Pawsgaard

Autumnal clouds blanketed the skies over Guineawick, thick and white and holding back the valiant efforts of the midday sun. The town bustled with a crowd of farmer-mice: the squeaks and chatter announced harvest time had come at last. A steady stream of strapping young mice marched in from the outer fields, passing through the heavy doors of the East Gate. Some carried bundles on their backs, others pulled wood carts; but collectively they bore the smiles of a good day’s work and the promise of a comfortable winter.

Among the sea of the brown, black, and grey fur of the town square, a single white mouse walked leisurely along the dirt road, away from the crowd. She wore an orange sarong wrapped about her waist and carried a basket in the crook of her arm.

“A’llo Hester!” came a deep shout. The white mouse turned back toward the square and held her free paw up in order to shield her large black eyes from the sun. A hamster stood in the shade of his shop, waving a massive hammer in his paw as if it were made of cork.

“Hello Hamma!” Hester replied with a grin and a hearty wave.

“You look mighty pretty in orange!” shouted the blacksmith with a laugh. He then reached down and wiped his brow upon the thick and dirty apron he wore. “Much prettier than my ol’ apron!”

Hester blushed as her tail wrapped around her ankles, and adjusted the sarong. She liked the old hamster, even if he was the only one in town. No, especially because he was the only hamster in town, and in fact the only hamster that young Hester had ever known.

“Well,” Hamma said, scratching one of the many soot patches that dotted his golden fur, “These tools ain’t gonna mend themselves!” Hester waved again, and Hamma turned back to face the heat of his forge. With a swing and a blang, he returned to shaping the shovel-head he’d left on the coals a moment before.

Hester smiled and continued up the road away from the market. As she walked up the hill, she noticed the familiar silhouette of a bent old mouse with large round ears pulling a cart twice his size: half filled with the long stalk reeds that grew by the riverbank. She picked up her pace, and when she was within the elder mouse’s hearing (which was quite far, naturally) she shouted a noise that sounded less like a word, and more like refined cough.

The old mouse jumped as if startled, and with one ear cocked slyly back toward Hester, began looking left and right, high and low, in mock search for the source of the noise.

A passing mouse turned his head curiously at the scene, then shrugged and continued on his way. Hester smiled and made the noise again, followed by other, different noises. “Peaceful greetings, Jared,” Hester said in the old language.

Jared turned his head, ears and all, facing back down the hill. “Peaceful greetings, Hester,” the old mouse spoke back. “I wondered who else spoke high-rodent these days.”

Hester grinned as she ran to catch up with him. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Who else could it be but me? You never taught anyone else.”

“You were the only one who listened, at any rate,” Jared said. “And there was a time when ol’ Jared here didn’t need to teach the high-tongue.”

“Oh, let me help you with that,” Hester said, putting her basket into the cart and reaching to help pull.

“No need, no need!” Jared insisted. “I won’t be too old until I can’t pull this here cart, and when I can’t pull this here cart I’ll be too old.” Hester gave him a stern look. “Besides, look at my arms, you wouldn’t want to get your pretty white fur all dirty, would you?”

Hester leaned back embarrassed and flattened down her fur. The two walked up the hill together, and stopped at its crest. From her vantage point on the crossroads, Hester could see all of Guineawick laid out before her. To her right, west, the road led to her family manor, as well as the homes of the other long established families of the town. Past them loomed the great rock face of Mount Podge, and their once famous Podge Mines.

To her left stood the stone centerpiece of Guineawick: Town Hall. By far the largest building in all of Guineawick, it was so old that even the ancient Jared could not remember a time before Town Hall existed. Past Town Hall the road led to the East Gate, which led out the fields, called the Greater Gardens, the heart of Guineawick’s farmland. The Greater Gardens stretched from the town all the way east to Hodge River, and provided the grains, fruits, vegetables and nuts on which the good mice of Guineawick survived.

“Why were you in the market today?” Hester asked Jared. “You don’t usually come in for another week.”

Jared twitched his whiskers and scratched his ear. “Had a funny feeling, that’s all. Like something big was going to happen today.” When Hester’s curiosity became apparent, Jared deflected, “And where are you headed today?”

“Oh,” Hester said, reaching into the cart and pulling out her basket. “I came to bring you a picnic!”

“A picnic?” Jared asked, twitching his whiskers with interest. “Why didn’t you say so? Let’s get a move on!” With that, he lifted up the cart handles and began pulling it down the hill toward the south side of town.

The road curved around a block of houses and continued on past the few remaining stone buildings of Guineawick’s past. Up ahead, they saw the more recently built, and even more recently white-washed, hospital. As Hester and Jared walked by they watched the Nurses hard at work; tending to the Lesser Gardens, as they called them. Though they sold some of the hearty, perennial vegetables they grew to support themselves, they were also charged with keeping aside stores in the case of emergencies or bad harvests.

“Ah, home at last!” Jared said as the two finally came to a small house near the South Gate. As Jared pulled his cart around back, Hester stood and stared at the sign hanging over the doorway: “Jared’s Burrow”, it read in stiff, official-looking letters. Though she had visited the old scholar a hundred times, she had never questioned the sign, but now it seemed odd to her.

“Why do you have a sign?” Hester asked when Jared returned. “No one else I know has a sign over their front door. And it’s not a proper burrow is it? Weren’t burrows underground?”

Jared stood and stared at her and scratched his chin.

“Sorry,” Hester apologized, switching back to the the old-tongue. Jared twittered his whiskers, and then entered his house. Hester followed with her basket, ashamed that she’d forgotten Jared’s rule that they only speak high-rodent with one another.

Inside, Hester went right to making herself at home, placing the basket on the rough wooden table and reaching about the kitchen for plates and utensils. Having spent her summers living with Jared, helping him harvest reed from the river in exchange for more advanced studies, she knew quite well where everything was placed. Jared returned from the hall with a large bowl of flowered water, in which they both washed their paws and faces.

“What did you bring today?” Jared asked, trying to mask his own curiosity and hunger.

“Nothing special,” Hester said as she reached into the basket, and produced a loaf of bread, a blackberry and an unshelled peanut.

“It’s marvelous!” Jared said, and the two began to eat.

To Hester’s delight and expectation, Jared’s filling belly loosened his tongue, and he began to talk about her favorite subject: stories of times long past.

“When I was a young scholar,” Jared began as always, “Guineawick was much different place, I tell you. All manner of rodent lived within the walls, and the name of Guineawick was known far and wide!”

“What about the other rodents, tell me more about them,” Hester said.

“Not just mice,” Jared said, “but hamsters, and gerbils, squirrels even, before they receded deep into the forest.”

“And rabbits?” Hester asked, enthusiastically.

“Rabbits? Yes of course, back when rabbits still…” A swift and sharp knock at the door interrupted Jared. A moment later, the door opened, and in came a young mouse, smartly dressed in his guards cape.

“Hester, I knew I’d find you here…” the guard started, but was soon interrupted by Jared standing up and waving his arms in anger.

“Hold on a minute!” Jared said to the mouse, still waving his arms. “Have you no respect boy? You can’t just barge into the Jared’s Burrow!”

Hester covered her mouth with her paws to prevent herself from laughing.

“What’s your name?” Jared demanded.

“Aman, sir,” the guard said, back against the wall, tail in his paw.

“Aman?” Jared asked, more to himself than of the frightened guard before him. He leaned back and scratched his chin. “Where have I heard that name?” At that, Hester’s enjoyment turned to dread. “Someone’s always going on about this Aman fellow…”

Hester jumped in as quickly as her legs would carry her, “What’s going on Aman, what’s the big commotion?”

Aman eyed Jared, afraid to speak, then said, “It’s Zach and Toby, they found something by the river!”

Hester’s heart dropped into her stomach. She’d told her brothers to stay in town. She was supposed to be watching them, and if they were down by the river… Hester would be in a lot of trouble, and she formed a mental image of their mother spewing flames on her for shirking her babysitting.

“What did you say they found?” Jared asked.

“A rabbit! A real live rabbit!” Aman exclaimed. Hester tried to digest Aman’s words. “Come on,” he said, “the guards are going to bring it through the North Gate!”

“Hmmm…” Jared said, “Something about today…” Then with a slap on his knee, “Well what’re we waiting for?”

*****

The town square flooded with a frenzy of curious mice: they strained their necks to see over the crowd of bobbing tails.

“Did you hear?” voices squeaked.

“I know, a rabbit right?”

“Impossible, rabbits don’t exist!”

A new wave of onlookers arrived, and among them shuffled Hester, Jared and Aman. As they entered the square, Hester caught the scanning eyes of her mother.

“Hester!” Rizo called, pushing her way through the crowd. “Where are the boys?”

Hester debated confession, but her opportunity to come clean was interrupted by the trump, trump, march of guardmice.

“Stand to, everyone!” shouted a grizzly looking grey-fur, wearing a cape with a captain’s broach. “Clear the square!”

“Clear the square! Clear the square!” shouted the other guardmice, following the captain’s example. Some came to use their bows as mock rails to pressure the crowd back.

Hester stumbled backward with the press of mice, and Aman caught her from behind. She smiled her thanks, and tried to look for the others.

Rizo had taken some initiative, and had begun squeezing her way toward the front of the crowd. “Let me through!” she said, and Hester watched as the mice bowed to her mother’s wishes.

Jared meanwhile, had with surprising alacrity clamored up onto the edge of one of the square’s many planter boxes. He leaned forward over the heads of the other mice, cocking his enormous ears and keeping a firm grip on a market stall post with his tail.

A silhouette grew larger under the arch of the North Gate as a mass entered the town. Half a dozen guardmice resolved out of the shadows, dragging something heavy on a hastily fashioned gurney. Summoned for his great strength, Hamma helped haul alongside the guards, pulling hard but with a wide smile.

“Let’s see what we have here,” came a deep, authoritative voice from the crowd. A tall black mouse with tufts of grey above his eyes stepped up to the guards’ blockade and was let to pass. The crowd immediately quieted to hushed whispers.

