With an irritated growl, Spyro pushed his way through the tightly-packed wall of bushes before him, his eyes squinting against both the sunlight and the leaves brushing across his face. The smaller branches snapped against his scaled hide, absolutely no match against his strength, while the low-hanging leaves and twigs were either pushed aside by or flattened under his paws.

He blinked both sets of eyelids several times as he stepped out from the darkness, hissing angrily in irritation at the stabbing sensation from his eyes.

And only when his vision finally cleared was he able to see just how much had changed in such little time.

The open grassy fields that he remembered from his childhood was completely gone, and in its place was a wall of giant cornstalks, leaving only a narrow path barely big enough for a rabbit between them and the bush wall. The stalks were earless and had yet to grow their golden crowns, as expected of early spring crops, but were already standing almost forty feet in height (no doubt in thanks to Feywild's magically-enriched soil), towering over the dragon and the bushes he was half-way emerged from.

He stared up at the wall of crops in silent surprise, racking his simple reptilian brain trying to register the new addition to the once empty plains of his memories.

They were so tall and thickly-packed that he could barely made out the distant shape of the Stone looming beyond them.

He was so focused on staring up at the corn that he almost stepped on another addition to the glade: a crudely-made wooden fence that stood barely taller than his wrist, no doubt constructed by the smaller mice rodentkin, made from gathered branches and tied together with rope.

It was outright humorous, how small it was; whoever built it actually expected it to keep anything out of the farmland, when most creatures were more than tall enough to simply step over it.

Which is exactly what he did.

Adjusting his jaws around the arm of the doll to make sure he wasn't damaging it with his teeth, Spyro slinked low to the ground and slipped into the farmland as silently as he could, his body and tail outright slithering over the fence and into the cornfield.

If they had been traversing through an open grassland, the royal-purple color of Spyro's scales would've been terrible at providing camouflage against the golden-brown fields, but within the shadows of these cornstalks it was surprisingly effective, like the black fur of a panther in the dark jungle. He blended almost perfectly into the shade of the plants as he slithered in a straight line for the shape of the Stone, only changing direction when stepping around a stalk directly in his path.

Likewise, Zoe had to take to walking by foot through the trail he left behind, taking care to prevent the leaves from whipping her in the face; fairy wings glowed when they were in use and thus flying would've give away their position immediately, forcing her to take to the ground.

A familiar smell reached his nostrils, causing him to pause mid-step, and his glowing eyes cast their gaze down to the base of the stalk to his right. A glimmering smear of red coated the surface of the plant, next to a trail of tiny footprints leading in the same direction he was heading.

He was almost amused at the painfully-obvious trail she had left behind; for those living in the heart of Feywild's wilderness, they did a poor job of keeping themselves hidden from predators. Even a blind fox could follow a trail like this…then again, she was just a child.

But it proved his gut instinct correct; the furling's family was indeed here.

He gave a soft croon and wisely continued on before the smell could take his mind again, taking precaution to avoid touching the spilled life-fluid as he passed it. A quick glance to the sky through the cornfield canopy told him that he was nearing the stone, and through the distant stalks he could see brief but sharp flashes of sunlight reflecting off a surface of glass…the window to a farmhouse, perhaps?

And no sooner had he seen the glint of light did another sign of inhabitants reach his senses, this time his ears, which perked up as they detected them:

Voices. Several distinct ones. It was hard to tell the exact age and gender, but they sounded like more children. The furling's siblings, perhaps? Or other children of this new colony?

Spyro slunk as low as he could to the ground as he approached the edge of the cornfield; so low his underbelly was just shy of actually dragging across it. The few blades of grass between the stalks, as well as the fallen strips of corn leaves, brushed against his scales as he slinked forward like a giant cat, not making a sound.

He willed his eyes to lower the intensity of their glow, becoming no brighter than the flickering embers of a dying campfire, keeping himself hidden as he peered out from between the stalks that lined the edge of the field.

It almost felt like a dream, looking out from the darkness of the past decade and out into the light of a distant memory come to life.

Even if said memory had been changed drastically from what he remembered it to be.

