Not a single word was spoken. Not even a single sound was made. Not a single movement taken.

In later years, Teresa would look back on this moment and question if they had even been capable of doing so; if the primal fear would've even allowed them to make a single squeak, or had it frozen them on the spot out of sheer survival instinct. Because right at that very moment, for all the desire she had to scream out of true terror or flee as if the Great Owl himself was after her, it was as if her body itself had been turned to stone. Leaving her unable to do anything but tremble and gape in absolute fear at the sight before them.

Forbidding her out of the sheer instinct of survival from doing anything that could draw the attention of one of, if not the most dangerous beast to ever roam the realms.

A Dragon. And not the great Beast-Cat of the name given to it by mice, but an Honest-to-Frith Dragon! One of the great winged reptiles of flame from the far north, not just here on Nimh, but on their farm! And just as massive and terrifying as the legends made them out to be. The color of its scales made it look even more-so like a creature of legend: a sharp royal purple in color, making it stand out almost blindingly against the winter-dried brown of the cornfield it was currently standing in, its back half still hidden within the wall of stalks and its golden wings folded against its sides.

Her body may have been frozen on the spot, tiny heart pounding furiously in her chest, but her terrified mind was racing with thousands of questions at once. What was it doing here? Was this the special friend that the fairy had been talking about? She had been telling the truth?! And if so, then where in the world had this thing been for the past ten years?! It couldn't have been here; if a dragon had been living at the Stone before they had moved here, they would've seen it by now!

Or, more likely, it would've eaten or burned them to ash by now.

Whatever ancient, blood-rooted instinct was keeping her in place prevented her from taking her eyes off the sight of the creature towering over them, but she could just make out her siblings in the corner of her eyes. Like she was, Martin was all but rooted in place out of pure mousey terror, eyes almost comically-wide and jaw quivering with the emotion; any and all of his previous bravado had vanished from his shaking form, the stick he had been using as a make-believe weapon having fallen out of his shaking paws. While she could hardly blame him for feeling such a way, she also felt that small, almost instinctual pinch of exasperation nip through her fear; Martin liked to think of himself as a fearless mouse like their father had been, but it was when confronted with any form of danger that the true strength of his 'courage', or lack thereof, revealed itself. This was the incident with the spider all over again…

Cynthia, on the other hand, had a completely different reaction.

Rather than freeze on the spot with fear as the other two had done, her eyes widened in horrified recognition before she gave a truly frightened cry and bolted, dropping the Speaking Crystal and running straight for Teresa. It was then, and only then, did the spell over the oldest furling finally break as she snapped her arms open to catch the ball of fluff that all but flew at her, wrapping her arms protectively around the crying toddler as she barreled into her, clinging to her dress as if her life depended on it, large round tears dripping down her sandy-blonde cheeks.

It was then that a bolt of realization struck; purple scales…this was the 'giant purple monster' that she had been going on about before! The one that caused that scratch on her arm!

It hadn't been a 'fairy's dastardly magic trick' after all.

The silence was once again broken again by said fairy in question. "Well, it's about time you decided to get off your scaly ass." Zoe suddenly stated with annoyance, as if she was merely snapping at an annoying sibling rather than the mightiest of all legendary creatures, no fear in her voice whatsoever. "How long did it take for you to even realize I was missing?"

The dragon's face, which had been blank of any form of expression, promptly turned into as much as a look of deadpan annoyance its reptilian face would allow as it turned its gaze to the bound fairy. The cornstalks around its torso creaked and snapped as it stepped forward, the rest of its massive form sliding forth like a great serpent. The ground shook softly under its footfalls, but not nearly to the degree one would expect an animal of that size to cause, stepping with a light-footed grace that was more akin to a cat than a larger animal, the last of its very long tail slipping out from the shadows as it approached the small group. Teresa held Cynthia close as she back-pedaled several steps, breath hitching in her throat as she and Martin kept their distance; Martin outright fell backwards into Zoe's lap, earning an 'oof' of displeasure from the fairy in question.

Then something completely unexpected happened, even for an unbelievable situation like this; something that made Teresa's ears perk up in surprise:

The giant, terrifying, purple-scale dragon spoke.

"The moment I heard the trap ring." It stated bluntly, completely unconcerned for the fairy's well-being.