Argile, Mayor-Regent of Guineawick, strode up to the brownish green mass on the gurney, as the grey-fur captain moved in to report. “Sir,” the captain said with a salute, “He’s hurt pretty bad. We found him…”

“Hey, you didn’t find him, we found him!” shouted two high pitched voices. From behind the procession ran two little mice, one black, one grey. “He was laying down by Hodge River…”

“Toby, Zach, what were you two doing…” Argile started to ask the boys. But he was interrupted a moment later as Rizo ran up to her husband, dropping to inspect their sons for damage.

“Are you alright, were you hurt?” Rizo asked. “Yes, what were you two doing by the river? Where’s your sister?”

But even as her mother fussed over Toby and Zach, Hester walked right up past her family. In the back of her mind Hester knew that she was in big trouble, but she was drawn to the rhythmic rise and fall of the body on the gurney.

Hester reached up, and without thinking, pulled down the coarse green and brown cloak that covered it. The crowd gasped.

At least four times as large as Hamma, the rabbit was the biggest creature that most of the mice had ever seen. He wore magnificent plates of dented metal armor. Standing nearby, Hester could see a guard carrying the broken end of a spear and a large metal helmet where the crest had been smashed.

“It’s a rabbit,” Hester whispered, and looking down at her own fur, “A real live white rabbit.”

*****

Hester kept her arms crossed as she walked around the back of Town Hall. Argile had called an emergency session of the town council, and the store owners, family heads, and other important rodents could be heard inside. Her father’s voice stood out clear and cool over their squabbles, urging the townmice to remain calm.

Hester approached the Town Hall nursery with a bit of apprehension: she hated babysitting. Though she was certainly old enough, she’d never had much interest in attending council meetings, until now. For the first time she actually wanted to go, but her mother felt that watching the childmice would be an appropriate punishment for shirking her responsibilities earlier.

“Heya Hester,” said Aman as he crossed the street.

“Hello,” Hester replied. “You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Aman said, shrugging. They walked up the back steps together, and Aman stepped forward to open the door for her.

Hester blushed and entered, Aman a step behind. She’d half-expected the mob of youngsters to be running amok, but to her surprise they were all seated on the floor, circled around her two brothers.

Zach and Toby sat on the edge of a table, and were regaling the others with the now epic story of how they’d found the rabbit. From the sound of it, the story had been repeated, and augmented, many times since it’d happened.

“We picked him up, but he was too wide and kept flopping out of our paws,” Zach explained. “And so I said to Toby: ‘We better ask the guards for help.’” Oohs and aahs spread throughout the room.

“That’s not what happened!” Aman said, announcing himself. The young eyes followed the guard as he marched into the center of them. “The captain said you two came running through the gate screaming like you’d had your tails cut off.” Zach and Toby stammered and stuttered. “Don’t listen to these two.”

“You’d be screaming too if you saw it when it was still awake!” Zach recovered. “Its eyes were red and it breathed fire!” Some of the youngest shivered and held their tails nervously.

“Rabbits don’t breathe fire,” Hester said.

“What do you know?” Toby asked. “You weren’t there. You’ve never seen a rabbit before.”

“True,” Hester said, then “But Jared has, and he’s told me all about them. Don’t any of you know anything about rabbits?”

Most of the childmice shrugged or shook their heads. Hester sighed, but now having their attention, climbed up onto the table. Zach and Toby could only stick out their tongues before joining the others on the floor.

“Rabbits are good rodents, just like mice, hamsters, and squirrels,” Hester began, “It’s just been a long time since anyone’s seen one.”

“What happened to the squirrels?” a tiny mouse asked, before being hushed by the group.

“Rabbits were fierce warriors from the north,” Hester explained. “There it snows year-round and there’s all kinds of monsters, like weasels, foxes, and even cats.” Some of the little ones gasped. “It was Hodge who first went north to find the rabbits…”

“Hodge?” a mouse asked. “You mean like Hodge River?”

“Of course,” Hester said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the brothers Hodge and Podge either?” The mice shook their heads again, but leaned in closer. Even Toby and Zach couldn’t resist the pull of a new story.

“Okay,” Hester said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you all the legend of Hodge and Podge, and how they founded Guineawick.”

“A long time ago, it was very dangerous to be a mouse, so we lived underground in burrows to keep safe from monsters. Then one year two twin brothers were born, named Hodge and Podge. They were brave and tough, and didn’t think anything of leaving their burrows to explore above ground. It’s said that one day, when they were still babies, they’d disappeared from their burrow. Their mother was frantic, and went out to look for them. When she found them, they were playing with the body of a snake they’d killed.”

The little ones’ mouths gaped. The danger of snakes had been drilled into them since they were young. Even today it’d take a dozen guards to take down a snake. Hester continued.

“When they were older, Hodge and Podge decided that they’d had enough of hiding underground. So that autumn they set out to build a safe haven above-ground for all the mice to live in. But the other mice were too scared to leave their burrows and help. So Hodge and Podge went to look for a suitable place by themselves.”

“They had all kinds of adventures, but one day they came here, where the mountain met the river, and they decided that this was the perfect place to build Guineawick.”

“Is that why they’re called Hodge River and Podge Mountain?” a mouse asked.

“Yes, but you’re getting ahead of me,” Hester said, annoyed. “Anyway, Hodge and Podge knew they couldn’t build Guineawick alone, so they decided to split up and go for help. Podge climbed up the mountain, until he found the hamsters’ caves. He told them of his plan, and the hamsters agreed to help build Guineawick, on the condition that hamsters could live there too. They mined the mountain for jewels and precious metals, but no one ever climbed the mountain to buy them. Podge agreed, and they came down from the mountain with their tools.”

“And what about Hodge?” Aman prompted. As a guard he had heard the legend of Hodge and Podge at least a million times. Hester smiled at Aman and continued.

“Hodge knew that the hamsters would need somebody to protect them until the town was finished,” she said. “So he followed the river north, past the forest and up to the frozen tundra, looking for rabbits.” By this time, the young mice were so enthralled, they had forgotten to keep breathing.

“Hodge knew the rabbits only by their fierce reputation. The rabbits lived in the harsh cold, and had to defend their homes against… cats.” The little ones gasped; some played nervously with their tails, others held their friends. Hester, herself not beneath using a story to impress, continued. “Cats, the most ferocious monsters of all. Feared by all rodents, but especially mice,” the youngest mice held one another tighter, “because cats love the taste of mice most of all…”

At that moment, the door slammed open, sending the childmice into a frenzy of screams as they scrambled over one another, diving behind and under the furniture. “Hester?” asked a voice as a guardmouse entered. Even Hester had been startled, and stood up from behind the table where she’d fallen.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Your presence is required in the council meeting,” the guard said. Then, looking around at the cowering childmice: “Aman, straighten this place out.”

Hester walked toward the door, and gave a final glance back at Aman. He smiled sympathetically. This can’t be good, Hester thought as she followed the guard outside.

*****

A steady stream of elevated voices could be heard from within the Town Hall as Hester approached. The guard gestured for her to enter, and as she crossed the threshold the hall went silent. She walked slowly up the aisle that cut through the rows of chairs. She fought the urge to grab her tail, or fix her fur, or do any of the other things that would reveal her nervousness.

In avoiding to look up at the council and her father, she kept her eyes surveying the room. All of the important mice were here. The heads of families with their wives and eldest childmice. The shop-owners and merchants. Representatives from the hospital, and the guild leaders. Hester looked for a friendly face, and was thankful to see Hamma up on the stage, his rightful place as member of the town council.

Hamma smiled quickly, and Hester was confused. Then her father spoke.

“Hester,” Argile said, and she was forced to meet his face. She stopped just past the first row of chairs and looked up at her father. Though the other townmice might be fooled, Hester could sense his feigned confidence and control. It must have been a rough meeting.

“Hester, it has been agreed that the town will take in the rabbit until his wounds have healed and he is able to leave Guineawick on his own strength.” Hester listened and waited for the bad news. “Hamma has been kind enough to offer a room for the rabbit to stay in, since the hospital doesn’t even have a room large enough for himself.” A grunt sounded from the other side of the room, and Hester turned and recognized the figure of Dr. Cotton, surrounded by a troupe of Nurses.

“But Hamma is too busy mending tools for the harvest,” Argile continued, “And so Jared, being the most knowledgeable about rabbits, has been charged with caring for our… guest. Jared will need an assistant to help him…”

“I still object to this,” Dr. Cotton interrupted. “There’s no basis for discrediting the talents of my medical staff.”

“Again,” Argile said, “Your objection has been noted.” He looked back at his daughter, but Hester’s mind had already gone to work figuring out the situation. Argile cleared his throat. “Jared needs an assistant,” he repeated, “and has requested that you, Hester, be allowed to help him.”

Hester looked to Jared, and the old mouse nodded in confirmation. Excitement boiled up inside of her, and Hester fought to keep calm. A minute before she was convinced that some formal punishment for not watching the boys was going to be pronounced, but not this! Anything but this! She took a deep breath.

“Yes,” she said awkwardly. “I mean, yes, I’ll be happy to help Jared.”

“Good, then that settles things,” Argile said. Dr. Cotton turned on his heel and marched toward the door, his Nurses in tow. “Well then, unless we have any other business tonight, I call this meeting adjourned.”

With that, the townmice stood from their seats and shuffled out of the building, their voices kept to low whispers. Rizo shot a mean glance at her daughter as she left, but Hester was in too much of a daze to notice. Argile had called the captain of the guard over to him and was busy whispering something into his ear.

“Snap to!” said Jared, catching Hester’s attention. “Come on, let’s get to work. I suspect it’ll be a long night.”

Hester shook her head, and followed the old mouse out the door. It was dark now, and as the other mice headed in small groups back toward their homes, Hester and Jared walked the opposite direction back toward the town square. After tailing behind for a bit, Hester scurried up beside Jared.

