Like the rest of his family, Rolfie was an easy preything and easy to find. Kew-Kew watched from the treetops as the young mouse trudged across the beaten path, his tail dragging along the ground behind him.

"Hihihihihi" Kew-Kew giggled, careful to not alert the champie-thing of his presence. He had almost forgotten about the rush of excitement he got from stalking unsuspecting prey. He was nothing but a shadow amidst the leaves. A ghost amidst the trees. And while the Rolf-mousie was most certainly not on the menu, it was fun to play the predator again.

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Although Rolf had slowed to a crawl, the mouse made good time and it was close to lunchtime by the time he arrived at the city gates of Plomplemoof. A large, brightly-coloured and innocent-looking sign welcomed him into the sprawling, stinking and crowded streets. In a moment, the tidal wave of beasts swept over the mouse, and he was pushed and prodded from all sides by creatures bigger, burlier and louder than he was.

Of course, Rolf was more than used to getting stepped on (literally and figuratively) and made his way through the city with practiced ease.

Plomplemoof was, on the surface, not much bigger than Thornhill, yet extended so deep into the ground that it was at least seven times the size of Rolf's hometown. It was in these underground shelters that most of the population lived. And it was on the surface that everything of interest happened. Fighting was Plomplemoof's single claim to fame and the whole city had been dedicated to it. There was always a fight going on somewhere in Plomplemoof, and the roar of the crowds was an ever-present noise in the background.

Massive arenas, the size of mountains, stretched into the heavens and cast their shadow upon the streets below. Around them stood a cluster of smaller, less prestigious ones. The first time Rolf had seen them he had stopped and stared in wonder. He had once dreamed of fighting within, with all the legends of the sport. But that dream, like Rolf, had been bruised and battered endlessly. To the young and naive mouse that Rolf had been, Plomplemoof had been a dream come true. To the Rolf that entered now, it was a miserable place. He passed the arenas with nothing but a growing sense of dread.

"Big mousie-village…" Kew-Kew wondered aloud. It was the wearet's turn to experience the city for the first time, and naturally the first thing he did was forget all about following Rolf. He was assaulted from all sides by all the new sights and sounds that Plomplemoof had to offer- the gigantic nests, surrounded by smaller ones from which all the noise seemed to be coming from. The hundreds of creatures of every shape, smell and colour that swaggered across the streets with all the pride of a pack of peacocks.

"Very big, very fun mousie-village!" The nearest arena gave a roar of approval, and Kew-Kew's face split into a grin. With a jolt, however, he remembered his prey and realised that Rolf was nowhere to be seen. "Very easy to get lost in…"

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The Barfing Bird was a historic inn, in that it was the only one in the whole of Plomplemoof that Rolf could afford to stay in. The food was decent, the service poor, the music terrible. But then with a name that conjured up images of bile and vomit, what could be expected?

The mouse booked his room, payed his due to the barbeast and dragged himself down the staircase as slowly as he could. Rolf pushed the door open, his travelling pack slipping from his grip, and fell into the dusty mattress with a sigh.

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"No mousies…" Kew-Kew muttered to himself, unable to detect even the faintest trace of Rolf's scent. "No Rolf-mousie," Kew-Kew corrected as a bunch of mice were carried out of a nearby arena on stretchers. The arena besides Kew-Kew, an old moss-ridden thing covered in vines of ivy that should've been torn asunder a dozen seasons ago, gave a mighty roar and it was as if a firefly had lit up inside Kew-Kew's brain. "Kraw! Of course Rolfie is not on streets- is big fighting-thing doing big fighting-things." Kew-Kew shook his head. How had he not thought of it before? "Is inside screaming nest-thing!"

So saying, Kew-Kew approached the ivy-covered arena, and began to scramble up it's side. The overgrowth made for excellent paw-holds and by the time the arena's management team had realized somebeast was breaking in, Kew-Kew was too far up to hear or care about what they were saying.

This did not stop a portly and grumpy-looking mole from waving his digging claws up at the wearet. "'Ee butter be a gutin' doan quick-loike! 'Ee ain't surposed te be cloimbin' moi arener, an' 'ee 'ad be a payerin' yon ticket when 'ee gurts doan, burr aye!"

