Prologue

I remember that night as if it were yesterday. It was the night I would take on a misunderstood, stereotyped, loyal creature as my son. And it is a night I will never regret.

 

There was a faint knocking on the slate door. I was studying the Libro Vitae, still many ways away from acheiving graduation to carry on the tradition of my striped ancestors. Nighttime had already fallen over the ever-dark tunnels and caves, and is usually the time that the scelusans are out and about. Reluctantly, I peeked my snout out of a crack I made by opening the door, and sniffed the air. Rats. So, I went back in.

 

Another faint knock layed itself on the door. This time, I actually looked out, carrying my dim-lighted torch. I couldn't really see much, but I heard feet padding on the soil frantically as I looked out. Looking around, I saw no one, but heard an infant's squeak. That's when I realized that there was a woven vine basket laying against my feet. Surely, the rats would devour the poor creature if I left it there, so I brought the basket inside.

 

Peeling back the dirty and beaten up blanket, it revealed a pinkie not even old enough to determine the creature. Carefully, I bathed the poor thing and prepared a clean bed for it. After the young one was nestled in, my hands grabbed an envelope that was tucked neatly in the basket.

 

After tearing the cream colored casing, my eyes widened in shock as I read the letter. It was then I knew that this would be my adopted son, until his destiny awaited him.

Chapter One: Same Old, Same Old

Reformation continued on his hard list of chores given to him by the chipmunks. Yet, he was eager to please. Maybe just once they would be proud of him? As he carried the load outside, some of the chipmunks snuffed and snorted as he walked by. The rest glared judgingly, wanting to break down his enthusiasm.

 

However, Reformation was used to this treatment. He was convinced that he had an unknown sin attached to him. So, he accepted it, and did whatever they told him to do. The only one that was proud of him was GoldenRod, his mother figure. And really, that was all he needed.

 

As he walked down the rodent-made tunnel, he brushed against the dirt wall to keep his way. After all, it was dim-litted and rats can't really see that great anyways. Coming across a fork, he took the left hallway where he would set down the dried vine.

 

The room had dirt for walls, and stone for floor. It was a humble place, but these weren't for living. Reformation was simply preparing the room for travelers in the name of Lignolity. Off to the side was a bed made of dried grass, just a simple pile for sleeping in. Beside it was the Libro Vitae, the book that helps run lignolity. A dim torch was on the right, just shining bright enough to see the basic features of the room.

 

As Reformation worked, he hummed and tapped his tail. Setting down the box of vines, he then began cleaning the stone floor, brushing out dirt and mud with his tail, then pouring water over it to keep the stone clean. Before leaving to continue his list of chores, he set a small peice of carrot (the equivalent of a decent sized snack in their proportions) for the next guest to stay there.

 

Walking out, he went into the squirrel's den to sharpen their swords and clean their living quarters. With pleasant smiles, the squirrels waved at him in greeting. Squirrels are also looked down upon because of their ability to mate with rats. However, they serve mostly as body guards for Chipmunks and travelers.

 

As Reformation worked, he listened to the squirrels chat and play poker. While he wasn't aloud to gamble, it was entertaining for Reformation to listen to.

 

Chester, Reformation's greatest friend, approached him casually. "The stripe backs aren't bothering you too badly, are they?"

 

"Oh, of course not! It's an honor to serve under the gaurdians of Lignolity." cheered Reformation.

 

Chester shook his head. "You do realize they will never be pleased with you because of your bad blood, don't you?"

 

"But it's a sin to judge by blood and bones." stated Reformation, wiping a rag across a freshly sharpened sword.

 

"That doesn't mean they live by their teachings." pointed out Chester.

 

"What do you mean?" asked the white rat.

 

"Lignolity itself has sustained holy, however, the churches and servants of RedWood have become corrupted. The only truly pure chipmunk is your mother, and 3 others." explained Chester.

 

"Oh, that's ridiculous," laughed Reformation, picking up the next sword. "That's a good joke, though."

 

Chester tsked. "You're being naive. But, if that's what you choose to believe." he said, walking away.

 

Reformation shrugged, and continued to clean and sharpen the swords. Once or twice he had accidently cut himself, but he just wiped it on his side. After finishing the weaponry and armor, he washed the poker table, and the squirrels cooperated by lifting up the items on the table. Then, he walked into the living quarters.