The Lee of the Stone was one of the most recognizable landmarks in central Feywild: a single massive stone larger than a small castle, standing tall in the center of a bank-side glade, curving out of the earth in an almost claw-like formation towards the west and forming a cave-like outcrop that cast a natural cover over the ground beneath it. The stone's withered yet mighty appearance was a testament to its age, having stood undisturbed in this spot for thousands of years; moss covered the surface area in scattered clumps, while wild vines and roots hung in the air from off the edges, swaying lazily in the soft breeze.

The area facing the stone's cliff-face was an open grassy field devoid of trees and bushes (or at least use to be an open grassy field), leading down all the way to the distant river's edge, which flowed past the glade in an outward curve.

All of this was a very welcome sight to the home-weary Safi'jiiva. The perfect sunning spot of any large reptile: a warm stone surface to nap on, and a comfortable shaded area to slip under if it got too hot. Even at his current size, the stone was still more than large enough from him to use; he could feel the warm stone on his belly already…

…but then he saw what was sitting in the shade beneath it, and what good-natured curiosity he held instantly vanished.

Standing right at the base of the great stone, tucked comfortably in the shade underneath the curving ledge above, was the picture-ese definition of a rodentkin farmhouse. The majority of the stone-carved building was buried within the earth, with only the upper half emerging from the surface; this was normal for rodentkin, being a partially-subterranean race that built their homes underground to hide from predators. The layer of dirt and grass covering the surface of the block-shaped stone emphasized this, clearly done so make it look like part of the glade.

Though a soul-bearer would recognize the telltale clues: the small chimney poking out of the ground puffing a small wafting column of smoke, the simple door made of wooden plants lashed together with twine hidden within a shallow burrow in the side of the 'hill', and large round windows that were partially obscured by overhangs of grass.

One could easily compare it to the dwellings of hobbits, albeit made with more primitive materials and more focused on protection from outside dangers rather than over-indulgence in comfort.

And gathered in front of the burrow where the door was hidden were some of the inhabitants of this mousey hobbit-hole: three mice furlings, confirming themselves to be the source of the voices he had been hearing as they spoke amongst themselves. The young, blonde-furred girl was in the middle, softly sobbing in the embrace of another furling as she nursed her wound.

The one holding her was a much older furling girl wearing a patchy, sleeveless dress that was a pale lavender in color; the blonde one's sibling, he guessed, given how openly-loving she was acting for the younger mouse. Her fur was a very light chocolate-brown, almost grey, with a lighter countershaded snout and underbelly. Her ears were concealed by a large pink bow she wore in her hair, which was not unlike the bow tied about her sister's waist. Her eyes were a bright sky-blue in color, rather than the dark-brown of her sister's, while her nose was a dark pink.

The second was a chubby boy furling that probably only a year or two younger than the older girl, with fur that was a light-grey in color with a near-white countershade on his belly. The only clothing he wore was a plain blue shirt that was tucked lightly against his fur, almost too small to fit around his chubbier frame. His eyes were brown like the youngest, while his nose was a darker reddish-brown. He seemed more focused on finding the source of his sister's injury rather than comforting her, patrolling the small area like a watchman on duty, swinging a stick he held with his paw as if it was a sword.

…and…that was all of them.

Spyro blinked both sets of eyelids in a reptilian manner as realization struck him full force: there was only one house. And there was only one set of furling siblings on the farm.

This wasn't a colony. This was a single family of mice!

What in the Great Fire of Akatosh was one family doing all the way out here, within fair-folk borders, separated from the rest of rodent-kind by several days' worth of distance? A colony he could understand, as that meant numbers and reinforcement to protect themselves from danger, but a single set of two adults had no means to fight off the more dangerous predators of the wild.

Unless there was some sort of hidden magical means to protect themselves (which was unlikely as only rodentkin royalty were wealthy enough to afford magical training) they were a literal buffet just waiting for hungry monsters to show up, even when hidden under the protection of the Stone...

The Stone...

...His Stone.

In the darkness of the shadows, the glow of his eyes shone through like piercing blades of light at that thought, his lip curling back into a tooth-baring snarl as he growled angrily.

All the places they could've settled down...all the potential spots in all of Feywild they could've chosen to invade...and it just had to be under his stone. Didn't it?

Why did he expect anything else at this point?

Any sensation of curiosity or empathy that he had felt for these newcomers up to this point quickly crumbled away as another sensation forced its way through them with a fiery vengeance. One far more ancient and powerful than simple moral emotions, one he was far more familiar with, and one that was well known and feared through the cosmos by men and gods alike:

The jealous, burning, all-consuming flame that was the Wrath of a Dragon.