Kew-Kew, now at the top of the arena, crawed in delight at the sights that met his eyes. A wall of colour cheered and booed and wailed and clapped, and far down below two ants seemed to be locked in mortal combat. Eager to take a closer look Kew-Kew scampered downwards- ignoring the various cries of alarm, shock and disgust as he hopped from head-to-head

"And Alphonso takes this one. Again. Nobeast should be surprised," came a bored voice that clashed viciously with the wild, cheerful cheering of the arena. "Alphonso always wins."

Kew-Kew paused atop a loudly-snoring badger to bark out a screech of delight, despite the fact that he had no idea who Alphonso was.

"Do we have any more challengers?" came another voice- this one belonged to the victor down in the arena sands below. "Anybeast brave enough to face Alphonso the Eagle? The one, the only, the… heh, me?"

The crowd applauded, and Kew-Kew, who's mouth had begun to water the second he'd heard the word 'eagle', shouted "I!" so loudly that even the badger he stood on woke with a start.

"I! I! I!" Kew-Kew declared, hopping from one footpaw to the other in excitement.

"It seems I have a challenger!"

The crowd was pleased and roared with approval. Kew-Kew, his chest swelling, skipped downwards, oblivious to the exclamations that flew at him everytime he set footpaw down.

"Oi! Feet off me face!"

"Excuse me!"

"Yeowch! Trim those bally claws off why doncha, wot?"

At last Kew-Kew pushed off of a mouse's face and landed neatly on the sand below. By now he was drooling quite considerably (it had been too long since he'd last eaten eagle) and the noises of his stomach were audible even to Alphonso. The wearet's face was split into a slobbery grin, which showed off perfectly the yellow of his teeth and the sharpness of his fangs.

The announcer, a hamster that was wide in every sense of the word, seemed unphased. Alphonso seemed taken aback by his appearance, but barely a moment later the avian's own face had split into a grin.

"Got a name?"

"I is-," the wearet's smile faltered at the sight of Alphonse. "...Kew-Kew."

"Well everybeast let's all give Kew-Kew a waaaarm welcome!"

"Applause," advised the stony-faced hamster.

There was a polite smattering of applause mixed with the booing and hissing of everybeast Kew-Kew had stepped on on his way down.

Normally Kew-Kew would have puffed up with joy, but he was too busy staring pointedly at his opponent. "You is not eagle!" the wearet accused.

Alphonso was a crow. A large and thickly-built one, it was true, but a crow nonetheless. Not even a raven! The only eagle about him was the sole feather he had on his bandana. "And what exactly are you supposed to be?" the avian retorted. "A badly shaved stoat?"

The crowd, and especially those Kew-Kew had used as stepping-stones, laughed in a mean and bitter kind of way.

"I is eagle," Kew-Kew replied crossly. "I is big, hungry eagle."

It was Alphonso's turn to be cross. "That gimmick has been taken I'm afraid. I think you'll find the only eagle in this arena is me."

"They are doing battle," the bored hamster called out to the audience. "For the honor of being called an eagle."

"Is not honor!" Kew-Kew protested. "I is eagle, crow-bird isn't!

Then, a voice that Kew-Kew had not expected or thought possible from the fat little ball of fur that was the hamster, echoed across the arena.

"FIGHT!"

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"He's unstoppable! A real sensation! WOAH! Look at that mouse go!"

A very handsome-looking Rolf with musculature of steel casually incapacitated a hulking greatrat with one swift, simple motion.

"Rolf! Rolf! Rolf! Rolf! Rolf!"

He shot his beloved fans a wink (which of course provoked more cheering) before knocking out the feared Gila Gila with no more than a swipe of his tail. A humongous, roaring shadow stepped forwards, and of course it was slobbering and growling and grunting and swinging it's deformed nose ring left and right.

"At long last, the final opponent!"

It was Ralph.

"Rooooooooolf!"

Rolf's eyes shot open just in time to see the comparatively-huge Ralph flying towards him. Before the mouse could finish his scream Ralph was on top of him, ruffling his headfur in an infuriating sort of way.

"Hahaha! There's ma favourite pipsqueak!"