Zoe bristled with indignation. "You mean you've just been sitting around, watching that mangy bag of swamp-gas drag me around like a sack of meat this entire time?!" She shrieked, scaring poor Martin into jumping out of her lap as if it had suddenly burst into flame. The boy furling decided the safest place to hide was behind his sisters, leaving all three furlings huddled into a small trembling pile of fur.

The dragon appeared unmoved by the fairy's outburst, eyes narrowing as he moved to the side, his neck, body, and tail following the head in a serpentine fashion, akin to a giant snake. "You're the one who let your guard down." He growled firmly, baring his all-too deadly teeth just a bit. "You have no one to blame but yourself for your humiliation."

As the two continued to bicker like a pair of dysfunctional siblings, there were two things about the dragon's voice that caught Teresa's attention.

First of which was the fact the dragon's jaws and lips didn't move when he spoke. His voice (which was obviously male, revealing that he was a boy dragon) was coming up from his throat and out from within his currently-closed jaws, but his mouth didn't move, and his lips didn't form the shapes needed to pronounce the words. Said lips were more like those of a reptile, anyway, so he probably couldn't even if he tried. Yet the words were coming from his mouth clear as day, even when it was shut.

Magic, perhaps? Or something special for dragons? That was her best guess.

And the second was not as unnatural…but, surprisingly enough, it caught her attention even more so than the fact he could speak with a closed mouth: the voice itself. It was a voice that thrummed with the deep rumble of an earthquake. It was a voice that crackled with the growl of a blazing forest fire. It was a voice that channeled the very spirit of the elements into an audible form, as if he was speaking with the voice of the world itself.

And it was the voice of a child.

Even as it rumbled deep and powerful, there was no mistaking the youthful quality of it. He was very well spoken for a child, speaking with a vocabulary that, even with all her father's schooling, she would've found difficult to use. But she could hear it: the higher-pitched 'chime' of a creature who was just shy of his teen years, interwoven amongst all the draconian qualities.

And when she looked across the creature's body, her mind no longer completely consumed by the overwhelming fear, she could see it all across his intimidating form…a form that was starting to look a bit less intimidating which each second. It would've hard for anyone to spot if they weren't openly looking for them, but the signs were all there none the less: a body that was slimmer around the neck and torso, limbs that looked a bit too long for their width, eyes that were a touch large for the head. These were qualities of a creature that was just starting to grow out into its adult form: a teenager, just like she was going to become in a year's time.

This dragon…this mighty, ferocious beast of legend, nearly as large as the Beast-Cat of the same name...he was a child of his race.

Probably no older than they were.

"Alright, fine! Whatever!" Zoe finally submitted, admitting defeat in the argument. "Just get me out of this mess already, would you?"

Spyro promptly gave a deep snort of defiance, twin jets of smoke shooting out from his nostrils. As if he was going to waste his time and effort on dealing with her nonsense.

He hadn't even gotten out of the cornfield when he had heard Zoe scream, followed by the ringing chime of a bell. He had been so immersed in his thoughts and the tight emptiness within his gullet that he didn't even notice that she wasn't following him. However, hearing her cry snapped him to full alert, his turmoil quickly shifting to protective instinct as he made his way back to her as quickly as he could without revealing himself…just in time to see her being found and prodded at by the old shrew that had accompanied the warm-eyed mouse in healing the furling. From there he had watched the shrew pull his fairy down, bound her up in string, and drag her out to the center of the farm, squawking non-stop like an angry buzzard the entire time.

It had been as confusing as it was amusing that he couldn't bring himself to stop it. It had been the most entertaining show he had watched in years, and he wasn't inclined to end it so soon.

Especially considering how and why she had gotten herself into it: she was going to try to make the mice leave the Lee of the Stone so he could get it back.

This was not what he wanted. The fact that he had not already done so himself was a clear enough sign that he didn't want to, and yet she openly ignored him and tried to act on her own accord, be it doing something that she believed he wanted or not. She had no one to blame for her current predicament but herself, and he was in no rush to relieve her of the consequences of her actions. If he had wanted to take the stone back, then he was more than capable of doing so himself. He nearly had so in his brief but furious moment of rage; one breath would've been enough to completely erase them and everything they had built off the face of the earth. Return everything back to the way it was before.

But…as much as he longed to return to what was his, he chose not to.

After what he saw…the warmth in that mouse's eyes…he couldn't bring himself to destroy everything she made for her family, just so he could get his old sunning spot back.