 

Noticing the books and journals in their rooms, something that he was forbidden from touching, he imagined what might be inside of those objects. What could possibly be so bad about them? However, he wasn't risking it. It was a sin to read any book other than the Libro Vitae. Besides, what if he was sucked into Hell simply by opening it? Reformation shuddered by the thought.

 

He simply organized them, dusted the shelves, and continued his duties. As he was walking out to tell Father Buckthorn that he had finished the list of chores, he felt the walls with his hands, a habit he had developed. By now, he knew every crack and crevis, every stone and root. It was like re-reading a book, for the thousandth time.  But he continued this habit, just to see if anything new would pop up.

 

A chipmunk walked by, and Reformation waved happily. Of course, the chipmunk sneered and kept walking, glaring at him. He just ignored it, and continued down the path, tugging at his whiskers now and then. Finally, he came into a room where several chipmunks were studying. Father Buckthorn was watching over all of them, with kind eyes and humbleness. 

 

Reformation slowly walked into the room, bowing his head respectfully. Father Buckthorn's eyes turned from a soft, floaty look to a hard, cold stare. 

 

"Father Buckthorn? I fini-"began Reformation before being interrupted.

 

"Wash your feet, you filthy mud dweller!" hissed Father Buckthorn.

 

Reformation looked down at his feet, covered in mud from the hallways. He had never been supplied shoes, so his feet often got dirty.

 

"Pardon me, Father Buckthorn." he said, heading towards the washroom. 

 

Reformation dipped his feet in the trickle of water coming from the walls, and began scrubbing with his hands. He wasn't aloud to use brushes, or leaves to dry off with. Instead, he had to put up with wet feet. After thoroughly cleaning the pale pink feet, he returned to Father Buckthorn, who looked down on him.

 

"What took you so long with those chores, rat?" chattered Father Buckthorn.

 

"My apologies, I'm not the fastest worker." said Reformation, looking down at the ground.

 

"Slacker..." mumbled Father Buckthorn under his breath.

 

"I have another job for you," he huffed. "Don't screw it up!"

 

"Yes, sir. What would you like me to do?" said Reformation.

 

"There's a mourning family asking us to bury their uncle who was savagely ripped to shreds by your kind. We've already asked a mole to dig the gravesite. I want you to bury him for them. I also suggest you don't talk and make things worse for the poor family." said Father Buckthorn.

 

"Yes, sir." said Reformation.

 

He then walked off, heading in the direction of a family of mice. He had to squint to determine the species, but knew for sure when he could smell them.

 

 

Chapter Two: When a Dog Tastes Blood

 As Reformation approached the family, they seemed startled by his appearance.

 

"Rat!" screamed the little girl.

 

The mother stood in front of the frightened children, and the father barely noticed him.

 

This was something Reformation was use to. And really, he could deal with it accordingly. Before speaking, he bowed respectfully. His edicate was wonderful, and his bow was graceful and handsome. Wrapping his hand around the center of the tail and pushing it back some, and his hand under his chest, he bowed with great finesse.

 

"My apologies for frightening you. I'm simply here to burry your beloved relative. You have my greatest sympathy." squeaked Reformation.

 

Comforted by his well manners, the family relaxed, and allowed him to proceed. The children were still scared of him, but he paid no mind to them. As was told, Reformation simply did his job. The adult mice weren't nearly as judgemental as the chipmunks and chipnuns, and appreciated his politeness and humility. Reformation was still a rat, but very different from his brotherin. He was taught respect.

 

He looked over to where the mole had just finished digging the gravesite. Carefully, Reformation picked up the casket. Years of hard labor, discipline, and heavy objects had given him tremendous strength, allowing him to pick up the casket with ease. Reformation then slowly walked over to the site, watching where he stepped and how he stepped. Finally, he brought it to the hole, and gently rested it down.

 

After taking a minute to catch his breath, he began throwing dirt from the small mound on top of the casket, packing it down as he went. For most of the burial, he had to climb in and out of the hole since he had no tools of use to help him. This continued on for about an hour, until the burial was complete. All he had to do now is place down the grave marker.