“What was going on in there Jared?” she asked.

Jared responded without looking back, though he cocked one of his large ears as if to acknowledge her. “Politics, politics,” he said. “Nothing for you to worry about, not now at any rate.”

Hester ran ahead and blocked the old mouse’s way. “I want to know what’s going on,” she demanded, then crossed her arms. “Why did you pick me to help you? Why are we even taking care of the rabbit?” Even as she spoke the words she was conflicted; she wanted to see the rabbit, right?

“Hester,” Jared said, then seeing that an excuse wouldn’t suffice, explained: “If Dr. Cotton wasn’t so blatantly ambitious, I’m sure he and his Nurses would be taking care of our guest. Cotton tried to bully the council by whipping up some nonsense about diseases the rabbit could be carrying. He just wanted a leg up on your father is all, but the Mayor-Regent, your father I mean, played his paw well. Calmed everyone down.”

“So the rabbit isn’t dangerous?” Hester asked.

“I’m sure he’s dangerous,” Jared said, stepping around Hester and continuing on the road toward the smithy. “But probably not to us, and especially not as he is now.”

Hester turned and hurried after him. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why pick me as an assistant?”

“Child, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I know, I helped put it there. And even if Cotton wasn’t after the Mayor-Regent’s office, the hospital was built much after the larger rodents left Guineawick. You heard your father, there wouldn’t be a room large enough to hold a rabbit. Hamma’s house will better serve our purpose. And here we are.”

Hamma’s house stood tall behind his smithy. Both buildings dated back to the founding of Guineawick: strong and sturdy, made by the hamsters from the rock of their mountain.

Jared reached up and rapped his paw on the door. A bump, bump, shuffle could be heard inside, and the door opened to Hamma’s bright smile. “Come in, come in,” he said, standing aside.

Jared gestured for Hester to enter. “And those Nurses are too chatty besides,” he said as she passed inside.

*****

The rabbit’s eyes flutter: a flicker in black and white, and finally he opens them. Screaming, distant, illusory. He reaches next to him, and the bed is empty. He rolls out from the covers and strains to see in the darkness of the burrow. The screaming continues, and when he rises upward his nose twitches and burns. Smoke. He drops to the floor and reaches for the blankets, pulling them over his head.

He calls out, but the smoke chokes his lungs and burns his eyes. He fumbles out of the room and down the hall. The children. Where are the children?

He’s outside, on the snow? The children are playing, rolling in the powder. His wife brings him a hot bowl of carrot soup and he downs it with one paw as he holds her with the other. Something’s wrong, how’d he get here? He was inside…

He’s outside, but he can’t see the children. Fires dot the neighborhood, lighting the night sky. Screaming, he can hear the screaming. And something else, something deeper. A rumble like water over rocks, something he remembers as a child, visiting the warm Southern Bend. A white figure darts across the field, a neighbor perhaps, but then the rumble roars and a large mass descends upon it with a crash.

The fires crackle in his ears, and it isn’t water over rocks, this rumble, it’s deeper, it’s… He stops, eyes wide reaching to his flank. His spear, where’s his spear?

He’s standing in formation now. It’s a bright sunny day, the warriors are out running drills. This isn’t right, why can he still hear that terrible rumble?

The shadows coalesce around him, and the rumble, no, the purr, it’s purring! He bares his teeth and drops to all fours. He smells the blood on the air. The screams are no longer so distant. The purr becomes laughter, and he cries out his battle-song, and is surprised to hear it echo back to him. Others! There are others!

He lunges toward the nearest shadow. He hears the warrior-song, sees his father charge by overhead into another shadow. He bites hard, hears the yowl of pain and rolls away into a snow drift. From the corner of his eye he sees his father pinned, and leaps instinctively to help him. Together they fell the cat.

Off in the clearing, he sees flashes of white and his heart jumps for joy! His wife is running at full speed, herding their children away. Go! Go! No!

They can’t hear him and don’t see what lies ahead. The cats are falling, but not quickly enough, the warriors are running thin. His father flies by him and hits a tree, falling hard. This can’t be happening!

He dashes toward the field, and a friend sidles up alongside him. Together they run, and when the cat drops in front of them, they leap together into the mass of fur and teeth and claws.

He opens his eyes, the weight of the dead cat pressing on him, holding him to the snow. His friend is dead, throat torn open. He cranes his neck to look, and he sees his family, and he can’t help them.

The beast descends upon them, and he can’t look away.

He hears the voice of his father, the voices of his family, of the warriors, of the clan. They call out to him and he can’t answer them. His eyes flutter open, and he’s in a strange place: a white mouse looks down on him and he doesn’t understand. He looks to the side and sees a large glass window. Glass, which he hasn’t seen for years. But beyond, outside, he can see them, can see the line of rabbits marching off into the distance, armored for war. He reaches for them and a pain lances up his side. The mouse reaches and pulls down his paw.

Exhaustion overcomes him.

Hester sits in the darkness, holding a cold compress over the rabbit’s forehead. Jared’s eyes have long since closed, his age having caught up with his excitement, and he sleeps hunched over on a chair. The rabbit sweats and shivers and mumbles snatches of words. Hester can’t decide if they’re words or just the fever, but he’s calming down, and she continues applying the wet cloth.

*****

Clang. Clang. Hiss.

The rabbit’s eyes opened slowly, but he shut them quickly as the light blinded him. He took a moment to recover, then tried again, and his eyes adjusted to the bright. His body was on fire and his head throbbed, but he tried to sit up anyway.

Clang. Blang. Bong. Hiss.

Pain spidered out from his side, and he looked down to see his arm, shoulder, and ribs wrapped in white bandages. He laid back down, and coughed.

The rabbit spoke aloud, but no response. He scanned the room, and it’s mostly empty. A large window dominated the far wall, and the sunshine poured in. A couple of chairs on the floor, but in the far corner he saw what he desired on a small table.

Suddenly, a fair-furred mouse entered the room, and their eyes meet. Hester stopped in her tracks, and eyed the rabbit cautiously. The night before she pitied him, but now she’s confused, and feels she should be scared.

The rabbit reached toward the table, and spoke, and Hester’s eyes only grew.

Water. He’s asking for water. But it’s not the gesture toward the pitcher that she recognized, but the word itself.

“Water, please,” he said, in the old tongue, in high-rodent.

Hester shook her head and hurried to the pitcher. She poured the water into a large wooden bowl and brought it to him.

He gulped down the cool water then, sighing, said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hester dared respond. The rabbit’s eyes brightened as he looked to her.

“You understand me?” he asked. “It’s been so long… wait, don’t leave, please.”

Hester had stepped back and was inching toward the door. “I’m not, I mean, I should go and get Jared…”

“If you must go, please, your name first,” the rabbit said.

“Hester.”

“A name for the face that pulled me through the night. Thank you, Hester.”

Hester blushed. “I should get Jared, he’ll have so many questions,” she said awkwardly. She turned to leave, but her curiosity asserted itself once more, and she turned back toward the wounded rabbit. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig…” He stopped at her confused stare. “Sven, call me Sven.”

After Hester had left, Sven leaned back onto the bed. He closed his eyes, but a minute later opened them as a mouse whom he presumed to be the Jared entered. The mouse was certainly old, and his ears disproportionately large. Behind him followed the white-fur, Hester. Then the old mouse spoke.

“Peaceful greetings, Sven,” Jared said formally.

Sven bowed his head as best as he could, then replied, “Peaceful greetings, though I know naught but your title.”

Jared smiled, and bowed his head. “It has been so long since anyone has made a distinction,” he laughed. Hester listened but was confused at the exchange. “Call me Jared as others do, it’s no matter to me, I can’t remember my own name anyway.” Sven smiled, then Jared continued, “But surely you deserve a more complete introduction? A kind rabbit such as yourself surely must give his full name.”

Sven cleared his throat. “I am Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig, son of Edgar, son of Erick…” he said, listing off a dozen more names. Hester stared and tried to remember them, when Jared turned toward her.

“Now I’m sure the Mayor-Regent should want to hear your tale. Hester? Would you go get your father?” Jared snapped to catch her attention. “And some food?”

Hester blinked and nodded. She exited the room, and passed out the front door. Outside, the persistent bang of Hamma’s hammer could be heard more clearly. She hurried out past the blacksmith, and straight into a gaggle of curious childmice, their tails like a forest in the wind.

“What’s he like?” several asked in unison. “Is he awake? Can he really breathe fire?”

Hester shook her head, and ignored them. She ran through the square, and escaping from the children, started up the hill toward her family’s manor. What had Jared meant about not knowing his own name?

When she came to her house, she entered quickly and called for her father.

“What is it Hester?” he asked.

“Sven, err, the rabbit, he’s awake,” she said, out of breath. “Jared said to get you.”

“Is that so?” Argile asked, grabbing for a hat. “Well, then I best be off.”

“He also said to send food,” Hester said, and Argile nodded.

At that moment, Rizo entered from the kitchen. “I’ll make up a bundle. Hester, come help me.”

Hester swallowed but did as she was told. She didn’t say anything to her mother while they prepared a lunch basket of fruits, vegetables, and bread. But as Hester went with the basket toward the door, Rizo stopped her.

“Your father can carry it just fine,” she said.

“But…” Hester started.

“No buts,” Rizo said. “You’ve got chores to do. Your father will have business to attend to, you’ve done your part.” Hester knew she was still in hot water, so sullenly passed the basket to her father. “Now go get changed and help me with the cleaning.”

*****

“His name is Sven Pawsgaard,” Argile said from the podium, “And he was attacked by a weasel near the Hodge.”

Concerned murmurs wafted through the crowd. Hester sat next to Aman in the crowded Town Hall; it seemed that everyone who could show up, had. She looked to Jared, sitting with the council on stage, but his look back was not the confirmation she was expecting. Something was fishy.