This was their home now…her home now. And was not going to interfere with it any more than he already had.

Without so much as a single word he promptly shifted his weight back onto his hind legs and laid himself down on the ground, tucking his legs against his sides and folding his wings shifting into a resting position by his sides, ending it all by curling his tail around into a protective half-circle behind him.

Zoe gave an outright pained groan and rolled her head back in exasperation, almost falling backwards. "You cannot be serious right now." She outright whined.

Another smoke-filled huff of a breath was all he gave in response as he simply laid his head on the ground and stared out over the stone's open glade, along the banks of the nearby river. One of the last parts of the land that hadn't been ploughed into a farming field. One could outright see the powerful muscles going slack across his body as he slowly relaxed into a comfortable slump, and a small flicker of warmth shone from deep within his half-lidded eyes as the Lee of the Stone fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by his rumbling breath, the soft spring breeze rustling through the leaves, and the distant calls of songbirds.

His eyes slowly drooped shut as the warm glow of memories from the past began to flow through his mind's eye, images of happier times filling him with what he could only describe as a 'longing warmth'.

It wasn't the same as he remembered it, and he knew that it would never be so again…but now, with this, he could have a little of it back.

If only for a brief moment.

Then the silence was broken by the most unexpected of voices:

"Y-You're…you're not going to eat us."

He had been keeping them in his peripheral vision as he had been dealing with his obnoxious Familiar: the three tiny balls of fluff that had made his former Stone their home. When he looked at them last, their bodies had been frozen out of sheer survival instinct, watching him with truly fearful eyes. A wise move on their part, honestly; they were far too small to be worth the calories it would take for a beast his size to chase and catch them, so keeping perfectly still and not doing anything to provoke ire in any way was the best chance a mortal had to survive an encounter with a dragon.

He hadn't expected any of them to do anything other than scream and run away, or remain frozen until he decided to leave (before the old shrew got back with help)…and what she said…

Shifting his head against the ground, he leaned it to the side and opened his left eye to look at them, and it took him a genuine amount of effort not to react with surprise.

The Fear. The complete, overwhelming, primordial Fear.

It was gone.

Gone? How? Yes, the caution was there, obviously: they were all still clearly on edge, the feet shifting with the readiness to scamper away the moment he did anything to threaten them…but the Fear was nowhere to be seen. Not in their bodies, not in the stances, and not even in their eyes. The trembling terror they originally stood with had disappeared from their stances, which had relaxed into those of cautious curiosity rather than blind terror. Even Cynthia, who had been hurt as a result of her fear for him, had worked up the courage to peek out from hiding her face in her sister's chest and was watching him with timid but curious eyes.

They weren't afraid of him. They were a bit wary, yes, but the Fear? The Fear he had grown all too accustomed in seeing in everyone who beheld his form…it simply wasn't there.

They didn't fear him.

But that was impossible. It was the very nature of the world itself for all living beings to fear him. To feel the complete primordial terror of the monstrous Jendovahzoor. The Son of Malefor. The one that was feared and hated by all. Even by his own kind.

That was how it was, how it always had been, and how it always would be.

So why…?

"Why aren't you afraid?"

Teresa blinked in surprise, not at all prepared for his voice to suddenly…change; what she expected was going to be another thunderous growl of a dragon's powerful voice, instead came out as a soft uncertain croon. One could even call it timid. Hardly a voice she expected to come out of a dragon of all creatures.

"W-What?" she managed to ask, her voice catching out of surprise.

"All creatures fear me." he continued in the same, almost painfully-contrasting voice. "Entire armies have fled from me in complete terror. I've made the strongest warriors tremble like frightened children with a single roar. And even my own kind calls me devil." She did not miss how his voice darkened at that last statement, and how the glow of his eyes became what could only be described as a 'hateful' burn.

He then looked back at her, and she blinked again at the look he gave her; a glowing gaze that was equal parts the thunderous glare of a great fiery beast looking down upon the specks of mortal life…

…and the confused stare of an uncertain child confronted with something he didn't understand.

"So why don't you?"

This was another moment in her life Teresa would look back upon with questioning, but it would be a moment she would recall with a warm fondness: the moment the image of the legendary beast of greed, destruction, and death forever faded from the purple dragon before her, and she was able to see him for what he truly was: a fellow child, just like them, who had been lost for a very long time. One who had been alone for a very long time, if what he said about his own kind was true. One who was looking for the light that once filled their life; a light taken away by the cold clawed hands of the dark.