 

Just as he was about to leave to go get it, one of the children screamed again. This time, not at him, but another shadowy figure that was lurking in the tunnels. Not able to see, Reformation sniffed the air. It was an unfamiliar scent; a musty, darker scent that reeked of old water and dried blood. Since he didn't know what was going on, he quickly scurried to the family's aid.

 

As he ran to them to see why they were panicking, Reformation felt a needle-like sting go across the side of his face, and the force behind it was enough to knock him over. Feeling the side of his own face, he realized he had been scratched. Turning around, he noticed another rat; something he had never seen before.

 

It was a black rat, slightly taller than Reformation, and the ears and snout somewhat larger than Reformation's. The rat was also longer and more scruffy, and had claw-like hands. Yet the body was not very muscley, and more feeble than Reformation, probably due to starvation.

 

Covering its snarling face was a mask made of yellowed sheet, torn and tattered from what could have been years. The eyes could be seen, as well as the ears, but the snout was completely covered. A pin held the make-shift mask in back, and blood was stained around the edges. The apparel of this creature was simple; a worn out grass-thatched shirt, rootwood sandals, and a beaten up alluminum necklace that portrayed a mythical beast known as a swallow holding a vine peice in its beak. In the rat's hand was an effete needle sword, dull and rusty from age.

 

 Reformation jumped up, alert and weary. He then realized it was attacking the family, not him. If anything, the rat was focused on the little mouse girl. Reformation didn't know what to do. He couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. On another note, Reformation couldn't fight. In fact, it was forbidden to become violent towards another even if in defense. His heart said otherwise. If he didn't fight, surely they would all be killed. They were all too far away to be heard or even noticed by the gaurds or other chipmunks, and it would be too long of a trip to get help.

 

Questioning his religion for the first time, Reformation jumped in between the rat and the family. It was just in time, too. The rat had tried to reach for the little girl, but instead grabbed Reformation's arm. This was the first time Reformation had ever been in a fight, and he knew not how to do so. Yet like a snake's instinct is to kill rodents, instinct on fighting filled him.

 

With a snarl, Reformation grabbed the rat's wrist from underneath where the rat had grabbed his arm, and twisted. Then, he pulled the rat close, and got a hold of its neck. Struggling to get free, the rat slashed its sword around. With one hand around the criminal's neck, and the other blocking the arm with the sword, Reformation tightened his grip as much as he could around his neck, and jerked hard.

 

Skin ripped, and the rat was taken aback. It wasn't enough damage to kill the rat, but it was a good start. Now Reformation had a weak spot to hit at. The rat kept a hand over its own neck, trying to stop the bleeding where fur had once been.

 

Being wary of the sword, Reformation ran at him, and tackled him, then held the sword to the rat's neck. His strength was coming in handy, as the rat was no match against him. He managed to slice the criminal's neck with its own hand, and the body fell limp.

 

Panting, Reformation slowly got up. blood covered his face and hands, making him look less civilized than what the mouse family knew was true. Looking at each other, the mice didn't know how to respond. They weren't scared of him, but at the same time, they were.

 

It wouldn't matter if they thanked him or not, because by now, the chipmunks and squirrels had noticed the commotion. Father Buckthorn looked at the dead rat, then Reformation who was covered in blood, then back at the body, and finally at the family.

 

"What happened here!?" screeched Father Buckthorn.

Chapter Three: Hanging by a Thread

 

"Arrest him!" chattered Father Buckthorn, raising his hand in the air.

 

The squirrels looked at each other in question.

 

"Sir, it appears he was defending the family." said Chester, walking over to the priest.

 

"Regardless, this is blasphemy. It's a known fact that violence is prohibited!" hissed the aged chipmunk.

 

His face wrinkled into a hateful stare as he turned back towards Reformation, who was waiting patiently for the argument to end.

 

Reformation looked over at the enraged priest."But sir, they would have surely been-"

 

"Hush, rat! I knew you would be a burden the first time I saw you. to think, a rat... such an unholy beast. I should have thrown you out for the snakes to eat a long time ago," he snapped, going on a rant. "You worthless ant... You are nothing. The only thing you're good for was the labor. Even then, you did a shoddy job. Your excuse is you can't see... Well, you can obviously see the food presented in front of you! It's time I do something that should have been done in the first place. It's time I-"

 

"But Father Buckthorn!" shouted a familiar voice.