“I’ve already spoken with the captain here,” Argile continued, acknowledging the grizzled mouse from the day before, standing to the left of the podium. “There’s nothing to worry about, the harvest will continue as normal. The guards have handled more than their fair share of weasels, and this one won’t cause us any trouble.”

“What about this rabbit?” one of the wives asked. “I thought rabbits were supposed to be great warriors? What if it’s some kind of super-weasel?” The hall roared to life.

“Please, please,” Argile said, holding out his paws and waiting for them to quiet. “I think that we’re all mature enough to not believe in rabbit-tales.” Some of the mice laughed. “Nonetheless, I have the utmost confidence in the guards, and there will be extra duty shifts until the weasel is found and killed.”

“What about the rabbit itself?” another mouse asked. “Are you sure he’s to be trusted?”

Hester felt the urge to stand and defend Sven, but stopped when Aman grabbed her paw. She looked to him and then to Jared, who averted his eyes. Something definitely fishy was going on.

“My dear townmice,” Argile said in his soothing voice, “There’s nothing to be concerned about. Sven is not a threat, is he Jared?”

The mice all turned their attention to the old mouse. He coughed and stood. “The rabbit poses no threat to us. He’s merely a lone traveler, far, far from home.” He twittered his whiskers. “This is a time to celebrate, to find that the rodent-brethren we once thought lost still live…”

“Exactly,” slipped in Argile. “I understand that you all have concerns and questions, but I assure you that there’s nothing to worry about. Sven has been severely traumatized by his ordeal, and just needs to be left alone while he recovers, with the best that Guineawick hospitality…” he paused long on that word, looking directly at Dr. Cotton, “has to offer. I give you my word.”

After the meeting, Hester went to confront Jared. “I know something’s not right,” she told Aman who tagged along.

“Why? What makes you say that?” Aman asked.

“I just know,” she answered curtly. “I know my father and I know when he’s hiding something.”

“Hello Hester,” Jared said, reluctantly using the common tongue since Aman stood nearby.

“Jared,” Hester said, “What’s going on?”

“Your father thinks that Sven isn’t completely rational,” he answered, holding up his paw to deflect Hester’s protest. “The rabbit has been through quite an ordeal, and the fever makes him make all kinds of crazy claims. But your father’s right, there’s no need to panic, it was just a weasel that caught Sven by surprise. The guards can handle it.”

Hester nodded as if she accepted Jared’s explanation, but she wasn’t convinced.

*****

Several days had passed since the meeting at the Town Hall, and Sven was recovering rapidly. He was still bedridden, but his strength was returning. Hester, Jared, and Aman kept him company, and little by little he learned about mice of Guineawick.

Eventually, the persistent gaggle of curious childmice had worked their way up from the town square to the small clearing just outside Sven’s window. They sat at some distance and shouted questions, which Sven tried to answer with his limited grasp of low-rodent. When he couldn’t find the right words, or couldn’t understand the questions, he’d turn to Jared or Hester for help translating.

“What’s it like up north?” a young childmouse asked.

“Very cold, and very white,” Sven would answer for the fiftieth time with a laugh.

“Are there mice up north? What do they look like?”

“Yes, there are mice, and they’re white like me!”

As Jared translated another question, Hester busied herself wringing out a rag. She stopped and looked down at her own white fur. It had bothered her much more when she was younger, but even now there were times when she was self-conscious of her coloring. She was the only white mouse in Guineawick, and had been teased often as a child. Everyone else matched their families except her: Argile and Zach were black-furred, Rizo and Toby grey.

She shook her head and turned down at Aman sitting in the corner with a small book in his paws. Even when they were young, he’d never teased her. Hester smiled and called over to him. “How’s the studying going?” she asked in high-rodent.

Aman stared at her for a moment while he worked out what she had said. Most mice took at least some high-rodent in school, but nearly all forgot it just as quickly. Until now, no one needed to speak it. And Aman wasn’t the only mouse in town trying to pick it up now, he just had the benefit of fluent company.

“The studying is going well,” he replied, and Hester nodded, impressed. Aman was more than just a cape and a sword.

At home, Hester’s life was less joyful and carefree. She did her chores as expected, but had not spoken to her parents since the weasel announcement. She could hear them whispering sometimes, and knew that despite their apparent courteousness to Sven, that they were leery of him.

One night, she’d overheard them arguing, something about someone named Tom. She couldn’t make out what the fuss was about, and she couldn’t think of any Toms, at least not one of any significance.

After a week, Sven felt it was time to get out of bed. He struggled at first, but after Aman fashioned a pole for him, the rabbit was able to hobble about the town. Guineawick, despite its origin, had for years been fitted for mice, and Sven stood out; it couldn’t be helped. He was so large that he could only leave his room through the window, a fact that never went without a laugh from his crowd of childmice followers.

Sven hobbled through the town square and greeted the shop keepers joyfully, as his low-rodent improved. He had just made it past the seamstresses when Zach and Toby bounded up to him. Hester rolled her eyes; they’d been begging her all week to let them see Sven, and now that he was out they had their chance.

“We’re the ones that found you!” Zach exclaimed. “Me and Toby, we found you down by the river!” The two grinned.

Sven smiled back, and after a pause, responded back in low-rodent. “I owe you two a great debt.” Their eyes gleamed and the other childmice looked up to them even more. “Just as I owe your sister here,” he finished.

“But she didn’t find you!” Toby whined. “We did!”

Sven laughed, but when he looked at Hester, she understood what he had meant. His nightmares had continued since the first night, and despite the double load of her work at home and tending to Sven during the day, Hester had stayed up those long nights at his bedside, ready with with the cold compress. They hadn’t discussed it openly, but an understanding had grown between the two, one that Hester felt was well worth her now sporadic sleep schedule.

*****

“He’s come, he’s come!” cried voices in the distance. “The weasel’s come! Run!”

Sven’s ears perked up, and he locked eyes with Jared for a moment, before leaning forward on the bed.

“What’s going on?” Hester said as she entered the room. Sven rocked himself upright, and Hester hurried to the bed to help the warrior stand.

“My spear! My armor!” Sven shouted, and began searching the room. His armor had lain in a corner since he’d arrived, and to see the metal bent and unattended, and his helmet with its smashed family crest filled his heart with shame. The spear had fared no better, and leaned against the wall at half-height, its haft snapped cleanly in two.

Jared had barely pushed the window open when Sven jumped through the opening, the broken spear held firmly in his teeth. The rabbit darted off toward the sounds of the screaming; Hester and Jared following as quickly as they could.

Outside, they fought against the incoming flow of mice from the Greater Gardens. The workers of the fields beyond the East Gate had abandoned their tools and run for the safety of the Guineawick wall. Guards meanwhile, could be seen rushing to the gardens, and Hester could see Sven up ahead, pushing his way through the crowd as well.

The gate was small relative to the others, and now that it was choked with mice going in both directions, Hester worried that Sven wouldn’t fit. “Jared, how will he…”

But to her astonishment, Sven sidestepped, or rather, jumped over, the problem. When a clear path had opened before him, the rabbit dashed forward and with a mighty push with his legs, leaped up, and cleared the wall completely. As she ran, Hester remembered having heard that the wall was as high as a dozen mice stacked tip to tail, but was too much in shock to feel properly impressed.

Finally, the crowd thinned as the last mice scurried safely inside. Hester and Jared passed through the gate and headed toward the fields. They passed several guards who worked to drag the wounded toward the gate. Several fields distant, Hester could clearly see dozens of guardmice in the bright morning light. Sven towered above them, and farther off she saw it: the weasel, standing its ground by the river.

Hester was much too young to remember when the last weasel had threatened Guineawick, and so her curiosity overrode her fear. She was nearly upon the guards when Jared reached a paw from behind and grabbed her arm.

“Wait, Hester!” he said, coughing at the exertion. “Look!” Hester looked at the weasel and gasped.

The guards had formed a wide semi-circle around the beast, with Sven lying low behind them. The weasel’s coarse fur prickled in excitement, and he bared his sharp teeth with relish. He arched his long back upward, and had begun barking, chattering, and hopping about on all fours.

“The weasel’s war-dance,” Jared said. “He should be running, he doesn’t stand a chance, unless… oh no.”

“What, unless what?” Hester asked. But before Jared need answer, she saw: the monster was defending a catch. Behind the dancing beast, a grey mouse could be seen huddling on the ground. Hester could see that the mouse had hurt it’s leg, and then she recognized her: it was her mother, Rizo.

“Mom!” Hester cried, and again Jared had to grab her. “Mom!”

Some of the guards drew their bows and began firing arrows at the weasel, but his jumping about made him too difficult to hit. Through her tears Hester could see Aman run up to Sven. After a short consultation, Aman returned to the others and began shouting orders that Hester couldn’t quite make out.

“What’s he saying?” she asked Jared, but the old mouse only shushed her.

“Watch!” was all he said.

Apparently realizing that his dance wasn’t intimidating the mice, the weasel back-peddled and, to Hester’s horror, lifted Rizo in his jaws. Hester stifled a scream at the sight, and wanted to help, but Jared held her firm.

Then a call echoed though the air, and as if on cue the guards dropped to the ground. Sven leaped over them with his spear in paw and Aman on his back, charging at the weasel with incredible speed, the two crying out together as they tackled the beast.

Aman leaped at the last possible moment, diving for, and successfully catching Rizo as she fell from the startled weasel’s grasp. As the two mice rolled to safety, Sven and the weasel wrestled in the dust, nipping and clawing at one another. Their struggle took them closer and closer toward the gurgling water of Hodge River.

“The river!” Hester shouted, and Jared nodded. “Sven!”

The weasel had Sven on his back, and his side ached in pain. Blood flowed from the weasels’ bites, staining his fur and seeping into the soil. Desperate, he felt around for some leverage, when his paw wrapped around the shaft of his spear.

With a smile then a cry, he plunged the blade into the weasel’s stomach and kicked with all his might, sending the weasel flying overhead and into the raging water. Exhausted, he turned his head to see the weasel clawing at the waves, the spearhead still lodged in its belly. With a final cry, the monster disappeared, drug away by the current.