The hole in her heart that once held her father ached just a touch more. A light that they were looking for as well.

"Is that why you're here?" Teresa asked gently as she gently set Cynthia down so she could stand straight; the blonde furling stood on her own feet, but still held tightly to her sister's skirts for protection. "Did the other dragons make you leave…wherever dragons live?"

There was a moment's silence before Spyro lifted his head off the ground and turned it around completely to look at them directly, eyes filled with confusion of being spoken to at all, let alone in such a gentle voice. Something about that idea made Teresa frown internally, though she didn't show it.

"I've always lived on Nimh." he said simply, clearly unsure of what else to say. "I was born here."

"But you left to visit them, right?" The mouse girl continued. "Just before we moved to the stone?"

The dragon's eyes darkened at that question, the memories of those days passing before them like a shadow of a dark raincloud. "…Yes." He finally growled, scratching the ground beneath his paws, leaving long groves in the soil. "And they didn't want me, so I came back."

"Why?" Martin was the one who asked that as he stepped out from behind his sisters, his growing curiosity and adventurous spirit finally winning out over his dying terror. "Why didn't they want you around?"

Spyro didn't answer at first. He lifted his right foreleg at the elbow and brought his paw up to his gaze. He stared at it with an unreadable expression, or more accurately he stared at the vibrant purple scales that covered it; the very same scales that represented both his blessing and his damnation.

"Because I'm purple." Was all he said.

That unexpectedly-simple answer took the children aback a bit, each expressing a different level of confusion. "…What? That's it?" the boy furling asked incredulously. "Because you're purple?"

"It's a little more complicated than that." Zoe finally broke her own silence to jump to Spyro's defense, despite still being tied down against her will. She then clicked her tongue in thought. "How do I explain this to kids…?" She murmured to herself, thinking for a second before speaking again. "You see, purple dragons have special traits that make them unique from other dragons. And the last purple dragon they met…wasn't the best dragon around." Her expression twisted into something sour, as if the very words tasted foul in her mouth. "That dragon did many horrible things and hurt a lot of people. So now everyone's scared that all other purple dragons are evil too."

"They feared him." Spyro growled in a dark tone; Zoe didn't need to play the truth down for his sake. He was more than aware of it. "He destroyed the world. Slaughtered millions. This realm has never known a greater monster…"

As he spoke, he channeled a small bit of his power into the paw he was observing; like glowing cracks in lava-rock spreading from the pressure of the magma below, long, vein-like streaks of a burning purple energy flowed down his limb and to his fingers, his claws igniting with a burst of magenta flame. The light reflected in his eyes, mixing a touch of purple with their golden-orange glow.

To the children, it was a wondrous sight; the first time any of them had seen what they believed to be magic. But to Spyro, it was only yet another painful reminder of the truth.

The truth of what he was.

He clenched his paw into a fist, snuffing the flames out with a soft hiss of steam, and he lowered his gaze. "I'm the same kind of dragon he was…" He said quietly, the glow of his eyes dimming to a low, lifeless glimmer. "…so I've been damned a monster as well."

An almost deathly quiet fell over the Lee of the Stone, broken only by the rushing water of the distant river and the wind blowing through the stalks of corn. Even the songbirds in the nearby trees seem to have fallen silent, casting the glade into a morbid silence. The dragon held back the urge to bark a spiteful laugh; no doubt they had been scared into silence by the burst of his power…or perhaps even they had taken head of his word and fled while they had the chance.

He expected the furlings would be fleeing soon as well; the Fear had to have returned now. Now that they knew what he truly was.

Any creature that valued their life would not ignore the danger; even hatchlings would not be foolish enough to linger in the presence of such a threat. They would flee for the safety of their home…for their mother's warmth…then he could take his string-bound fairy and leave before she or the other adults had the chance to check on the children's frightened claims of the evil dragon lurking in the dark forest. As far as they would know it, the fairy that had caused mischief to their farm escaped a faulty trap, and they would never be the wiser.

It was the way it had always been. It was the natural order of the world. It was-

Soft.

Such a small and sudden touch that his mind temporarily froze mid-thought at it, prompting a soft warble of surprise to escape his throat; it was such an alien sensation that he didn't even know what it was at first. And when he looked down to see what it was, the mere sight outright destroyed everything he knew about the world, his eyes widening in surprise.