 

it was none other than Goldenrod's, a silky and smooth voice that had been shaken shrill from sobs.

 

The rodents made way for her as she scurried up to Father Buckthorn's presence. Tears rolled down the ginger and white colored marking around her face, and her ears folded back loosely in despair. Holding one hand in another, anxiously rubbing.

 

"I don't want to hear it! You're the one who brought us this bastard rat in the first place. We hang him tomorrow, and that's final. Until then, I want him held in the squirrel den." declared Father Buckthorn, seething with hatred.

 

Despite Goldenrod's desperate sniffles and pleas, the squirrels sullenly took Reformation back to the squirrel's den. They weren't happy about this either, as they valued his work and admired his jollity; a rare quality in this day and age.

 

As flamelight turned the walls a dim gold, the squirrels waited for Father Buckthorn to pass by. It was then they untied the vine from his wrists, since they trusted him. Rubbing his wrists, Reformation silently thanked them. One of them pushed a small cup of moonshine towards him.

 

"Oh, I can't drink." said Reformation, sniffing the cup.

 

"It's not like it matters anymore, after all, you're a wolf's head. " stated the same squirrel who pushed it towards him.

 

Reformation considered this for a moment. After all, it was rather tempting. The squirrels seemed to have a good time whenever they imbibe this liquid, and laughed a lot. The scent of sugar mixed with the pungent yet strangely satisfying aroma of whiskey caused his taste buds to water. He felt his whiskers tingle with excitement as he brought it closer to his mouth.

 

Wait, what was he doing? Was he allowing himself to be seduced by a sin? Maybe he was just another dirty rat, like everyone thought. Would that mean he would become a scelusan? Reformation set the cup back down. It wasn't worth risking his afterlife over.

 

Chester lit himself an onion leaf cigarette as the white rat had a battle in his head, debating whether or not he should drink the moonshine. The putrid smell filled the air, and Reformation covered his snout. Chester stared at his cigarette, and seemed to be pondering about something. Curious, Reformation chimed in.

 

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you thinking about?" asked Reformation.

 

Chester didn't take his eyes off of the cigarette.

 

"Do you know where onions are grown?" finally asked Chester, rolling the strong scented stick in his fingers.

 

"What does that have to do with anything?" questioned Reformation.

 

Chester blew another puff of smoke, patiently waiting for Reformation to get the hint.

 

"Just answer my question, and you'll see why."

 

Puzzled, Reformation did as he was told.

 

Reformation sighed, and said, "I don't know, to be honest."

 

"Mice," answered Chester. "Mice are masters of aguculture, and mass produce food for all parts of the tunnel systems."

 

Reformation politely waited for him to explain what he meant by this statement. After all, he only knew life with the chipmunks. Besides, Chester had a plan as it seemed.

 

"Up north from here, about a day's trip, there is a kingdom called Bonríonae. There are plenty of farmers there who wouldn't mind a helping hand. After all, a vast majority of them are potato farmers. And let's face it—Blondie, pour me a glass of the moon's poison— those vegatables are huge. I'm sure they'd value a strong worker like you. Just stay there until—Thank you.— you decide what to do with your life." 

 

"What about the fact that I'm a rat?" asked Reformation.

 

"Farmers are humble folks. They wouldn't care if you were a rattle snake so long as you do as your told and work honestly. Just be polite, as you always are, and everything will be fine." answered Chester.

 

Reformation nodded. While he had tremendous guilt for what he had done, survival was essential. This trip was dangerous, but not as dangerous as staying behind to be hung like a garment out to dry. It would also be pretty lonely, not knowing anyone there.

 

"Will I see you again?" asked Reformation.

 

"Probably not, but it'll be okay. Just remember; somewhere out there, no matter how far away, is a group that has more faith in you than a burrowing owl has in their own wings. Keep that in mind when you're loosing hope."said Chester with a smile. "Well, let's not all sit here talking about it until hanging time; we need to get you out of here."

 

Chester motioned for Reformation to follow. Obediently, the white rat scurried behind him. Chester then used a hand jesture to tell him to stop, then once again, follow. This continued until they were past the Lignolity chain system, and out of earshot of everybody.

