NOTE: Now that University is back in session, my writing timetable (which has admittedly slowed) will be dropping considerably from now on. Six courses per semester will do that. I can assure you all, however, that it shall NOT be non-existent, and I'll try my damndest to make sure you get at LEAST one update a week, if not more. The story is only beginning, after all.

Oh, and to compensate, I'll start making the chapters longer. Oh yes.

Squim was getting edgy. How could he not? His sister and her compatriots were an hour overdue; no doubt Mama was furious (and more than a little paranoid) at their absence. Which was why Squim currently engaged himself with clambouring around the sewers on his own, rooting nervously through heaps of mouldy trash in the search for some elusive prize. What it was, he hadn't a clue, and probably knew that it was just a way of passing the time. Anything was better than facing Mama when she was angry: her nearly shy voice only punctuated the fury in the room.

The emaciated boy stopped and sighed, heaving a rotted piece of fruit against the curved sewer wall. It exploded in a rain of fleshy bits and squirming insects, suddenly confused as to why they were airborne. It seemed a futile and bitter gesture: but what else was he to do? Ejected from home and estranged from his cherished sister (though he never admitted as much outwardly), Squim had no other outlet through which he could voice his fears but random acts of uselessness. He was imaginative, yes, but not to the point that he could allay his emotions.

Deliverance from this state of panicked ennui was not long in coming, however, as Squim presently heard a pair of softly treading shoes making their way down the tunnels. Soft, yet, purposeful; it was a gait full of tense caution, like a cat stalking its prey. Squim was excellent at recognizing footsteps (Tricks marched, Marlo shuffled, Galley wandered about in a rather fancy-free sort of way, and Mama never made any noise at all) and these he recognized as strangers to him. Having realized this, he ducked behind a pile of corroded metal and concealed himself, his pair of strange beady eyes pearing out between a gap in the heap.

A shadow erupted around the bend of the tunnel, arcing up the side of the roughly circular surface and appearing as large as a trooper; the thought made Squim even more nervous, and he cowered ever closer to the ground. As it approached it steadily shrank - allowing Squim to breathe more easily - and, in time, was found to be joined to the soles of a familiar young boy's boots. Galley trod stiffly around the bend, cap tucked low, arms swinging almost imperceptibly.

Squim shrieked. Galley was alone. Why alone? Where was his sister? All fear abandoned, the twisted boy leapt upon the top of his hiding place, pointing an accusatory finger at his fellow Sewer Rat. "Where! Where!" he screamed, making little sense in the process.

Galley stopped. He knew what his protege meant. "I had t'leave them behind. Probably caught by now."

Squim needed nothing more than that. His chest started to heave violently. The patches on his skin all attained a strained red hue as his fury and despair climaxed. It never occured to him that Tricks might be just fine, that she could have escaped: never occured to him that, perhaps, Galley was mistaken in his approximation of her chances. This was it, this was all, the judge and jury in his brain had already discovered the verdict of the affair. She was gone. Once somebody got caught by Valua, they were done for. Their future vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving no trace of the life once lived. All this now processed, Squim plummeted down from atop his ungainly pedestal and charged at Galley. He was responsible, he had to be, he'd abandoned them.

For all his tormented anger, however, Squim didn't stand a chance. Galley was too quick. Moreover, he'd been taught a few basic combat moves by Mama, an opportunity not afforded to Squim; his combat techniques relied solely on animalistic manouvres. He demonstrated this trait quite nicely by first attempting to grab hold of Galley and sink his teeth into Galley's flesh.

Galley sidestepped the rush, planting a solid shoe before Squim. The younger creature was sent sprawling into a stream of murky water, floating idly by as ferocious combat raged around it. With a mighty splash Squim was enveloped by that murk, cursing and screaming revenge in a childish sort of way ("You die! Agghhhg! Die!"). Had the situation been under any other context, Galley would have laughed: now he simply remained grim.

Squim flopped up onto the spongy stones, clothes soaked and even more polluted than before, still breathing heavily. Unreasoning venom seethed in his eyes as he glared at Galley.

Galley shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to be utterly uncaring when, in fact, he did care. A lot. "What was I s'pposed to do, get nabbed too? Alarm went, I bolted. Tricks shouldna gone to that dumb office any-" but there he was cut off as Squim leaped upon him, usccesfully this time, the sound of his sister's name spoken negatively spurring his limbs into renewed action. It was enough to catch even Galley off-guard, and they collapsed on the ground, Squim seeking desperately to drive his canines into Galley. It didn't matter where, so long as it hurt. They wrestled about, both tossing out every epithet they knew, seeking dominance: Galley, inevitably, emerged victorious, planting his foot against Squim's chest and pushing hard. Squim became a projectile (his extremely light weight made lobbing him about rather easy) and flew into the water again.

Galley rose. Squim had managed to nip him on the arm. Puling back his beaten sleave, Galley bore witness to the formation of a rosy bruise, punctuated by a few faint indents. The thick wool had been the only thing preventing the rise of blood to the surface and beyond. Now furious, Galley squared his jaw and waited for Squim to reemerge.

The battle, however, was now over. Squim realized the futility of it. He pulled himself up with a gasp on the opposite side of the small, dirty river, unmentionables hanging off of his clothes and skin like grim decorations on a dead Christmas tree.

Defeated and alone, he began to howl. It was the most mournful sound Galley had ever heard; the baying of a faithful hound who has suddenly lost his master. It carried up and down the tunnels, reverberating and twisting, yet never losing its sorrowing pitch. Soon it was joined by screams of "DIE, DIE" and other obscenities as Squim began to retreat into the darkness, and topped off with one final, condemning statement:

"NO SEWER RAT, YOU! NO! DIE!"

And Galley knew, now, with all of his new revelations still piled high in his brain, that his happy (if a little unhygenic) life as a team thief was over.

NOTE THE SECOND: Yes, I'm assuming they have Christmas in Arcadia. It made for a nice similie.