Cynthia, the very furling whom he had frightened and caused harm to and the one who had more reason than all the mice in Nimh to fear him, had left her sister's protection and was pressing herself against the side of his left forearm, gently nuzzling the scales of the dragon's limb. She was so small that he could barely feel her leaning against him, but he was more than enraptured by the feeling of her fur against his hide; it was unbelievably soft, softer than even the finest of Fae hair, and warm in the rays of the sun. She was too young to truly understand the weight of his pain, but she was still there, offering a touch of her own warmth to soothe it.

He barely had time to register this before another touch joined the first; without any sign of the Fear in her body, Teresa stepped up to him and leaned against his arm. Her arms were far too small to actually wrap around the limb, but she still laid them outwards against it as if to hug him. The palms of her hands were slightly calloused (which was to be expected from the average farm mouse, he supposed), but still soft and gentle to the touch, though in a different way than their fur was. She stared up at him with a saddened expression, her eyes full of a saddened warmth that matched her sister's, though her eyes glowed with a light of understanding.

Martin was the only one who hesitated at first. Perhaps it was out of a lingering wariness for the creature that scared them so badly, or perhaps a young boy's silly pride against showing any kind of emotion that could suggest a perceived weakness. But after a moment of standing back and looking conflicted, he ultimately showed his own form of offering comfort. He came up to Spyro's forearm as his sisters had and then simply sat down next to him, leaning against the dragon without a word. His fur was a little coarser than his sisters, dirtied from his time doing chores throughout the farm, but was no less warm to the touch. He too shared the look of understanding his sister did.

Of someone who knew his pain. Maybe not the exact same kind of pain, but one that was similar none the less: one that came from within rather than a wound. From the Tight Emptiness.

He wasn't alone in its grasp.

Spyro could only stare at them, barely moving otherwise. His voice, both physical and telepathic, had been lost in a sea of conflict and confusion. And deep within his chest, which had only known the Tight Emptiness for as long as he could remember, something flickered. A soft bloom of something…warm. It licked at his insides like the tongues of an open flame, causing an irritating heat to constrict his throat and his lungs to grow heavier with each breath; he found himself instinctually taking a deep one, pushing it against the sensation of weight within him.

"…Why don't you run?" he finally asked again, his voice quiet and shivering. "I was the one who got you hurt…drained your crops…tried to take your home." He felt something sharp and hot prick behind his eyes, and he blinked his secondary eyelids to try to clear it away. "Why aren't you afraid?"

There was another moment of silence, before Teresa looked up at him and answered, her voice as gentle as her touch and her eyes as warm as a hearth's fire.

"Because it's your home too."

And for one split second, one brief, sudden moment in eternity, and for the first time in his long draconian life, the Tight Emptiness was gone.

And all he knew was warmth.

"…Come on then, you old flim-flam! I've left the children alone with that trickster!"

Sadly, it was not meant to last. The moment of blissful peace between kindred souls was interrupted by an unwelcome sound: the sound of distant voices, one being all too familiar, coming from the direction the shrew had hobbled off in. Spyro lifted his head higher to look in said direction, eyes narrowing instinctively as a soft growl rumbled between his jaws; the old rodent had returned, just as she had said she would, and she wasn't alone.

That was it for Zoe, who had been watching in silence with an unreadable expression; the fairy sat straight up with a jolt of panic. "Okay, no more games, I'm being serious: we have to leave! Now!" Her tone made the urgency clear, all traces of previous sarcasm and exasperation gone. "They see you, we're both dead!"

Spyro gave a outright-pained croon, wanting nothing more in that moment than to stay. After all these years, he had finally found it: something that made the Tight Emptiness go away, here with these mice Rodentkin. He had been searching for so long, not even knowing what he was searching for, and now, when he finally had a idea of what it could be, he had to leave it behind for those who would take it away either way.

But in the end, as the voices drew closer, he knew he had no choice. So, he gave a long, guttural sigh and slowly got up, taking care not to knock his forearm into the furlings that were now so close to him. They scampered back as he rose, clearing the way as he lifted himself in a saurian, almost bird-like fashion, and allowing him the space to step forward and lowered his head. With a quick snap of his jaws, the line of string binding was severed, allowing the fairy to roll away from the bush.