Rolf pitied his least-favourite pipsqueaks. "I hope yer looking forwards te this season because I am!" Ralph hopped off of him, only to grab him by the base of the tail and clamp onto the back of his neck. "I've been practicin' so much- got a dozen new moves I wanna try out!" Ralph raised a disgruntled-looking Rolf (this had happened more than once) high into the air, and promptly dropped him off of the bed and onto the dusty floor below.

"Oh joy…" the mouse muttered, rising to his feetpaw.

"What's the matter?" Ralph demanded, his overly-large nosering swinging left and right. "Did ye get robbed on the way again?" the rat sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, even yew should be able te handle an 'ighwaybeast. Here, I've got a spare tunic."

Said tunic, a dirty, foul-smelling thing covered in stitches, was promptly thrown over Rolf before the mouse could say anything. Rolf wondered what Ralph was doing with a spare tunic on his person, but didn't care enough to give voice to his query.

"Yer welcome!" Ralph beamed, and ruffled Rolf's fur. "Wouldn't want ye lookin' bad for when ye see the big boss." The rat winked.

Rolf looked puzzled, and Ralph clarified.

"Carrabas told me te tell ye te go an' see him right away when yew arrives. Ye know what that means?"

Rolf raised an eyebrow, in confusion, but a twitch on his muzzle betrayed a hopeful smile. "I-I'm getting a raise?"

"Or a promotion!" Ralph cried, giving the mouse a friendly punch on the arm which probably hurt more than he had intended it to. "But he was in a very good mood an' that's always a good thing with him."

"Right…"

Ralph withdrew from his back-pocket a crumpled ticket. "Here, go upstairs give this te that weasel at the desk an' he should take ye to him."

"Right." Rolf repeated hesitantly. "I mean… I just got back-"

"Rolf!" Ralph shook his head from side to side, as if he were an older more experienced beast. "Yew never refuse the bosses! Now shoo before he gets all angry-like. Shoo! Shoo!"

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Alphonso, who had seen the hamster use his loud voice on more than one occasion, was the first on the offensive. Sand flared up around him as he began beating the air with his wings.

"Alphonso is using his infamous and deadly Wings Of Sand Maneuver."

Despite the hamster's tone the crowd whooped with joy and excitement. Kew-Kew, having been taken by surprise, coughed dust and dirt and blinked water from his eyes. Raising a paw to shield his face from the worst of the impromptu sandstorm Kew-Kew left his bare chest defenseless.

Which was of course, exactly what Alphonso wanted. A set of talons- curled awkwardly into a fist- came crashing into his gut. Spittle flew from the wearet's maw but Alphonso gave no respite and followed up with a punch to the throat. Kew-Kew stumbled backwards, and fell on his back after Alphonso's third punch… or was it a kick?

"Ka-kaw, Kew-Kew. It looks like I have beaten you," Alphonso chuckled at the accidental rhyme. "Lights out!"

The wearet flared up, incensed by the use of offensive eagle terminology, rolled away from whatever attack Alphonso had had in mind and kicked the crow away with a gnarly footpaw. Kew-Kew was on his feet a short while later, rubbing the remaining sand out of his eyes.

Alphonso sucked in breath, his chest smarting from the wearet's kick, and glared daggers at the wearet. "Not bad, for a half-shaved stoat. If you win, I might take you to see the tanner. Do something about that hide of yours."

The audience laughed and applauded Alphonso's wittiness. Kew-Kew grinned and said in a very matter-of-fact sort of way. "When I win, I is going to eat you."

The audience shared looks of concern, and watched with baited breath as Kew-Kew crouched low.

"Come, come little preything," the wearet snickered. "Come and play with Kew-Kew."

Alphonso turned to the commentator for assistance, but if the hamster was horrified he certainly didn't show it.

"If you'll insist- but don't come too close now. I fear you have the mange, or something else that is terribly contagious. An-and awful breath too." Alphonso ruffled his feathers, glowered down at the wearet from the top of his imperiously-raised beak, and balled a set of talons into fists.

"Nice try crow-bird. But I smell fear!" Kew-Kew tore across the sands on all fours. Alphonso barely had time to squawk before the wearet was upon him.

Kew-Kew pounced with a savage 'Kraaaaaaw!' Feathers and sand fogged the air as teeth and claws tore into flesh.

"That looks like it hurt," came the voice of the announcer, just loud enough to be heard over the audience's screams. "Round one, to Kew-Kew!"

