Blake Martinet
"Run!" Blake wasn't entirely sure who had suggested that particular course of action, but he did not have time to ponder the veracity of the order, especially not when there were shrieks emanating from the thicket ahead. Also, he was chained to two otherbeasts who were less inclined to analyze the situation and more inclined to drag him along behind them, whether or not he was a willing participant in their panicked flight.
Dashing through the bayou, retracing their steps of the past fortnight, the three chain-bound trios of former prisoners soon split up, taking different paths through the cypress trees. Soon, Blake could only see the dingy ground and the slime-covered trees in the murky light. His two companions' heavy breathing was the only sound other than the occasional jingling of chains, the squelching of mud under their footpaws, and the heavy buzzing of the bothersome swamp insects. Blake, being shorter than the other two and accustomed to a lifestyle that was somewhat sedentary, began to fall behind the bird Sturnus, chained to his left. The bird could barely run properly while chained to two otherss, but with much fluttering of wings and long, ungainly steps, he kept ahead of Blake with no trouble.
Blake began to fall farther and farther behind, the slack length of chain that had previously existed becoming more taut with each inch Blake fell behind. It wouldn't be long until he was pulled stumbling ahead by the chain.
"Stop... please!" At the far end of the chain, Jessandra Lookhart slowed her stride, pulling on the chain slightly to slow Sturnus, who fluttered his black wings and rose off of the ground a few inches before landing with an audible "squelch". "Thank you... marm," Blake panted, doubled over at the waist. Now that they were resting and he could get a good look at them, he noticed that Jessandra was almost as tired as he--most likely, it was only her long stride that kept her from being the first to request a halt. The bird, though, had endurance, even when completely out of his element and traveling over unstable terrain. The three had exchanged names while they had been marching through the open meadows that had given way to the bayou in which they were now stranded, but hadn't been properly introduced.
"You don't need to call me 'marm,' 'Jess' will do fine," the wildcat mentioned, grimacing a bit as she looked around for a place to sit. There was no convenient rock or patch of dry ground in their vicinity, so she satisfied herself by leaning against a slimy tree.
"Of course, marm." Jess was not entirely sure whether or not Blake was absent-minded enough to call her "marm" while agreeing not to, or if he was simply trying to irritate her. She shrugged it off. "I am wondering what exactly we are going to do," Blake continued.
"What do you mean?"
"We are chained together, which is inconvenient," Jess raised her eyebrows at the understatement, "We have no supplies, which is potentially lethal, and we have, unless I am gravely mistaken, no idea where we are, nor any idea regarding any potential escape from this insufferable quagmire. I know I'm not exactly being a ray of glowing optimism, marm, but we are quite likely to end up breathing significantly less than we were when we were captured. What do you think we should do?" Blake's soft near-whisper clashed with his actual words, resulting in the rather absurd impression that he was prophesizing their doom but not the least bit worried about it.
"'Breathing… what?" Sturnus asked, mildly confused.
"As in, not breathing at all if we do not find a way out of this mess." The bird cocked his head to the side, still befuddled.
Giant idiot feather duster, Blake, to his horror, almost muttered aloud.
The ensuing awkward silence was broken by the ringing of Jessandra's chain as she stood upright, wiping the tree-slime from her shoulder with a look of unconcealed disgust. "If we go far enough in a straight line, we'll make it out of the marsh eventually," she said.
"Well," said Blake, content that their course of action had been decided, "shall we press on, then?"
"Certainly, my good sir!" Jessandra replied, mocking Blake's speech.
"'Blake' will do... marm."
"Very well. Sir."
Shooting the wildcat lady an exasperated look, Blake began walking, each footstep audible as he sank into the mud. The ungainly bird followed, his comical, waddling step punctuated by the occasional rustle of his wings. Finally, casting an amused glance at the mouse leading their procession, Jessandra followed.
"So, my avian friend, do you have any ideas about getting us out of this chain?" Jess interrogated the bird. Maybe he could break the chains—he certainly looks strong enough, thought Blake.
"No idea. Can't fly with them on." Or, perhaps, he might be just as weak as the rest of us, after weeks of marching up and down the countryside.
A large black beetle landed on Blake's footpaw and searched for higher ground. Its shell was greasy and iridescent, and its needle-like legs found tiny footholds on the metal ring that attached the accursed chain to Blake's ankle. As it scaled his legs and reached his shirt, Blake absent-mindedly brushed his paw against its back. He jumped, startled, and then plucked it from his clothing and held it in his paw, where it glared at him with eyes of a virulent red. "Lunch?" he asked, offering it to Sturnus with a trace of amusement in his voice.
"Thank you," replied the bird, who promptly speared the beetle with his sharp beak.
"At least you can eat, there are all sorts of nasty bugs here," Blake said, removing his spectacles and noticing that they were becoming slightly blurry. Looking at his filthy garments with the intention of wiping off the glasses, he quickly returned the spectacles to his nose, abandoning his search for something to wipe them on. He could rinse them off, once they found clean water.
…if they found clean water. There was no fresh water to be found, and there was no dry wood for the fire that would be necessary to boil the murky water that lay in pools along their path. Dehydration would cause death within three days—Blake remembered reading that. The earlier sprint through the muck had been most unwise of them; sweat meant that they had lost most of the water that they'd already had.
Sturnus was the only one that could eat; Blake wouldn't trust any of the swamp plants any farther than he could throw them—not far, in his current state. There hadn't been any proper food since before they'd started their journey through the swamp; apparently the slavers were as reluctant to trust the native vegetation as he was. Blearily, Blake tried to stop thinking about the elements that would overcome the pitiful trio and to turn his thoughts to more pleasant matters:
How could they escape?
---
Deep in the swamp, in a dense thicket, somebeast was chattering to herself, seemingly oblivious to the shreds of clothing and broken chain links that surrounded her. A wide trench in the mud suggested that something heavy had been dragged through the area, and the tangled pattern of footsteps suggested a terrified waltz induced by the combination of mortal peril and short chains. A dagger lay buried up to its hilt in the mud--soon the mud would cover it, and it would be lost forever. No bodies were visible, although the thicket reeked of death and crimson stains of dried blood spotted the tree limbs.
The mumbling lizard sniffed the air for a moment. No flesh for the hungry. Perhaps a few live ones had been captured? It wouldn't hurt to look, and so the lizard scurried onward, tracking her friends by scent. It was a big swamp, but she'd find her dinner.
Blake Martinet, a mouse who once served in the halls of vermin, is chained to Sturnus, a strong but dim grackle, and Jessandra Verdon Lookhart, a wildcat whose motherly tendencies clash with her carniverous ones. For full character biographies, follow the link on the author page.