 

The safety of the site was left, and sounds of insects could be heard in the distance. Now out of range of light, Reformation had to rely on the rest of his senses to move. He was almost as blind as a bat as it was; relying on his senses was just a part of life. Still, it was an eerie feeling to be so far away.

 

"Remember; keep going North. That's all you have to do." whispered Chester, patting him on the back.

 

Reformation hesitated upon leaving.

 

"Godspeed." said Reformation as he walked away slowly, looking back at his best friend.

 

"Godspeed, as well!" repeated Chester, who was fading away into the darkness of the lonely tunnels.

 

Reformation then sighed. keep going north. keep going north.

 

Chapter Four: Roads Untraveled

He turned his back to the familiarity, and began heading down the tunnel.

 

keep going north.

 

The soil felt foreign as he continued to walk, crumbly and soft like sand. These walls were unfamiliar, and had the scents of other creatures.

 

He smelled rats, mice, the occasional scent of a chipmunk, and ones he had no names for. As he walked, the tunnel became wider and taller; what creature would need this much room? He was baffled by the size, so use to being crammed in small tunnels. Reformation was going all over the tunnels, since he was use to the walls guiding him as he went. However, this was much different. The space sent chills down his spine, as he felt vulnerable on every side.

 

He even jumped once at the sound of dripping of water. Realizing what it was, he had an urge to take a drink. After all, it's important for rats to stay hydrated. How much would one pitstop hurt? Then again, he could loose his way. This was a rather wide tunnel. He stopped for a minute, and stroked his long whiskers.

 

The inside of his mouth felt dry as he ran his tongue across the sharp, jagged teeth of a rat. This was a matter that should be considered for survival. Maybe the kingdom would have water. Then again, it it's a day journey's away... But if he looses his way, he's doomed. It was a tough decision.

 

 He sat down, and thought about it. The thirst continued to grow, yet he was loosing precious time. He needed a plan. Keep going North, or take a pitstop to the West? Either one could be a dangerous decision. What if he defied both? Then again, that would be impossible. Sighing, he layed down, and stared at the dirt-covered sky, giving off no light.

 

 

Maybe if he took a nap, he could think more clearly. Then again, he could get eaten by a snake. He had to keep moving. Getting up, he brushed off the dirt that collected in his white pelt. Circling himself, the spot reeked of his own scent. The place he was walking in was getting packed in, making it feel like stone in comparison to the crumbly, rich soil.

 

That's he got an idea. What if he left tracks so he could find his way back? Little did he know, this was a common behavior of rats. Smiling to himself, he slowly stomped as he worked his way to the sound of dripping water. After smelling the faint scent of himself in each stop, he would move along. Reformation also pushed the sides with his feet so he could feel his way through his own personal path.

 

The droplets echoed more and more as he got closer. He kept his pace, licking his lips impatiently. Just when he should have been greeted with a cool refreshment, the dripping stopped. Puzzled, he looked around. Where did it go? Before he got a chance to freak out, his head suddenly felt something cold and damp land on his head, and roll down his back, flattening his fur. Frozen, he felt on top of his head, and tasting.

 

A grin sweeped across his face. It was water. Reaching his hands up in the air, he waited to feel the cool liquid splash against his pink hands. The wait was tedious, but worth it. Lapping it up as it landed in his palms, he heard a voice behind him.

 

"What're you doing?" questioned an unfamiliar voice.

 

Reformation nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

swallowing, he answered, "Drinking some fine quality H2O."

 

The creature moved closer. The scent confirmed it was a mouse, as it was herbal and earthy.

 

The mouse chuckled. "Well, you're not going to get much that way. Let me show you."

 

Reformation's eyes had ajusted only enough to see a faint outline of a half circle object being held out with two hands. The water dripped into it, and slightly sloshed as the mouse brought it down.

 

"Now, easy. It'll spill pretty easily." said the mouse, handing it to Reformation. Carefully edging his lips on the end of the clay bowl, He drank deeply, feeling refreshed.

 

"Thank you, sir. I needed that." squeaked Reformation, wiping away the excess water dripping off of his chin.

 

"No problem. So where'r you heading to?" said the mouse, following Reformation as he made his way back to his spot.

 

Reformation looked over, surprised by the mouse's comfort with him. "I'm making my way to Bonríonae for a job." he answered.

