A night on the open sea can be one of two things: complete tranquility and calm, or unrivalled and boundless chaos.

This night, on this stretch of the sea, it was most definitely the latter.

The waves pitched and tossed the small wooden structure floating on the choppy surface. The creatures onboard had to balance with all their might if they were up on the deck, to prevent themselves from being tossed headfirst into the boiling brine. This was not an easy task, however, as the deck was in almost as much chaos as was the water.

Through the harsh backdrop of lightning that gave occasional flashes of light onto the ship's deck, momentary stills of the action might be seen. Rats scrambling about with curved blades, claws digging into the wooden planks beneath their footpaws. Of all creatures, the silhouettes of hares could be seen on the deck, fighting the rats with javelins and other close to paw weapons. No sling or bow and arrow would be of much use on such a turbulent battlefield as this.

And such a battlefield it was, glorious and bold. Shouts of blood and vinegar, swears known by those who traverse the seas, and even the ever bone-chilling 'Eulalia' resounding through the air. It seemed the most glorious and perfect place for a fight to be fought.

All except for one set movements out of place.

At the end of the ship, trying to shy away from the action as much as possible, a ratmaid clung to the railings, clutching a bundle of cloth to herself as she grasped tightly to a rope which she tied around the waist of a youngling rat. The child sniveled and clung to ratmaid's skirts, though she tried to quiet him as she secured him. They were hidden behind a set of barrels that had been lashed to the deck, hoping that hiding behind them would hide their location from those participating in the pitched battle only a few feet away.

Just as the ratmaid had picked up a rope to secure herself to the ship, a shadow appeared behind her. The rat child cried out, trying to warn her above the storm. The shadow of a large creature rose up, wielding a large heavy club behind them. Even as the ratmaid turned to see them, it was too late. Their club came down upon her head with a thud that even the storm could hardly muffle. The child cried out in fear as the blow connected, and the shadow creature turned to the child.

Before it could advance, however, a blade from a rat stuck the creature in the side, stopping its advance. The rat holding the knife quickly withdrew it and grabbed hold of the ratchild and pulled him out of harms way.

At that moment, the seas pitched again, sending the deck in a sharp diagonal. The ratmaid, already injured and stunned by the blow to her head, with nothing securing her, was flung to the air by the sudden movement; her body clearing the railing of the ship and plunging into the sea with an almost mocking grace to the rat whose cries for her were drowned out by the chaos of the storm. He had not even a chance to stare into the brine in which she had vanished as the lop-eared shadow bore down upon him, and he had to turn his attention to defending the ratchild left behind with him.

Even as he fought and screamed and cried for the creature's blood, the child cried aloud and clung to the older rat, for the ratmaid and her bundle lost in the waves.


It was a usual early morning for the young mousemaid who strolled down the rocky shore of the beach, clutching a cloak about herself. It was a brisk morning, but she wanted to waste no time. The night before had brought a storm which shook all the trees and sent pebbles and other debris rattling against her home in the caves in the cliffs. On mornings after such storms, she liked to scour the beaches, searching for anything useful that might have washed ashore in the night. To this end, she carried a sack over one shoulder, to haul back anything she found that might find some use for her. Perhaps some washed up clams or injured fish, or even just some nice shells that she could use in grinding up for her art. One never did know what the waves might bring.

What she did not expect to find, however, was the rat she found curled up in the rocks where the ebbing tide whispered in the rocky shore. She dropped her sack in surprise, then rushed to the rat's aid. A ratmaid she could see more clearly, once she approached, clutching a bundle to herself as if it were her own heart.

Cautiously, the mouse reached for the rat, gently nudging her shoulder with a paw to see if she still breathed. A slight shift and a gurgling breath gave her all the sign she needed. A word of warning told her to hang tight, that she would bring her up to where the grass met the rock and sand, and would bring her help.

However, a paw shakily grasping her wrist stopped her, and she found her gaze being directed to the cloth bundle. The mouse took in a short breath, and looked to the rat. Upon receiving a jittery nod, she slipped the bundle out of the rat's arms, looking it over. With her examination complete, the mousemaid spoke again to the ratmaid, and ran up to higher ground, snatching up her sack and racing with all the speed she could muster.

Without wasting time, she arranged the sack in a firmly rooted bush, then laid the bundle atop it. She placed a gentle paw atop it, then just as quickly raced down to the shore where the rat lay. Comforting words already rested on the tip of her tongue, and promises of helping her and saving her life. When she arrived, though, it seemed they were all for not. The mouse's shoulders limply dropped, as one look into the ratmaid's eyes already told her enough. That the empty gaze aimed upwards no longer saw the clear blue sky, only into the great vastness of the Dark Forest gates.

Still, she gathered herself again, and got to work once more. The ratmaid she would have to deal with only momentarily, what with her other business to attend to. To this end, she summoned all her strength and hauled the ratmaid's body into a small crevice in the rocks. She wished she had time to be a bit more ceremonious, but for the moment, this would prevent her being washed away when the tide returned, or any hungry seabirds circling about to find a bite to eat. She patted the feelingless shoulder once, before racing her way up to where she had left the bundle.

Carefully, the mouse picked up the bundle and peeled away the layers of ragged cloth soaked by sand and sea water, and allowed her to pick up the contents.

She gently shushed the ratbabe that she now held, willing away the tears that welled in her eyes as she knew the fate of the poor babe's mother. She would have to think in a moment, plan to find a way to care for this child who had washed up on her shore.

Yet, for now, all she could do was stare. Stare at this poor, sad ratbabe in her arms, a babe who shared the same, milky eyes as the ratmaid with the dented head who could no longer feel the ocean breeze that floated across the beach.

The ratbabe, whose true name his mother had no strength left to tell the mousemaid called Anemone, who would come to be called, 'Mooneye'.