"W-Wait! You don't have to go!" Martin said, looking almost sad that their newest friend was leaving. And just after they had learned about him, too. "We can explain to our mother! I'm sure she'll be okay if you stayed!"

"Martin…" Teresa sighed, shaking her head no. She didn't want to say goodbye either, but she knew better; the grown-ups would be afraid of the dragon.

"I wish that was true..." Spyro's told them in a quiet tone, leaning his head down to pick up the still-bound Zoe with his jaws, his teeth gripping the loops of string around her torso. She gave a huff as he lifted her up, the dragon carrying her by her back like a cat would carry a kitten, leaving the fairy to dangle like a cocooned caterpillar in silent embarrassment. "More than you can imagine…but we both know it's not." He turned away in a serpentine manner, his long form curving around like a great snake through the air, his footfalls as silent as ever. "I thank you for sharing your Warmth with me. Goodbye."

He then stepped forward, lowering his head to push the cornstalks out of the way.

"Wait!" Teresa suddenly called after him; Spyro paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Do you have a name?"

The purple dragon stayed silent for a moment, as if pondering how to answer, before looking back one last time, draconian eyes gleaming in the light of the sun.

"Spyro." was all he said, before he turned and hurried away, silently slipping into the cornfield; the stalks bent and swayed in a path as he travelled through them, before falling still and silent as he disappeared back into the forest from where he came. The only sign that he had ever been there at all was a large patch of flattened grass where he laid, a pile of torn enchanted string that had once been a fairy trap, and three confused furlings that could barely believe such a world-shaking event had just happened…

…and yet a pinch of sadness lingered within their hearts, their little world suddenly feeling a lot smaller.

That evening after dinner, Mrs. Brisby couldn't figure out what was causing all this excitement amongst her children. As she sat by the warm fire of the hearth, quietly humming to herself as she sowed together the beginnings of a new arm for Cynthia's damaged doll, she caught herself curiously glancing over to where they were playing. They were whispering to each other in hushed but no-less excited voices, as if they had an exciting new secret to share amongst each other. When she had asked what they were talking about, Cynthia, ever the chatter-box, had tried explaining to her about 'making friends with the sad purple monster', but was instantly shushed by her siblings.

In the end, Mrs. Brisby decided it must've been some game her children had been playing and left it at that.

It could've also had something to do with that supposed 'Fairy Attack' that Auntie Shrew had been outright raving about that morning. Her youngest son, Timothy, had woken up feeling unwell and she had stayed inside to tend to him. It was only when she heard Auntie Shrew and Mr. Ages getting into a shouting match had she decided to come outside.

Auntie Shrew had insisted to heaven and back that she had caught a Feywild Fairy in one of her traps and had left the children in charge of watching over the intruder as she went to get help. But when she returned, accompanied by a very irate Mr. Ages, both carrying ropes and harnesses, she was outraged to find the trap severed and the supposed fairy missing. When she asked her children about it, they denied ever seeing a fairy in the first place, claiming it was a butterfly that had been caught in the trap, much to Auntie Shrew's outraged objections.

Mr. Ages, on the other hand, had been furious that he'd been dragged all the way out here, away from his work, on account of mistaken identity. When Auntie Shrew furiously defended herself, pointing out that she had seen the fairy with her own eyes, he simply accused her of wasting his time with another of her paranoid fantasies. The argument between the two elders quickly heated up, all of it leading to a hysterical Auntie Shrew chasing the red-faced Ages away with her walking stick; a result of the rather offensive name he called her, all the while the children watched, overwhelmed with laughter.

Despite the chaos and words that she would have to teach them not to say, it was genuinely good to see her children laughing again. Ever since Johnathan had passed away, they had all fallen into a state of loss, the holes his absence left in their hearts still fresh in most of them. So, to see them happy and playing again, even if by living in their own little magical world of make-believe…it brought a smile to her own face, a small glimpse of hope slowly returning to their lives.

Now all that was left was to hope that Timmy would be fine, and whatever he could be sick with wasn't too serious.

The young, widowed mouse could've never predicted that what looked like the start of a simple cold would become something much more serious, or that the upcoming days would soon lead to an encounter she could never have imagined.

An encounter that would result in a chain of events that would ultimately change not only their own lives, not only the entire land of Nimh, but the entire world as a whole forever.