 

The mouse sniffed. "I happen to be going the same way. Talk about coincidence!"

 

"So why are you going?" asked Reformation, feeling like a worthy being for the first time.

 

The mouse hesitated a little bit. "Business matters. It's... hard to explain." The shorter rodent said, speaking slowly.

 

Reformation wasn't skilled enough in social interaction to catch the hesitation. "It must be important." Concluded the rat.

 

"Like you wouldn't beleive!" said the mouse breathily, expanding its arms outwards in an explosion motion.

 

Reformation smiled happily. Chester was right! Mice are less judgemental!

Chapter Five: It's a Brand New World

So as they continued through the dark tunnel, the mouse was giving Reformation several tips in order to get a job. One of the main things was finding a farmer that is poorer. While they may not pay much at first, the help would allow the farm to grow. This also means you'd gain more trust and respect, and further down the lines you'd get a decent income.

 

Reformation was fond of a win-win situation. Not only would he benifit, but he would also be helping someone else as well. It was perfectly simple. However, Reformation didn't know how he would find someone of the sort. Were the local farms poor? Or were they rich and prosperous? Either way, there was still the matter of getting to the farms without dying of starvation of dehydration before even reaching them.

 

The mouse told him not to worry, but the white rat was still unsure of himself. Even so, wasn't there the risk of snakes? Or worse, foxes? What about scelusans? He couldn't bear the thought of another scelusan attacking him or the farm.

 

He was lucky that one time. It's common knowledge that scelusans usually travel in packs or gangs. Even their name sounds ferocious. Not to mention, what they would do to the rest of the town. With as much food is over there, it's a wonder they don't take over the kingdom. Then again, there isn't enough water for the gangs to survive. This would certainly cause terf wars between all of the packs.

 

However, he would have to quit thinking about this if he wished to survive. If he let his thoughts overwhelm him, nothing would get done. Taking a deep breath, he looked around. He realized how strange it was that he was moving the entire time he was thinking. You'd think deep thought would make you stand still.

 

The mouse was still beside him, mumbling to himself about how Bubonic was destroying everything. Confused, Reformation chimed into the silence of the eerie tunnels.

 

"Who's Bubonic?" asked Reformation childishly.

 

The mouse looked startled as he snapped his head in Reformation's direction. "Oh... No one! It's... Er-complicated..." he responded defensively.

 

As usual, Reformation didn't see any issue with this peculiar reaction. So, he turned his head back to the pitch black that consumed the tunnels blinding him of any objects in front of him. The barely visible walls echoed the pitter-patter of their feet as they moved along in the melancholic tunnel. It wasn't until several hours until Reformation saw a dim light in the black air, trying to keep from being smothered.

 

"We're almost there." yawned the mouse, obviously tired.

 

As the starving light started to become full and consuming everything, Reformation began to squint. He had never been in an area of such light. He covered his face with his arm, trying not to let the white attack his eyes.

 

As the mouse was able to see, a look of terror wiped across his face as he looked over to Reformation.

 

"Wait... You're, a rat?" gasped the mouse.

 

"Well, yes. How did you not know?" asked Reformation, looking over at him and still squinting from the intense lighting.

 

The mouse sighed, and began to raise his hand to his snout.

 

"I'm nose-blind." he muttered.

 

Reformation felt sorry for the poor mouse. Without his sense of smell, Reformation wouldn't be able to find his way. As if noticing his pity, the mouse turned to him with a glare.

 

"Don't feel sorry for me. It won't help me any." he squeaked. 

 

Reformation turned his head away as if the conversation didn't happen. The silence made things awkward, so Reformation began on a new subject.

 

"Why is there so much lighting?" he sniffed.

 

"Crops need light to grow. So, we have to keep it well-lit." answered the mouse, not even looking at Reformation.

 

Reformation was shocked by this new information. What kind of weird thing needs light to survive? It didn't make any sense what so ever. After all, everyone was adapted to living in darkness. So how come these bizarre recources didn't? The question baffled and amazed him.

 

He thought up theories in his head as they continued to walk. The light was still bothering him, but his eyes had adjusted him. He tried to picture himself as a plant so he could accept the light. This may seem silly, but it was working.