*****

Bump, bump, bam, went the drums and the mice shouted with the music.

The weasel was dead, and all was well again in Guineawick. In celebration of the beast’s defeat, Argile had declared the Harvest Festival open nearly a week early. The mice jumped at the opening and laid aside their tools for the time being, replacing them with instruments. Food had been hastily prepared, and the distillery opened its casks.

The mice sung and danced and ate and drank. Even before Sven’s daring rescue, the guards had gotten in their licks, and so they walked about as kings for the evening. Some mice had been hurt in the day’s ordeal, but none had been lost. The names of Aman and Sven were on everyone’s lips, and it seemed that in one fell swoop, the town’s apprehensions at the rabbit’s presence had melted away.

All were in a joyous mood, except for Sven. Hester saw the rabbit sitting alone and away from the revelers.

“What’s wrong?” Aman asked as he came up and gave her a blueberry.

“It’s Sven,” she said, rapping the berry with her fingers. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Aman’s paw and heading toward the sullen rabbit.

“Sven?” She offered the berry up to him, but Sven declined with a raised paw. “Why aren’t you celebrating with the others?”

“Thank you Hester, but I’m not in the mood to celebrate,” the rabbit said. “Go and have fun, don’t let my melancholy pass to you.”

“Are the wounds bothering you?” Hester asked, instinctively reaching to check his bandages.

“Oh now, not here,” came a voice from behind them. The three turned around to see Rizo and an entourage of Guineawick elites. She leaned on a crutch to keep off her twisted ankle, but stood proudly.

“I wanted to thank you Mr. Pawsgaard,” Rizo said. “I had misjudged you. And I thank you as well, Aman.” She bowed with some difficulty. “I owe you two my life.”

Aman beamed at the words, but Sven only looked deep into the mouse’s eyes. “Your thanks are unnecessary madam,” Sven replied coolly. “I only did what was right.”

“Yes,” Rizo replied awkwardly. “Well, please, enjoy yourself.” With that, she left.

Hester knew that something important was passing unsaid, but had failed to read her mother’s face. As she tried to figure it out, Sven had stood and left as well. Hester looked to Aman for help, but he was still riding on her mother’s praise, or in his eyes, the praise of the Mayor-Regent’s wife. Hester sighed.

“Aman!” she said, annoyed. She nodded toward Sven.

“Sorry Hester,” Aman apologized. Paw in paw, the two went after Sven.

When they caught up with him, he had been cornered by the blubbering Hamma. The hamster held a pitcher of berry-wine in one paw, purple stains on his face.

“It’s all my fault,” Hamma cried, grabbing at Sven’s fur. Sven winced only slightly and put his paw on the hamster’s broad shoulder.

“Do not blame yourself master-smith,” Sven said. “It is my shame that I let my arms sit broken and collecting dust.”

“I should’ve fixed ‘em sooner,” Hamma said.

“Only tools,” Sven insisted, though Hester felt that he was lying.

“Such fine tools!” Hamma cried, then stood resolute. “I give you my word. On my honor, I shall restore your armor, and forge a new spear! Masterpieces!”

Before Sven could respond, Hamma stormed off with his new resolve. After he was gone, Hester spoke.

“What’s going on Sven?” she asked. “I know my mom…”

Sven held up his paw. “Do not worry Hester. This does not concern you.” With that, he turned and left again. Hester stood confused, then turned to Aman, but a group of childmice had circled him, and had cajoled him into recounting the battle with the weasel. The kids pulled him back toward the party, and Hester was left alone.

“Something’s definitely not right,” she said aloud.

“Very perceptive,” came a voice from the shadows, causing Hester to jump. Out stepped Dr. Cotton, a glass in his paw.

“You startled me,” Hester said, after catching her breath. “What were you doing…”

“Just enjoying the evening’s festivities,” Cotton interrupted. “But it seems our honored guest is troubled. I trust his wounds are well taken care of?”

“I can handle it,” Hester said, feeling defensive. “I know what I’m doing it.”

“No doubt,” Cotton said, then took a drink from his glass. “I do hope that’s the last we see of weasels. My Nurses have their paws quite full down at the hospital.”

“I’m sure,” Hester said, dumbly. What did he want?

“Anyway, I’m sure that whatever, what’s the word…” he paused just then, “contention, yes, I’m sure that whatever contention there is between Sven and your father will resolve itself. Your father is a good mouse.”

“What’re you talking about?” Hester asked. “What do you think you know? What contention?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Cotton said. “I overheard them arguing earlier, I think I heard the word, ‘thom’ was it? Jared was there, I’m sure he’d know.” Hester gestured to interject, but Cotton ignored her. “No matter, I should get back to the hospital. Do enjoy the evening, Hester.”

With that, Dr. Cotton left.

Hester’s mind was ablaze with confusion. Something was going on. Thoms? That was a high-rodent word. Her parents had been arguing that one night about a Tom, had they meant Thom? It was possible, neither of her parents knew high-rodent, they could have easily used the wrong inflection. But why would any of them have been arguing about cats?

*****

Some days later the excitement of recent events died down, and the mice of Guineawick went back to work with collecting the harvest. Hester found herself becoming increasingly insular, and as Sven was finishing his recovery, she spent less time around Hamma’s and more time participating in the fieldwork.

Today however, she decided that it was time for another kind of digging. She sat with Jared on the windowsill of Sven’s room, and watched while the rabbit instructed Aman and some other guards in the fine art of spear fighting. For generations the mice had wielded the sword and bow, and for most the spear had seemed a crude and primitive weapon. But after seeing Sven in action, many were eager to learn from him, and the warrior-rabbit was only too happy to oblige.

As the guards followed Sven’s lead, and with the rhythmic bang of Hamma’s hammer in the background, Hester produced a berry and began questioning Jared.

“What did you mean before,” she started, trying to sound casual, palming the berry, “when Sven first came to Guineawick, that you couldn’t remember your name?”

“That?” Jared asked back, his eyes catching the sight of the food and setting his whiskers a twitter. “Oh it’s nothing really.”

“He said he knew you only by title.” Hester went to take a bite of the fruit, then said, “Oh I’m sorry, I should have offered you some.” She broke the berry in two and passed a piece to Jared. As expected, the food opened Jared right up.

“Ah well, you see, ‘Jared’ is a title,” the old mouse said. “It is an old high-rodent word for scholar. From the root ‘jare’ or ‘to know’. The Jared of a community is generally its historian and teacher.”

“Then your name…”

“After a while, I got used to people just calling me Jared, so I took it as my name. I’ve been the Jared of Guineawick for longer than, well, than I care to remember at any rate.”

Hester nodded while Jared ate. Her father had once told her that when his father was young, he knew Jared as an old mouse. He had been a fixture of Guineawick for a long time.

“What happened to all the other rodents?” Hester asked.

Jared frowned and eyed the berry, and then Hester. “Come now Hester, you know the answer to that, I’m sure of it.”

Hester shrugged and feigned innocence. But Jared continued.

“Guineawick was a marvel in its heyday,” the old mouse said. “The hamsters’ mining brought rodents far and wide in search of priceless treasures. Gold, silver, and precious jewels were big business, and so Guineawick was home to rodents of all kinds: squirrels, rabbits, and of course the hamsters and mice.”

“So what happened?”

“The mines grew leaner and leaner with each season. Eventually, the mountain produced just iron, and the hamsters’ greed was too great to stay for so base a metal. As the miners left, so did the others. The squirrels returned to the forest, the rabbits back to the north. Less traders passed through town, and the mice turned to farming to support themselves. In time, much of the town was scaled down to mouse proportions.”

“Which makes things a wee bit difficult,” shouted Hamma as he walked up to join the group. “But what Jared says is true. Most of me kind left, but my family stayed to work the ‘real metals’ left behind. Gold and silver are pretty, but nothing serves better than hard steel.”

With that, he raised the shoulder guard he held in his paw. “This here is mighty fine armor, Pawsgaard. Exquisite.”

Sven came over to inspect the piece of curved metal. “Your own craft is amazing,” Sven said, admiring the work. “It feels as good as new.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Hamma said. “It must’ve been something nasty to ruin such armor.”

“Sven’s armor must have met many ferocious beasts,” Aman said, coming over with a spear in paw. “I’m sure that armor’s saved your life a dozen times.”

“Yes,” Sven said cautiously.

Hester watched as Jared’s and Sven’s eyes met. Something had finally thrashed Sven’s armor. Something much nastier than just a weasel. She burned with curiosity, but decided her best move now was to let the matter drop.

*****

That evening it rained hard, and the streets of Guineawick ran to mud. Hester laid in bed and stared out her window. The wheels in her head were turning and try as she might, she couldn’t sleep. Finally, she threw back the covers, and went to her closet for a cloak.

She snuck through the halls, when she bumped into Toby.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, and Hester shushed him.

“Nowhere,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“You’re going to see Sven, take me with you.”

“No Toby, go back to sleep.”

“What’s happening?” came Zach’s whisper in the dark.

“Go back to sleep,” Hester said.

“Hester’s going to see Sven,” Toby said.

“Take us with you,” Zach said.

“No.”

“Take us with you, or we’ll tell mom and dad.”

Hester gritted her teeth, and they knew they had her. “Fine,” she said. “Just keep quiet.” Zach grinned wide and ran to his room to get his cloak.

Outside, the three siblings tried to keep under the eaves of the buildings, but got wet anyway. When they reached the town square, they saw the night patrol and hid while the guardmice passed. They continued around the back of Hamma’s house under the cover of the rain.

Through the window, Hester could see Sven writhing on the bed. The nightmares must have returned. As they climbed in through the window, Toby slipped and fell on the floor with a thump. The three froze, but Sven was still asleep. Hester shot her brothers a mean glance, then went up to Sven’s bed. She motioned again for them to be quiet, and then moved in closer. Sven was muttering broken phrases in high-rodent.

