For those of you who have never been envenomed, allow me to shed a bit of light on the matter: IT HURTS! First there's the feeling of something sharp snapping shut over the part of you that gets bitten. Try accidentally getting your paw slammed shut in a door made of thorns, and make sure you close the door with enough speed and strength that you feel like screaming. After that, what starts out as a terrible sting, like an entire nest of hornets at once, then intensifies into a scalding burn, the pain growing worse by the moment. The natural instinct is to writhe in such agony, but the bite must be kept below the heart, and moving only speeds the venom through the bloodstream.

Of course, this is only the initial bite. Swelling sets in almost immediately, and the rest of the symptoms depend on which species of snake was the one to administer the wound. Common problems include nausea, difficulty breathing, and trouble breathing.

"Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes," Chuchundra reminds me.

"Save your grief until after I breathe my last!" I retort. "It's bad enough that Darzee's already begun yet another song in the garden!"

Even from the cushion where I rest, I can hear his latest masterpiece:

By eventide we weep!

Descend, eternal sleep,

Upon the killer who gives his life to save our own!

He goes into the gloom

Of darkness to his tomb!

Valiant snake killer who lost his life to win our own!

In the garden shall he lie

Let us pray

For the day

When spring blooms shall never die

The first three verses of this song were unbearable. The fourth through twelfth verses were even worse. Now at the thirty-seventh verse, I fear I have died and been sent to a place of punishment. With every stanza, I feel my patience being pushed far beyond its limits, and I believe that things couldn't possibly get worse, but then Darzee sings yet another line. When his myriads of verses finally reach a conclusion, he simply begins another seemingly endless song.

Please understand I don't mind music. My human family often sings. Even when I lived in the jungle, there were various birdsongs almost constantly. I might not have musical talent myself, but I certainly see no reason why those who do shouldn't have the chance to use it.

However, Darzee never seems to know the appropriate time to sing. That stupid tuft of feathers often sings of my triumph before I even finish my latest battle, often accidentally placing me in even greater danger! In addition, he never judges the correct time to begin my funeral song. Through the years, Darzee has mourned my death fifty-two times, all of which have proven far too early.

Furthermore, I greatly tire of hearing about myself. I am not a god to be worshipped, nor am I a kindred spirit who guards the garden and must be praised in order to remain there. I am simply a mongoose who does what comes naturally to my kind: killing snakes if confronted. However, almost every snake who has died in this garden has caused Darzee sing innumerable songs of my praises. He won't even speak to me without using several complimentary adjectives.

There is still work to be done. I move from the cushion, exaggerating my limp from the snake bite to my paw. Slowly, I drag myself to the garden, gasping for air. The ebony sky has begun to lighten. Soon it will be dawn, and Chuchundra will cease creeping around the corners of the room.

"Anguish!" I scream. "Let my death be swift! I would rather come to the end of my suffering than live to see the sun rise a final time!" I pant for breath again. "All is lost!"

I fall, jerking a couple times before become completely still. My shallow breathing worsens.

"Chua!" I gasp. "Chua!"

I hear the soft patter of rat paws coming closer. Chuchundra is rarely of any use, but there are few things, if any, that Chua doesn't know about the garden. His espionage skills are beyond compare.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm dying," I inform him. "You see I am already paralyzed. Beg the viper to spare my human friends! He has what he wants. The mongoose is dead. Why harm…?"

I am no longer able to speak. My eyelids flutter.

"I'll tell him," Chua promises. "I'll send a messenger. I'd go myself, but you know what snakes do to rats."

My eyes shut, and I stop fighting the shadow that has loomed before me.