 

They were finally reaching the gates, which was gaurded by two buff mice wearing silver armor. Their helmets were thimbles, their armor was chainlink on the arms and thick sheets on the chest, and the tail was protected by a thin sheet of chainlink as well. Not only that, but belts of satin wrapped around their waists, their glossy-black color pleasing to Reformation's eyes. In the belt was a sheath for their swords, much more tenacious than that of the scelusan he had fought two days ago. 

 

The gates were also silver, elaborately patterned with swallows and a mythical plant known as a flower. The whole thing was marvelous, and too much for the eye to take it all in. It's a shame it took him more than a day to get here. 

 

"Well, I guess this's were we part, amigo. Godspeed!" said the mouse, handing the guards a small peice of onion paper. 

 

The gaurds nodded in approval, and handed him back the slip of paper. 

 

"Wait, I never caught your name!" shouted Reformation.

 

"My name's Simon!" he called back.

 

Simon. That was an odd name! Then again, so was his own. He wondered where he even got his name from. His thoughts were interrupted by the hoarse voice of one of the guards.

 

"Rat, don't just stand there. State your name and your business. " He chattered.

 

"My name is Reformation. I came here to work." he puffed confidently.

Chapter Six:

 The two guards exchanged glances, then peered back at Reformation, who was standing patiently. The first guard crawled up the latter to a tower that watched over the pearly gates, disappearing into the only dark place in the entire kingdom. Reformation observed the mud-brick tower, noting it's vintage appearance. The walls were covered in a vine-like material, which infested the surrounding walls as well. He had never seen living plant life, and eagerly examined the hand-like leaves from where he was standing. They were huge!

 

The mouse came back, and dragged along a taller, thinner mouse that had the appearance of a child. His helmet barely fitted, as it dipped over one side of his face, and shaded the other. The armor also fit loosely on the bean pole of a mouse, and the sword seemed much overweighted for the him to carry. He stumbled around until he regained proper footing, then leaned over as the guard whispered in his oversized ear.

 

The mouse nodded nervously, and tottered over to Reformation shyly. Adjusting his poorly fitted helmet, and inhaling, the mouse prepared for a speech.

 

"Hello. I am Mauviette. In order to work, you will have to apply for a visa at our town capital. Follow me." declared the mouse with a sigh in his voice.

 

"Nice to meet you, Mauviette. My name is Reformation." greeted Reformation.

 

Mauviette seemed surprised by Reformation's politeness, as he glanced back at him with an expression of puzzlement. But before the mouse could comment, the guard slapped his helmet, causing it to spin.

 

"Get to work, sap." chattered the guard.

 

The guard then marched over to the irridecsent gates, and helped the other one pull them open revealing a busy township. Mauviette whimpered slightly, spinning in circles, then fell to the ground. Reformation jumped a little in shock, then extended his hand to pull out the small, boyish mouse.

 

Mauviette turned his helmet back around, then waved away the gesture of help.

 

"Thank you anyways." sighed Mauviette, scambling to his feet after seeing the guards snickering in amusement.

 

He hung his head in shame, then began to shuffle towards the entrance. He waved for Reformation to follow, who scurried behind him. After catching up, he took his time to take everything in. Over to the right were shop owners shouting out prices, competing for the interest of the crowds. Young mice squeaked and scurried around, looking and touching every object they came in contact with.

 

Women called for their children to come for supper, apprentices listened carefully to their mentor's instructions, and the constant cling of metal at the blacksmith's added to the melody of the busy town. Knights wooed young maidens, squires cared for the turantulas that the knights rode around on. It was never this busy back at the humble encampments he had grown up in. It was always quite, slow, and dark. Here, it was bright, noisy, and busy.

 

It excited, but also confused Reformation to be in such a different place. He felt a burst of energy bustling inside of him, yearning to explore every gnooke and cranny in the town. However, he had to focus on getting a visa, whatever that was. All he knew is that he needed it.

 

Mauviette still seemed pretty pessimistic at the moment, still just barely dragging along. Only occasionally would he look back to make sure Reformation was still following along. While Reformation wasn't the best at observing others, he did notice Mauviette's gloomy behavior.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.09.2015

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The idea was based off of The Tale of Desperaux, however, is too different from it to be a fan fiction.