“What’s he saying?” Zach asked.

Hester shook her head and went to fetch a wet cloth. When she pressed the cool rag to Sven’s forehead, the rabbit began spewing full sentences.

“They’re everywhere, there’s too many of them! Father, quick, we have to… no!” Hester listened in horror, thankful that her brothers couldn’t understand. As the rain roared outside, he shouted again and again. “Thoms! Everywhere! Killing everyone! I can’t stop them, I can’t…”

Sven bolted upright, still asleep, and reached toward the open window. Zach and Toby squealed and ran out of the room.

“Father, I’m so sorry… I failed you!” Sven groped toward the window. “Your marching, I can hear the marching. Warriors lost, calling to me.”

“Wake up!” Hester said finally, shaking Sven. He turned and knocked her down, before blinking his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Sven asked. “Hester, what’re you doing here? The warriors, where are they? I can still hear the marching.”

“It’s the rain Sven, it’s just the rain!” Hester got up off the floor. “What’s wrong, tell me the truth! Tell me about the cats!”

“It’s no use,” Sven said. “The cats, they came on us in the night, they destroyed my clan, slaughtered my family. The souls of my brothers call to me, bid me join them in the afterlife. But I can’t join them, not now, not like this! Not until I fulfill my quest! Not until I kill the cats that killed my family!”

Hester teetered back in sympathy, but then pressed onward. “What happened down at the river?”

“I was hunting,” Sven said, his eyes glazed over. “For months I had tracked down every cat responsible, and I was on the trail of their leader. It led me here, to Guineawick.” Hester gasped, and Sven continued. “I found him at the river, but he was too strong for me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hester asked, enraged.

“Your father, he promised that he and the guards would help me. He said that there was no need to start a panic, and I gave my word to keep silent. He and Jared made up the story of the weasel.”

“But then a weasel came,” Hester finished, “And my father’s lies were validated.”

Hester pushed away from the bed and ran to the window.

In the town square, Aman tried to avoid the muck as he headed home after his shift. He was crossing the street when he thought he saw a glimmer of grey and black fur.

“Who’s out here?” he said, holding his new spear. He walked slowly, bristling his whiskers. He heard feet to his left, and when he turned, Hester collided into him.

“Aman!” Hester said as the stood up. She grabbed the front of his cloak. “It wasn’t a weasel. Cats, Aman! It was a cat!”

“Hester? What’re you talking about?” He wiped the mud from his side. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I’ve got to see my father!” she said. “Sven, he wasn’t attacked by a weasel out at the Hodge. It was cat! A Thom!”

“You’re talking crazy,” Aman said, “Why would…” Just then, lightning flashed overhead, and Aman saw a large shadow disappear off the northern wall. The rumble of thunder followed, but then, something else.

“The boys,” Hester gasped. “They ran outside.”

“We better find them,” Aman said. “And fast.”

A loud crunch sounded nearby, and the two turned to look. They squinted in the dark, but then lightning flashed again, and they gasped. Several merchants’ huts had been crushed, pulverized into splinters. They strained their ears, and just over the pound of the rain, they heard a low growl.

Lightning flashed in rapid succession, and the two looked up in horror. A cat, white and majestic stood behind them in the rain. They could see its teeth, two large incisors that reached down past its chin. And hanging from it’s mouth by their tails: Zach and Toby.

Hester screamed, and Aman held up his spear toward the beast.

It laughed. A deep, rolling chuckle. The monster swung its paw and knocked Aman senseless.

Hester turned to run, but the cat dived its head down, scooping her up. Aman shook his head to clear his eyes, as two guardmice helped him to his feet. He pointed just in time for them to see the cat jump up and over the wall, disappearing into the night with Hester and her two brothers.

*****

The rain had cut to a drizzle, and torches had been lit throughout Guineawick as news of the attack spread. The guardmice had assembled in the barracks to listen to Aman and plan a rescue. Hamma had been roused: the fires of his forge blazed and the clang of his hammer rung louder than ever.

Argile fought to calm the angry crowd forming in the square. “Now everyone, please calm down!” he shouted, but his voice cracked unexpectedly. Surrounded by her friends, Rizo cried and pulled at her fur.

“What are we going to do?” a mouse asked. “First a weasel, now a cat!”

“Everything is under control!” Argile pleaded, but the crowd wasn’t buying his words. Jared appeared and went to Argile, but he fared little better.

“Good townmice,” he started, but he was drowned out by the shouts from the crowd. Dr. Cotton arrived next with his Nurses, and joined in with the shouting.

“Everything was fine until this rabbit showed up!” the doctor shouted, with supporting cries from the growing mob.

“Without Sven’s help,” Jared defended, “who knows what damage that weasel would have done!”

“None of this would have happened in the first place, if that rabbit hadn’t led the beasts here!” Cotton countered, causing more cheers.

Suddenly, Aman marched forward with a group of soldiers. The mob quieted when he pointed his spear toward the doctor, and Cotton held up his paws in defense. “Sven didn’t lead the cat here, he was hunting it!” Aman said. Then he turned the spear toward the Mayor-Regent. “He was never attacked by a weasel either, and you knew it! It was the cat that he fought, and he warned you! You knew about the cat all along!”

Cotton smiled at this revelation, and the mob roared its anger. Argile held out his paws, but his control was slipping fast.

“We’ll hunt the beast down!” Aman shouted, holding up his spear. The guardmice looked nervously at one another as the mob ignored them.

“Enough!” boomed a voice. Sven walked into the crowd, looking over all the squabbling mice. “This is no time to be fighting among ourselves.”

“Sven!” Aman shouted. “What do we do?” The crowd went silent waiting for the rabbit’s answer.

“Do not make rash decisions, this is no ordinary cat,” he said. “This is a thom, the thom that led the massacre of my family and my clan. I have hunted this beast for several seasons, and he is strong, swift, but also very cunning. This is no weasel, he’s not stupid.”

“What do you mean?” Argile dared ask.

“The beast was smart enough to know that a direct assault against this town, alone, would have been suicide. The cost may have been high, but the town has more than enough capable guards.” Aman smiled as Sven looked directly at him when he said this. “He had an army of cats when he destroyed my home, but here, he is alone and will need a plan.”

At that moment, an aisle formed in the crowd, and between them walked Hamma. His body was filthy with soot, but the armor he carried in his paws shined. The mob stared as the torchlight played on the pristine helmet and body plates.

Sven smiled, and bowed down to take his armor. On the front of the helmet, the smashed crest had been replaced with one he didn’t recognize.

“For Guineawick,” Hamma answered to Sven’s questioning glance. Sven smiled back.

“For Guineawick,” Sven said. “The beast has a plan, so we must have a plan.”

*****

Sven stood in the room that had been his home for two short weeks. Through the window, he watched the mice of Guineawick rushing to set his plan into motion. The familiar bang of Hamma’s hammer rung out, only now he forged tools of war instead of earth.

The firelight shone brightly, and Sven returned to strapping on his armor. The silvery plates reflected the candlelight, and he sighed deeply. He lifted his helmet up and gazed into the new crest that Hamma had fashioned. He rubbed it with his paw, and simply said, “Tonight.” Then he swung his great green cloak about his shoulders, and stepped up to the windowsill, helmet in paw.

“Please,” came a voice behind him. Rizo hobbled into the room on her crutch, her clothes giving the impression of having been thrown on hastily. “Please, bring back my children to me.”

Sven kept looking out the window into the night. Then a small paw touched his arm, and Rizo was beside him. When he didn’t respond, she continued.

“I know what my husband, what we, did was wrong. If we had listened to you…” Rizo began sobbing. Sven turned toward her, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Argile in the doorway.

The Mayor-Regent’s clothes were muddy and disheveled. His black fur was matted from the rain, and gone was his proud bearing. He went and grabbed his wife’s shoulders from behind and held her.

“It’s I who should be apologizing,” Argile said. “It’s my fault all this happened. Aman and Cotton and the others were right in what they said.”

“To lead one’s clan is not a task to be taken lightly,” Sven said. “No one is immune to pride.”

“Please Sven, I beg of you, bring back my children,” Argile said.

“I swear,” Sven said, lifting the mice’s chins, “I will find your children and destroy the beast. I give my life to this end.”

Sven donned his helmet, and leaped through the window, his cloak fluttering behind him. He hurried to the town square, and his rapid arrival caught everyone’s attention. The guards that had been filling their quivers stopped and stared. He stood in the center of the square, the moonlight shining through a break in the clouds, mingling with the flicker of the torches.

Aman appeared with a dozen senior guardmice armed with spears. “We’re ready,” he said. “We follow your lead.”

“Not without this!” boomed Hamma’s voice. The hamster walked into the square, carrying a massive spear. He lifted up the brilliant weapon, and Sven’s calm nearly faltered at its beauty.

The spear had no wooden haft, but was instead forged from a single piece of metal. Sven twirled and swung the weapon, and all who saw him were astonished at the effortlessness of his moves. “It is so light,” Sven said. “I had only heard legends of such craft, the metal, is it…”

“Yes,” Hamma said proudly. “The metal was passed down by my family from generation to generation, a secret alloy of hamster-craft long lost.”

Sven smiled, and clasped paws with the hamster. Then he addressed the townmice. “Tonight,” he said, raising his new spear, “We go out to rescue Hester, Toby, and Zach from the clutches of the foul beast. The Thom is cunning, but we will prevail!”

“Until they return,” said the grizzled grey-fur captain, “the remaining guards are to stand ready. All mice able to do so, are asked to keep vigil. We assume nothing of the cat’s motives.” The guard left the troupe of archers he was preparing and walked up to Aman and his mice. “You’re a fine soldier, Aman. Good luck.”

Before they turned to go, old Jared hobbled out from the crowd and stopped in front of Sven. He straightened upright, and in high-rodent said, “Go well, Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig, son of Edgar, son of Erick.”

“Stay well, Jared of Guineawick,” said Sven, concluding the formal goodbye.