"Mercy!" cried Alphonso.

"I said… round one to Kew-Kew! Oi! GET OFF OF HIM!"

It was only when the hamster used his big voice that the over-excited wearet stepped off of the crow, his claws and muzzle red with blood and a bunch of jet-black feathers sticking out the side of his mouth.

"Y-you cut me! You cut me, you savage!" A bedraggled Alphonso dragged himself a safe distance away from the ferocious wearet. He pressed a wing against the multitude of slashes on his chest, his lower beak hanging open as shock and horror spread across his features. "Y-you- what kind- you bit me!"

Kew-Kew chewed on his mouthful of plumage with the air of a great philosopher. "Is not like eagle, but crow-bird taaaaaasty." His drooling seemed to quadruple and great gobs of saliva dripped from the sides of his maw and onto the ground.

Alphonso swallowed. "D-don't you think you're taking this ah-act a little too far?"

"I is not acting," Kew-Kew sniffed at the air, and sighed happily as a hundred happy memories flashed through his head. He swallowed the dark feathers whole. "I is very hungry."

Alphonso screamed like a babe and shot into the air, greatly resembling a beaten-up firework.

"No!" Kew-Kew screeched, realizing with a sudden, painful jolt that his prey was getting away. He did his best to snatch at the crow, but fear had rocketed Alphonso up to the heavens and all the hungry wearet could snatch from the air were stray feathers."Come back! Come back! Fighting not finished!" The wearet dropped into the sand and wailed. "I is hungryyyyyyy!"

"The winner," announced the hamster, who had maintained stoic professionalism throughout and now withdrew a trophy larger than any of Rolf's to present to the arena's new champion. "Is Kew-Kew."

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"I-I'm being let go?" Rolf squeaked, his eyes widening in horror.

"Oh no! No, no, no. Nothing as dreadful as all that!" the stoat called Carrabas gave a hearty laugh and patted the seat besides him. He had been a fighter of some renown in his youth, but it was in management that he had found true success. Carrabas owned three fighting rings, coached a dozen of Plomplemoof's best fighters and managed three dozen or more of the less-famous fighters. It was in this last category that Rolf and Ralph belonged to.

"Ye'll still be around of course." the stoat soothed, easing Rolf into the offered chair with all the skill of a professional masseuse. "I never let an asset drift away. Never for long. But the fact and the matter is, Ralph doesn't need you anymore. He's a respectable fighter in his own right and beasts would get suspicious if they saw him beating up the same mouse over and over again."

"B-but-"

"Rolf, this is how business works. You are a wonderful, wonderful mouse and I wish you nothing but the best. But I can't just keep you around. I can't pay you to be Ralph's number one fan- you know this."

"I-I don't need to be a fan." Rolf protested. "I-I could I- could fight too."

Carrabas gave him a scathing look.

"It's true!" the mouse squeaked. "I can fight. I-I'm almost as good as Ralph-"

Now the stoat was laughing, and Rolf could feel his insides being crushed into pulp. "Now Rolf, I don't say this harshly. You are one of my favourite employees but when I look at you I don't see a fighter. I don't see a champion. I don't see somebeast who can earn their own trophies. I see a loser… who has yet to accept his place as such. You're not a fighter Rolf. Never was, never will be. It's a bit too late to change that now."

Rolf felt all his retorts die in his throat, and turned his miserable gaze upon the floor.

Carrabas placed a paw on his shoulder. "But that's not a bad thing. Every fight needs a loser and you play the part well. If employment is your concern- in the long term I have several other beasts I could pair you up with."

The stoat withdrew his paw and went on. "In any case you still have some matches with Ralph. A few to warm up and a very important, very big one a week from now. If Ralph impresses the judges there he'll get into Hanzaman's Hut! The biggest, most prestigious arena in this dumb city and the best paying one too! And it'll all be coz of you. I'm counting on you Rolf, to make next week the performance of a lifetime." A large paw tilted Rolf's head backwards, so that the mouse and the stoat could see eye to eye. "Do not disappoint me."

"I won't," Rolf muttered sullenly.

"Good," said Carrabas. The stoat set him down again, his nose twitching. "Do remind me to get you a few spare tunics of your own. Ralph's are rather poorly maintained."