His claws dug tightly into the ground, leaving long scratches in the dirt...which began to glow with brilliant blue streaks of lightning-shaped cracks that spread out from his paws.

It took a lot of willpower to keep himself hidden at this point...but the longer he stared at the sight before him...at his home, forever changed by these...these vermin, the thought of what these intruders…these thieves had taken from him only grew stronger.

And with it, so did his already-boiling rage.

She could feel the power hitting her body even before she saw the glow come from within his body.

Zoe's eyes widened in dread, and she quickly fluttered backwards into the inner cornfield (which was, admittedly, a very bad place to take shelter from Dragon Fire), pushing herself through the stalks off the original path and putting several dozen feet between herself and her dragon. Spyro's snarling visage was so angered and filled with hate that it could kill a fully-grown behemoth with mere eye-contact alone; a rumbling fire was blazing in his lungs, shining through the edges of his scales and forming a spiderweb of fiery light across the length of his underbelly.

Power that was already making its mark; before the fairy's eyes, the very life-energy of the surrounding earth itself began to drain from it, flowing through the cracked dirt like glowing water, only to be absorbed up into the Safi'jiiva's body through the bottom of his paws. The cornstalks around him began to shrivel and wilt, their lush green flesh turning brown and cracked as the very years were sucked out of them and into the Elder Dragon's body, fueling his power and rage alike. The doll that he had been carrying fell from his jaws and landed on the dead ground with a soft thump, now missing half of its arm to the flames.

And the final pièce de resistance: his eyes. Having changed from a vibrant gem-like purple outlined by bright gold into a solid golden-orange, akin to the glow of fire, his pupils narrowing into perfectly straight slits.

She couldn't stop the weary sigh of disappointment from escaping her lips, and she shook her head softly. Honestly, she was surprised he had the emotional fortitude to hold out for this long.

Perhaps it was seeing his favorite stone taken over by mortals that was the final straw. After everything he had gone through before: waiting too long to embark on a venture to find a potential emotional anchor, followed by a rushed attempt met with failure and a war against the green-skins for the sake of said failure, he had finally reached the boiling point.

And without the anchor to fall back to, the final stage would be the one that Avalon and his kingdom had worked so hard to avoid…

But regardless of when and why, the future of the Purple Dragon was set once again: the mistakes of the past had been repeated. The exile into darkness complete.

And if they were extremely lucky, some of them might actually make it out alive.

…oh well...at least it would be quite the final show.

Spyro slowly swung his heavy head from side to side, flames licking the sides of his jaws and hot embers billowing from his nostrils, as if trying to physically break the conflict of Sapient Empathy versus Primal Instinct raging within his mind, raging as hot and ferociously as the fire in his lungs.

It was all he had to keep himself from bursting forth from his hiding place in a violent rampage. To rush the thieves and send them fleeing for their lives. To unleash his flames upon this entire farm and burn everything that had twisted his stone to the ground, even as the leaves around him began to crumble into dust and liter the earth in dead soot.

The world had taken enough from him already. First being forsaken by his own kind, then dragged into a war that had nothing to do with him, forced to fight against a cruel and violent enemy with weapons designed to hurt as much as possible as they killed, and then finally winning the war, proving his truth to the world a dozen times over, only to be cast back out by the very ones he saved!

Was everything he endured not enough?! Was he not even allowed to have this one thing to soothe the empty tightness?!

The front door to the farmhouse opened with a soft creaking of wood; the Safi'jiiva's burning eyes instantly locked on the barrow and narrowed dangerously, his rage focusing on the two new rodentkin that made their presence known.

The first was a completely different subspecies of rodentkin altogether: a fat old shrew with shaggy gray fur and a face that had withered by time to resemble that of a crocodile, albeit with far less teeth. She was perhaps the most dressed out of the entire group, with a faded-blue apron tied around her pear-shaped body, a purple scarf around her neck, and a pale-peach cap around her head. She carried a bundle of white bandages in her arms, huffing up the steps out of the borrow as she did so; no doubt meant to dress the injury the youngest furling had endured.

His eyes narrowed in impatient thought; there was no way a shrew was the biological parent of mice furlings. Even when not accounting her age, which was well past that of being fertile, it was impossible for the different sub-species of rodentkin to inter-breed. Inter-marry, yes, but such unions would never bear fruit. Either a married into member of the family or a friend of it.