Goodbyes said, Sven led Aman and his party out the North Gate at a run, passing under the sentries mounted on the great stone wall.

*****

Hester could not gauge how long she had been hanging by her tail, nor how far the massive cat had carried her and her brothers. She felt sick to her stomach, and her voice had gone hoarse from screaming. But after an eternity of running, leaping, and climbing, the cat suddenly stopped, and Hester opened her eyes just in time to see a dense black thicket beneath her.

The cat reached with its paw and pulled up the tangle of thorny branches, and dropped the three mice into the opening. Hester and her brothers hit the hard forest floor with an unceremonious thump. When her stomach settled and the ringing in her head stopped, Hester groped in the dark for her brothers.

“Toby? Zach? Are you two alright?” she croaked. She fumbled about, and pricked her paw on a thorn. She held back the tears.

“Here Hester,” said Zach. She moved toward the sound of his voice, and as she got closer, could hear Toby’s distinctive whimpering.

“I want mom,” Toby cried, and Hester pulled the three of them together in the dark.

“I know, I know,” Hester said. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Where are we?” Zach asked.

“Under a bramble I think…” Hester stopped and clamped shut her brother’s mouths. Staring into the black, she caught a glimmer of light: the cat’s eyes. Its deep rumbling purr filled the air and Hester struggled to keep her brothers quiet.

“What do you want with us?” Hester shouted, but the cat didn’t respond. She strained her ears, and could just hear the cat’s paws as it paced softly nearby. Zach and Toby had calmed, and so Hester left them and moved toward the wall of thorns. An idea had come to her.

“Thom!” she called, and the cat’s pacing stopped. Hester bit back her fear and excitement. “Thom!” she called again into the silence. “Why bother imprisoning us?” she asked, now using high-rodent. “Why don’t you just eat us now and get it over with?”

Suddenly, the cat’s bright eyes appeared on the other side of the wall, and Hester, startled, fell back onto her tail. Instead of the purr, a deep chuckle echoed around her.

“Why don’t I eat you now?” answered a heavily accented voice. The cat laughed. “Bold words, but without purpose.”

“Why don’t you show yourself!” Hester said, mustering her courage.

“Show myself?” the cat responded. “What’s the matter, little mouse? Can’t see in the dark?” then the cat hissed something that Hester couldn’t understand.

Torches lit up, and Hester stepped back. Beyond the thick mat of bramble that trapped the three mice, Hester could see the walls of a large burrow. High above, the ceiling was formed by a mesh of supportive branches. But the crude surroundings were the least of her concerns.

There were four torches, and each one was held by a large sneering weasel. They licked their lips menacingly as they stared at the trapped mice. But the thom dominated the hollow. He loomed overhead, and looked down at the mice through the top of their cage. His eyes were emerald, and his fur a sleek and illustrious white. Hester stood, mouth agape, and a twitch of the cat’s whiskers brought her attention to the fangs that jutted from the beast’s mouth and past its chin.

Hester swallowed hard. “Why don’t you just eat us?” she asked, but this time her voice trembled a little.

“Forgive me,” the cat said with some mirth, “You speak, so I assumed intelligence. A shame.” He laid down and began cleaning the mud from his paws, waving his tail lazily.

“You’re not answering my question,” Hester dared.

The cat raised an eyebrow. “A good hunter is a patient one,” he said. “And he doesn’t eat his bait. Not right away, at any rate.”

Hester gasped and grabbed her tail, and her brothers huddled up against the back of the bramble cage. “What are you talking about, Sven will come…” She stopped and her eyes opened wide. The cat grinned its sharp teeth.

“Yes, Sven will come, I’m counting on it. And after our last encounter, no doubt with an army of your little friends.” The cat laughed loudly. “Your town is well defended, I’ll concede that.”

Hester noticed the weasels shifting uncomfortably and looking at one another nervously.

“You mean the weasel?” Hester asked. “The one that attacked us?”

“Clever girl,” the cat said rolling his eyes. “I needed to measure the town’s defenses and Lieutenant Little-Snout gave me that knowledge with his life.”

Hester was worried; she couldn’t see where this was going, but surely the cat was leading up to something. “What are you planning to do?” Her voice barely broke above a whisper.

The cat smiled, and sauntered up to the cage. He knelt down, and looked at the shivering mice through the thorny thicket. “It’s quite simple, really. Even that idiot rabbit could follow the trail I left. And while he and his army come to rescue you…” The cat stood up, and turned away. He walked slowly up to the entrance of the burrow, and looked back. “I, and my army, will take Guineawick.”

Her brothers had come to her now, and Hester gasped and tired to hold back the tears as she hugged her brothers. “You, you,” was all she could mumble.

“Now, I take my leave,” the cat said, nodding to the weasels as he exited the hollow. “How thoughtless of me, four weasels and only three mice…”

*****

When Sven’s party was out of sight of the town, he called them to stop. The mice gathered about him, confused. He pulled off his cloak and gave it to Aman. The clouds were breaking and the moon shined brightly overhead. Sven looked up to the moon, and then addressed the guardmice.

“We have a long night ahead of us,” he said solemnly and the mice nodded. “A messy night.” Then Sven reached down to the ground with his paw, and pulled up a wad of wet earth. The mice stared at first with confusion, and then understanding, as the white rabbit proceeded to smear the black mud on his body, dirtying his fur and tarnishing his armor.

The mice followed his lead, even those with black fur: in solidarity if not for the camouflage. When they had finished, they grinned, flashing their white teeth at one another in the night. Sven nodded his approval, and donning his cloak, sprinted off down the cat’s trail, his troops running behind him.

They had run for a long time, following the large paw prints left in the mud. They passed tree after tree in the great forest, when suddenly, Sven called the group to a halt again. The mice were thankful for the break, but ff any were winded, they didn’t show it. Sven looked about at all the large trees, trunks spaced closely together. He went to the nearest tree and pawed the bark. Something wasn’t right. He looked upward, and noticed that the trees had large, thick branches that intertwined with their neighbors.

“What’s wrong?” asked Aman.

“Something about this trail,” Sven said cautiously. “It’s too easy. It doesn’t make sense.”

“The cat may be confident,” Aman suggested, “to leave us such an easy trail to follow.”

“More than that,” Sven said. “A cat wouldn’t run in the mud when there are trees around: he could have just as quickly traveled from branch to branch, leaving no trail, and keeping clean.”

The mice looked to one another, and Aman asked, “What are your orders?”

Sven sniffed the air. “We push on. Full speed, eyes open.”

*****

Hester hung desperately to her brothers, trying to comfort them. The weasel guards looked restless and bickered with one another with hissing and clicks. She didn’t need to know their tongue to understand them, to understand their looks: they were hungry.

“I wanna see mom,” Toby cried and Hester hugged him closer.

“Me too,” she said. “Don’t worry, Sven will come.” She held their faces to her chest to cover their eyes, and herself eyed the weasels as they inched closer to the thicket.

Zach, rubbing his nose on his paw, looked upward. Hester saw his eyes widen and his mouth open, so she looked up as well. Through the bramble, up on the ceiling, she could see the glint of metal. She stifled her own gasp just as she stifled Zach’s. A sword. That meant, Aman!

Suddenly, one of the torches went out. The weasels looked to the wall, but the torch was on the floor, still smoldering. A weasel walked cautiously over to the dark corner, then let out a cry. The other weasels rushed to their comrade’s aid, when another torch extinguished.

A loud cry echoed from out the burrow’s entrance, and Hester nearly jumped for joy as Sven burst into the room, spear raised. When the weasels turned to face him, Aman dropped from the ceiling on top of the nearest monster, killing it with his sword. Hester ran to the edge of the bramble cage and watched as half a dozen mice charged in from behind Sven. They speared one of the remaining weasels and with their momentum carried the beast up and onto the bramble, pinning it there.

The shock of the collision threw Hester back into her brothers. As the siblings untangled themselves, they heard another cry, and all went silent. They stared at the body of the dead weasel, when it shook slightly. The weasel flew off the thorns as Sven threw its bloodied corpse onto the pile with the others.

“Sven!” Hester cried. “I knew you’d come.”

“Stand back,” Sven said, and the mice obeyed. He drew out his silvery spear, hinted with fresh blood, and he used it to pry open a hole in the bramble large enough for the three mice to escape.

Hester ran and hugged him, not noticing or caring at how filthy he was. Soon her brothers joined them. “You came!” she said.

“Hester,” Sven said after a moment, pushing her back. “Where’s the thom? Why were there weasels guarding you?”

“There’s no time,” Hester said, speaking rapidly. “I was just bait, the thom, he has a weasel army, he said…”

But Sven didn’t need to hear the rest. The plan was blindingly simple, he was ashamed that the thought never occurred to him. That a thom would assent to consorting with weasels. And with him far away, the beasts would attack Guineawick with much more force than the little town could be expected to handle.

He took a deep breath and looked down at Hester. Aman stood at her side, comforting her. Sven looked over the faces of the other mice, smelled the fear, saw their uncertainty.

“We must get back,” he said finally. He raised his spear and pointed to the hollow’s exit. “And quickly!”

*****

Guardmice marched their patrol along the top of the Guineawick wall, weapons at the ready. Bundles of javelins and arrows lay at their feet, and they double checked that the torches stayed lit.

Feeling safer within the stone walls of Town Hall, Argile and Rizo sat on one of the benches lining the perimeter of the main hall. Her crutch leaned on the nearby wall. Argile was glad that his wife had stopped crying, even if Rizo was still upset. At least she was too upset to be mad at him directly.

Jared sat on the edge of the main stage, and kept to himself. He felt the weight of his part in the whole ordeal, and it pained him to have kept the secret from Hester.

“We never told her,” Jared said. Neither parent responded. “And I don’t mean about the cat.”

Argile looked up at the aged mouse. “We agreed…”

“Old cheese,” Jared said. “She deserved to know, a mouse deserves to know where they came from.”

