harvesting the berries. They weren't even worried about that until next week.

“It’s alright Mable.” Lieutenant said she could cook tonight as a reward. She’d never say it, but Mabel loves to cook. Willow agrees with her brother, giving the mousefolk the wins they deserve should come with the job of owning them. They can be a pawful, a cute pawful, but a pawful nonetheless. “What are you making Mable?” She asks, sitting at the table. “Y-you said to make soup Miss Willow, so that's what i'm making.” Her tail curls around her. “That's good, may I ask what you’ve put in it?” “B-bones, rosemary, potatoes, carrots, small amounts of lettuce.” She says. No salt? Oh, of course, she doesn't want to use the expensive things. “You may add salt, and coriander.” “Yes miss Willow.” She says, doing as requested. A good amount of salt, and a few coriander seeds. Willow likes having her around, a pseudo apprentice in her mothers maiden craft, she watches the mouse work, it's surprisingly elegant. She's decisive with her movements, unlike her words, the nervous tension slowly leaves her muscles. She doesn't know how to tell them the news, but she’ll keep it to herself tonight. They’ll eat dinner, give mable compensation for staying up to cook and for cooking, and then tomorrows a new day. She’ll tell them then, before they start work, grim news is for the mornings after all.

Mable walked home a bit scared. She never liked it when the ukor left. Its illuminating light far in the sky, gone. Where does it go? Why does it decide to leave so often? Is it taking a break? She continues walking, so many questions go through her head about Ukor. She could ask for a leave, visit the All Moon to commune with ukor but . . . she doesn't want to bother it. It must be busy, right? Ukor doesn't need to use its time to answer a blathering little mouse. She can hope, and she rarely lets herself do so. After about a half an hour later, she reaches their homes. Small and cozy, she remembered when they had to put a new floor in, her and her mother helped plan it. Mostly her mother. She opens the door softly and steps inside. Its not cold like the outdoors, chilly but not cold. It's cozy in a way, the soft snoring she can hear, but she is disappointed at the lack of one sound. Her brother’s snoring was missing. Did he get hurt again? He’s always getting into bramble bushes while he works, or tripping and ripping up his fur. She loves him to death but he is a rowdy fellow. She sighs internally, and goes to her bed. Its clean, and neat. She lays in it, taking off her outdoor clothes, leaving the white cloth she wears under them. She has a restful sleep.

Mable is in water. That's . . . strange. She doesn't like the water. The water shimmered silver with Ukor’s light. He was there. Watching her, in his infinite knowledge, his wisdom. Why was he watching her? Did he want to know more about less interesting people? Or was he simply curious why a mouse was in the . . . where ever here is. She awoke early that day. Not as early as her mother, almost never as early as her mother. She gets out of her bed and dawns her outdoors clothes and leaves their little hut at the edge of the farm. Her mother was on the bench built into the wall. “Hello Mother Bell of Den Hollow.” “Hello mable.” She says, she takes a deep breath. ‘Your brother, Kernel, is . . . he’s very injured. H-he was working and . . . a-and he tripped th-then the pl-plow . . .” She starts crying, mable tears up as well as she hugs her mother. She starts crying shortly after “I-im not sure wh-what he can do anymore.” Mable cant give an answer. Her mother’s voice is soothing, but her words cut her deep. If he can't work, then he might be fired or . . . or worse. 

“M-may I ask where he is?” “H-he’s with May.” She says softly “s-she said he ha-hasn't woken up from the care.” Their neighbors. They work the farm as well. Mable gets up shakily, “i-im going to check on him.” “Be careful.” Her mother says, as Mable turns and heads away. Her steps are slow and unfiltered. Half way between the houses her nerves catch her, she almost falls over. She steels them as much as she can and starts running. A red shape takes up her vision as she runs into it, hitting it and falling back.

Lieutenant looks down at her, Mable. She’s panicked, so she knows. “Hello, Mable daughter of Bell, sorry for running into you. You heard the news right?” “K-kernel . . .” She squeaks out. “Yes, kernel.” He lowers down, “Are you heading there?” “I-i am.” “Please follow me, Mable.” He says, standing up, and slowly walking to May's residence. He looks behind him to check if Mable is there. She is, he knew she would be. He starts picking up the pace, making sure she doesn't fall or trip again. He gets to the house, and sits outside. He’s a bit too big for mousefolk homes. May exits, she auburn brown instead of the white Bells family has 

“Lieutenant, th-thank you for coming.” May says, walking out. Kernel is behind her, using crutches. Mable makes a small noise of despair. “I . . . I don't think there's anything we can do. H-his leg is gone, we are gonna have to amputate it.” She says, Lieutenant can tell she’s barely keeping it together. Mable walks up to kernel, hugging him. He knows what he has to do, and he hates that he has to do it. His father would skin him if he didn’t. Will they ever look at him like they look at him now? They don't fear him, but they will. He knows it. “Kernel, I am sorry to inform you, but my father has requested that . . .” Deep breath ‘He has requested your removal, perpetually.” They know what he means. He knows what he means, and their faces kill him. Not sadness, or outrage. Not even deeper guilt. Just . . . they expected it. They know his father controls the place. They know he has no choice but to make a meal of kernel. He may have to listen to his father, and do what's told of him. But he doesn't have to be his father, he doesn't have to be cruel. “You may . . . you may say goodbye, when your ready Ill be at the shed.” The shed, the middle of the farm. Halfway between the mousefolks homes and the foxfolks. He starts to leave, and turns to them “Im sorry.” The next day, Mable and her family are waiting at the shed. Ukor is out tonight. A sliver. Just barely there. Does he not care? Or does he simply wish to not watch? He knows what has already happened. He knows what is about to happen. He averts his gaze. He cannot stomach his own cruelty. Or . . . or is he winking? Is he telling her that it’ll be alright? She can hope that. She can hope she doesn't meet the fate of being made a meal. No. She hopes she's never eaten. If being made a meal was as hurtful to them as to us, she can see why Ukor lets them do it. Weighed down by guilt, what retribution is worse?

Lieutenant walks up to them, his fur is clean but disturbed. ‘I have come to apologize again.” He’s tense all moon. The guilt is there after all. Then he does something she’s never seen or heard. Not in all her 18 moons. 

He bows. He actually bows.

Mable tears up watching him, the mud get into his fur “Im sorry this has happened. You may get three days to grieve, more if you wish. I will allow you to handle everything that you wish, the location and time of the funeral.”

Funeral? Mousefolk dont get funerals . . . do they? “I hope this hasn't soured our relations, it will be a joyous day when my father leaves this place to us and us alone. Until then, I will do everything in my power to uphold equality. As much as Im allowed to.” He gets up, and turns to leave. She swore she could see tears in his eyes.