Either way, that scraggly old rodent couldn't possibly be the one...

Another rodent followed the shrew from within the burrow, their form hidden both within the shadow of the door frame and behind the bulbous frame of the whiskery hag. His eyes erupted into brilliant starlight as they locked onto the concealed vermin, a deep, guttering growl rumbling from his throat and through his bared teeth.

That was the one: The parent of the furlings. The one who brought their family to the stone.

The one who had stolen what was rightfully his!

NO!

This was his home! His Lee of the Stone! It was his long before any of them had even been born! They had no right to claim it as their own!

He was done! Done letting these mice, these fairies, the other dragons, the gnorcs, the very world itself take what it would from him, as if he was nothing more than a diseased beggar!

He was Jenodvahzoor! He was the Son of Akatosh and Lord of the Elements himself! And he would endure this torment and humiliation no longer!

He was going to take it back…take all of it back!

AND IF THAT MEANT HE HAD TO SWALLOW ALL THE REALMS IN HIS FLAMES, SO BE I-!

The rodent revealed herself, and as she did so the wounded furling cried out a single, pained, pleading word:

"Mommy!"

And with that one word…it all ceased.

As if suddenly submerged at the bottom of the ocean, the burning flames and embers simply and suddenly…dispersed, vanishing into empty smoke.

The fierce cosmic glow within his body snuffed out like the flame of a candle, leaving nothing but a small area of dead farmland hidden within the field. The rising fire in his throat caught as the dragon froze mid-breath, remaining still as stone for a good several seconds, before the flames slowly retreated back down his trachea and dispelled within his lungs.

His eyes, wide with a mix of several emotions, remained locked on the sight as the flaming golden rage slowly faded away, returning to their soft purple shine.

He didn't notice the change in his eyes. Nor did he notice his fire dying down or the smoke fading into the sky above him. He didn't even notice as Zoe, who was shocked silent herself at the sudden change, take a hesitant step toward him from behind.

Everything else seem to fade away around him, his eyes locked on the final newcomer…

She was a young-adult mouse rodentkin, hardly any bigger than the eldest of the children…her children, he realized. He could see the resemblance to them: her fur was a very light brown as well, reminding the dragon of the color of chocolate milk, with lighter brown countershade across her belly, torso, face, and around her eyes, while her nose was the same color as the oldest furling's. She wore a simple farm dress with a dark-red corset, white sleeves and neck, and a dark pink skirt; the dress was worn and used, with tears and holes along the edge of the skirt and patchwork on the sleeves; signs of a hard yet happy lifestyle. And around her shoulders she wore a patchy-wool cloak that was a bright red in color, the edges worn and tattered in places.

But the feature that stood out the most were, by far, her eyes: very pretty sky-blue eyes, and full of a strong…warmth; the soft shyness in her expression and the timid uncertainty in her posture were completely eclipsed by it.

Spyro couldn't tear his own eyes away from them.

He watched in outright captivated attention as the mouse mother quickly made her way to her injured child, carrying a small clay jar in her paws. She took a seat on a root next to the house, wordlessly beckoning the blonde furling to her; the tiny mouse pulled away from her sister's hold and allowed herself to be scooped up into the loving embrace of her mother's arms.

After a few seconds of comfort, she set her child on her lap and held her close as she dipped her paw into the jar; she scooped out a small dollop of what looked like honey with her fingers, using her other hand to hold out the child's wounded arm. The furling whimpered in dreadful anticipation, but her mother gave her a reassuring hum before she slowly and gently smeared the honey-stuff over the wound.

A pained squeak escaped the furling's mouth as she jerked against the contact, large tears rolling down her eyes as what Spyro now assumed to be medicine no doubt stung the exposed flesh. A sensation the dragon was all too familiar with himself…

Then a new sound reached his ears, and his world was shaken yet again. As the furling cried from the pain, her mother comforted her as she cleaned the wound by softly humming a song to her child; a soft, beautiful song that bloomed with a loving warmth that seemed to make all the pain go away. The child's sobs slowly died to timid sniffles, and she relaxed to the touch, as if the song itself had the power to soothe the pain.

It was so simple…so ordinary…so forgettable. By no means a song that even the lowest of bards would consider playing, let alone the legendary scores performed by the royal musicians of Feywild.