Rizo sat up and rubbed her nose. “I remember the night you brought her,” she said. “So small, the first hints of that white fur. It bothered her…” Rizo stopped. Jared was on his feet, his ears twitching.

“The alarm!” he said, pointing to the door. “We’re under attack!”

The three ran out of the building, Rizo hobbling along, just in time to see the dark silhouettes coming over the walls. Cries could be heard, then the loud clang, clang, of the emergency bell. The battle for Guineawick had begun.

Guardmice rained down a hail of arrows and javelins over the wall. A weasel was hit in the shoulder with an arrow and slipped, then a javelin hit its chest and it fell back to the ground. Though more fell, the weasels kept coming.

One made it to the top of the wall and snapped at a guard, sending the poor mouse off and crashing through a wooden rooftop. The weasel then swung itself onto the inside of the wall, and slid down to the ground.

“The gate!” yelled the grizzled captain from his tower. “He’s opening the gate!”

With a loud clank, the weasel lifted the bar on the gate and pushed it open, letting in a dozen screeching weasels. Once in the city they scattered, each working their destruction independently.

The guardmice on the ground took to the chase, trying to catch the weasels in the tight alleyways of the town. Cornered, the beasts scrambled up the walls and onto the roofs, and other mice fired arrows at them, sending them crashing down again.

The weasels fought nastily but were disorganized, and the guardmice made strong strides against the invaders. They struck with sword and spear, bow and javelin. But despite their strength in training and numbers, the weasels extracted their toll on the townmice. The streets were littered with the bodies of guard and civilian alike.

Then, a loud laugh, deep and powerful echoed throughout the town. With a crash, the thom came over the wall and landed on a building, sending it to splinters. The cat reached up with his paws and swiped at the guards on the wall, launching them out into the black sky.

Seeing their leader, the weasels fought with increased ferocity, using the buildings to their advantage, trying to come down on the mice from above.

A weasel landed near the smithy, and with a hiss turned and kicked at the forge with its hind legs, spraying hot coals across the ground and sending flames up the wooden walls of a nearby shop. The weasel smiled at its destruction, and turned back to join the battle. It was the last mistake it would ever make.

From behind swung Hamma’s giant hammer, knocking the weasel down and splaying on the square. Hamma roared and swung down, crushing the beast with a mighty blow. The guardmice rallied at the sight of Hamma as he took after another weasel, revealing himself to be a crude, if capable, fighter in his own right.

The captain ran through the square, trying to keep his head. The weasels were fighting tougher than ever, springing down from the rooftops. The captain guessed that the mice had superior numbers and tactics compared with the weasels, but not by much. With the thom, however, it was a totally different story.

The great white beast shrugged off the arrows shot at it, and swiped away any mouse that got close enough with a sword or spear. The cat pranced slowly through the town, a confident general parading about as buildings burned, letting out terrible roars and even more terrible laughs. The captain ran with all the speed his legs would provide him, and thinking he saw an opportunity, lunged at the cat’s rear leg with a spear.

But the cat dodged the charge, and claws out, grabbed the captain and pinned him to the ground. The cat laughed again, and stood on the mouse, crushing his body with its massive frame. The captain choked and gargled, and just as his eyesight dimmed, he thought he heard a distant braying.

The cat turned its head sharply at the sound, and braced itself as Sven came crashing over the wall. The two white creatures rolled together, and carried by Sven’s momentum, smashed together against the walls of Town Hall. Stunned, the thom clawed and bit at the rabbit, but could not penetrate his armor.

Sven kicked with his feet, bit with his teeth, and stabbed with his spear as much as he could while still trying to absorb the cat’s own blows. Finally, the thom managed to break free, and jumped for the wall. Aman watched as the cat disappeared over the wall, and as Sven followed.

The mouse looked down at the dead grey-fur captain and grit his teeth. Sven’s massive spear lay in the mud, and the young guardmouse grabbed it before rushing toward the East Gate. Left behind in the square were the returning guards, rushing to the aid of their companions. Dismayed at the disappearance of their leader, and the appearance of more mice, the weasels began to lose their confidence. They began to panic, and some abandoned the battle and climbed for the walls.

The guardmice kept fighting, the townmice hurried to put out the fires, but they all cheered as one. It began to rain again, much to the relief of the mice fighting the fires.

Hester, Toby, and Zach huddled in the alley between two buildings, Hester trying to hide from her bothers the sight of the dead littering the ground. Argile and Rizo came down the road from Town Hall, Argile trying to both run and help his still hobbling wife. The boys ran to their mother, pressing themselves into her wet fur.

Dr. Cotton appeared, and with him his Nurses. The young mice scattered out and tended to the wounded. The doctor came up to the family, and put his paw on Argile’s shoulder in silent apology.

Then they heard a guardmouse on the wall shout over the rain. “Look, the fields!”

“Sven!” Hester said. She looked at her family, then ran toward the East Gate.

*****

Out in the Greater Gardens, she ran until she could make out the three lone figures circling in the empty fields. Aman and Sven stood side by side, the rain washing away the mud on their bodies. Across from them stood the thom, its white fur stained with blood. As she got closer, Hester could make out the sounds of hissing and growls over the rain patter.

“You killed my clan,” Sven accused. “Slaughtered my family.”

The thom chuckled, hiding its pain. “I’ve slaughtered many families. But I must say, I am particularly fond of rabbit.” He ran a tongue over his sharp fangs.

“I will kill you,” Sven said, his voice flat. “I will kill you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I defeated you once before,” the cat quipped. “I can do it again. Now will be no different. You’ll fail now, just as you did before, just as you failed to save your family.”

The three continued their circle and then Sven stopped. “I am Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig, son of Edgar, son of Erick.” Then the rabbit started to sing. His voice was quiet at first, but raised in volume as he sung of the deeds of his family. The cat watched with mild annoyance, but Hester noticed something else.

The thom’s back was to the Hodge River, but the cat made no indication that he was aware of it. The water was fast with the fresh rain. Hester listened to the pour and picked out the words to Sven’s battle-song as both sounded through the Greater Gardens. Tears filled her eyes, such was the song’s beauty.

“Tonight,” Sven said, the song ending. “Tonight, I avenge you all.”

With a start, Sven charged forward, his warrior-cry ringing out for all to hear. Hester screamed as she saw Aman leap onto Sven’s back as he had more, the rabbit’s long silver spear in his paws like a lance.

The cat bent down on its haunches, and the two white bodies collided. Aman yelled as the spear bit into the cat’s flesh. The thom howled, and the three launched into the river.

Hester ran to the river bank, when Sven and the thom burst up from the water, wrestling one another in the current, biting and clawing. They tried to push each other under while simultaneously trying to catch their own breath.

Aman appeared, and swam for the shore. He’d thankfully had the sense to leap from Sven’s back early, and after a hard swim, Hester helped pull him ashore. Together they watched as the current dragged away the white titans, then finally, the river swallowed them whole.

Aman held Hester while they both cried.

*****

The air in Guineawick was rich with the smells of new flowers in bloom: spring had come at last.

With so much destruction, the mice had endured a rough winter, but now with the sun shining down and the frost melting away, the townmice had more or less returned to their regular lives.

Argile had, with Dr. Cotton’s help, organized teams to rebuild the buildings lost to fire and wreckage. The community had worked together to console one another after the loss of so many of its members. But despite the difficulties, new stirrings had risen in the mice’s breasts.

Hester walked through the town square holding a large bundle of lessons, tied neatly with a bit of twine. Jared had encouraged Hester to enlist as a schoolteacher, and it wasn’t hard to find parents who wanted their kids to learn high-rodent these days. “Peaceful greetings, Hester,” said a childmouse in the old-tongue. Hester smiled at Emily, one of her prized students.

“Peaceful greetings, Emily,” Hester said, watching as the little girl ran back to her mother. Jared had finally retired, and though Hester missed collecting reeds with him, she was busy enough these days. She couldn’t remember a summer that she hadn’t spent at “Jared’s Burrow”, but with her new responsibilities she found little time visit her old friend.

As Hester continued her afternoon walk, she spotted Aman. He was busy sizing up the latest recruits to the guard, showing them the proper way to hold a spear. He saw her watching and she blew him a kiss. She was less self-conscious of being a white-fur, and didn’t seem to bother Aman at any rate.

Her parents were still her parents, and her brothers still as annoying, but they were her family. Of that she had no doubts. However, Hester had grown in many ways over the last few months, and she could not completely abandon the question of her unique color. So she simply filed it away, along with so many other unanswered questions arising from the warrior rabbit’s time in Guineawick.

News of that great battle had spread far and wide, sparking new interest in the town and its residents. Earlier that week some squirrels had come into the market, the first time in years, asking to set up shop and to trade in nuts. Guineawick was well on its way back into prominence.

Hester walked up toward the sound of hammering near Town Hall. At the top of the hill, stood a giant statue, and Hamma was hard at work with the final touches. Jared was there too, along with some of the new squirrels and even a few other hamsters.

“Done!” Hamma exclaimed, to much applause.

Hester walked up to the statue of Sven and smiled. The rabbit was cast in silver, wearing his armor and holding his helmet in one paw and his spear in the other. At the bottom of the statue she read the plaque, written in both tongues, high and low:

For the northern rabbit whose bravery we know,
For the stranger who gave his life for the mice of Guineawick.
For the night when the river claimed both friend and foe,
For Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig, son of Edgar, son of Erick.

The audience dispersed, and Jared gazed at the statue and Hester. Someday, when his time came, he would pass on the title of Jared to her, as it had been passed on to him, so long ago. Someday, he would have to tell her about her past. But not today. He turned to leave, when he overheard two squirrels conversing nearby.

“You know,” one said to the other, “I swear I’ve seen a rabbit with a spear just like that. Same crest and everything.”

“You’ve never seen a white rabbit,” the other said laughing.

Jared only smiled and twitched his large round ears.

THE END

© 2009 Jon Thysell. Some Rights Reserved.
Pawsgaard by Jon Thysell is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.