It was one of the most beautiful things Spyro had ever heard in life.

It was like the call of a siren to him; the warmth in that voice…it outright clawed at the tight emptiness within his ribs, hooking onto his insides from within and tugging on them in her direction. As if she had the means to fill the emptiness.

To finally put an end to the accursed emotional torment in his gullet and bring forth the sense of peace that he had been aching for over ten long years.

But he dared not move from the spot. For another, darker sensation held him in place; the knowledge of what he was, and how they would see him…and what he had done.

It was then that he finally mustered the strength to look away from the warmth and turn his gaze to the desolation around him; he recoiled a bit at the sight, shifting back a step as he truly noticed what he had done.

The small area of the field around him, once full of healthy green cornstalks ready for the light of summer, was now a testament to the destruction of his wrath. The stalks standing in the radius of him, once filled with youthful life, looked as it they had been aged hundreds of years in mere seconds, their once healthy leaves withered and crumbling away. The ground around him was covered in dead plant matter and the soil was a dusty sand color, as the very dirt itself had been drained of the life-giving force of the planet itself. Nothing would be able to grow in this spot for a very long time.

And before him, covered in the dead soot and part of its arm burned off, was the small doll that was his original reason for following the furling, now permanently damaged and dirty.

That doll…these gardens…this very home...they had all been made by that mother mouse and her husband…the furlings' father…to give them and themselves a home. A strong roof to protect them from the dangers of the world. Warm food to fill their bellies. A lifetime of warmth-filled memories that they would carry on to their own children…all made with the same warmth she held for them.

And he had been mere seconds from burning it all to the ground.

What. Just. Happened?

That was the only thing Zoe could even bring herself to think as she stared at her dragon in stunned, disbelieving silence, unable to bring herself to comprehend the sudden transformation that took place before her very eyes.

She had been so certain that this was it: the final straw that would've broken the camel's back and bring forth the wrath and ruin of the Aetherian Safijiiva upon the world once more. In that one great, terrible, potentially-apocalyptic moment he was a living inferno of fiery draconian rage, ready to destroy everything the intruding mice had built within his glade, and most likely bring about the next Great Cleansing after.

But then…in nothing more than a split second of time…he was not.

The wrath of the purple dragon…the rage and hate and pain of ten years…just gone. Vanished into thin air. Replaced with an outright hypnotic wonder in his eyes, which never strayed from the sight before him.

She never would've believed it had she not just seen it with her own eyes; the fairy wasn't even aware the emotions of dragons could be so strongly influenced in such a manner. She was currently standing several feet away deeper into the cornfield to Spyro's left, and thus was unable to see what had captured his attention so vividly, as if hypnotized by whatever he saw.

Was it something about the Rodentkin? What was going on? What did they do?

Then, as if the spell had been shattered, Spyro took a step back and looked about the area his power had drained when he was about to blow, seeing the damage he caused for the first time. To Zoe, it was nothing to think about; areas being destroyed by a dragon's power, be it fire or otherwise, was a common occurrence when dealing with said dragons…but Spyro looked outright shaken at the sight, as if he had done something horribly wrong.

A pathetic gurgling whimper escaped the young Safi'jiiva's jaws as he sank to the ground, his body shivering animalistically as he curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was trying to hide away from the world.

The deep-rooted instincts of a Dragon Fairy flared in her blood at the sight, and she was rushing to his side before she consciously registered she was, using her wings to flutter-hop across the ashen floor and land next to his head.

"What happened? Are you alright?" She asked, reaching out a hand to touch him.

Spyro's eyes snapped wide open, and he was back on his feet in an instant, jumping like a startled animal caught off guard. Zoe quickly jumped back at the movement herself, putting a respectful distance between herself and the distressed dragon, holding her hands up to show she meant no harm; when he realized who she was he relaxed, guttering a deep reptilian sigh akin to the heavy breathing of a crocodile

He turned his gaze back to the sight of the stone's new inhabitants, staring at the scene with a mix of emotions glowing in his eyes: sadness...guilt...uncertainly…

…and…longing.

Zoe blinked in surprise. Longing? That was an emotion she hadn't seen him express since they were first told they would be going home. She followed his gaze to the small house at the base of the stone; to finally see what on earth could possibly cause such a reaction with-.

That's when she finally saw her: the mother of the furlings, who had just just finished wrapping the youngster's arm in the bandages that the shrew had brought out, adding the finishing touches to the dressing; to top it off, she placed a soft kiss on the bandaged wound, as if to will the pain way through love. It might not have done anything to truly nurse the wound, but the furling's tears dried from the loving act, none the less. The mother mouse smiled the warmest, most loving smile the fairy had ever seen in her entire life before she scooped up the child in a warm, protective hug.

The very image of a mother's love.

Oh.

Oh.

"Don't."

Spyro turned his saddened gaze back to Zoe, emitting a soft, almost pleading croon. Zoe, however, sadly shook her head no; she knew what would happen if he tried, and it would only end in pain.

"You are a dragon, one of the mighty Akatosh. They are Rodentkin, mortal and fearful of all with sharp teeth…" She told him softly, gently caressing the end of his snout. "…And a dragon's teeth are very, very sharp."

To that, he simply lowered his head and closed his eyes, a guttering moan of sorrow trembling through his jaws.

The fairy sighed, giving him a reassuring pat on the snout; she looked up to see the mother mouse stand up with her child in her arms, carrying her back into the burrow, with the old shrew and other two furlings following closely behind. Spyro watched with an almost-pleading sadness as the last of them disappeared into the shadow of the burrow, up until the door closed shut behind them.

Then, and only then, did he finally turn to leave. His long tail pushed and snapped many of the dead cornstalks over as he turned himself around, the withered plants falling to the dead ground with heavy thuds.

Zoe fluttered to the ground and simply stood there, watching with a sad expression as the young Elder Dragon made his way back the way he came, the last of his spine-covered tail slowly disappearing into the darkness of the field.

She waited as the footfalls grew too soft for her pointed ears to pick up, and once she decided he was far enough way...she promptly summoned her wand in a flash of magic and held it up like a sword, turning toward the house with a very unhappy glare.

It was time to start what she came here for.

And a mere family of mice would prove to be much easier to get rid of than an entire colony would have; one house, one group of about five or six, and no visible or magically-detectable defenses from Fae magic that she could see.

Frankly, she felt it was too easy: all it would take was a powerful fire spell to erase it all in a single blaze, leaving no trace that rodentkin had ever gotten this close to Feywild. Spyro would get the Lee of the Stone back, the Council would never have to know rodentkin were ever here, and she could continue her duty for Spyro in peace. Literally everybody wins.

…well…everybody but the mice themselves…a small family of mice, just trying to live their lives, not even aware of the trouble they were causing.

She gave a long, weary groan, running her free hand down her face in exasperation as the unwelcome stings of empathy and pity made themselves known, preventing her from raising her wand against the house…one spell…it would only take one spell and that would be that, no fuss whatsoever…but of course, it couldn't be that simple after all, could it?

Besides, if Spyro were to find out they were killed…especially that mother mouse…who was just trying to raise and protect her children…she doubted he would take it well.

She gave one final, groaning sigh as she de-materialized her wand in a cloud of sparkling pixie dust, returning it to her magic. Fine…she'd play it nice. As easy as it would be to simply wipe them out, she would move the little loving mousey family to a safe place of sunshine, rainbows, and all the cheese they could eat.

One of these days, she had to get around to looking for a means of removing that pesky little parasite called compassion from herself.

Though had she been watching her step rather than berating her own sense of morality, she would've noticed the long string pulled taut in front of her path before she tripped it.

*SNAP!*

"WAAAHH!"

There was a loud whip-like crack as the rope snapped against her ankle, and before she could so much as blink the ground around her exploded in a flurry of leaves, dirt, and string.

She shrieked in alarm as her entire body was enveloped in a net of thick yarn and hoisted high into the air with a whipping motion, the bent cornstalk snapping straight and yanking the trap tight around its victim, like a spider's web catching a fly. Acting on instinct, she immediately tried to summon her magic and teleport out of the net; this resulted in a painful, almost electrical shock as her magic was forcefully dispelled, causing her to yelp in pain.

These were anti-fae strings, made with special enchanted materials with the intention of stopping fairies from using magic.

This was a trap made deliberately for her.

And judging from the loud ringing of the bell tied to the string that held the net, she knew it was only a matter of time before the spider answered the tugging of the threads...or in this case, when the mouse came looking for the cheese.

"Ah, fudge."