"Oh Harlapple darling, we're out of sugar again."

The young mouse, his paw already on the doorknob scowled darkly, knowing what this meant. As quick as he could he stripped off the mud-brown cloak and the loose, rusted pieces of armour he wore underneath it. Shoving the unwanted things behind the umbrella box (which housed his mother's collection of umbrellas) he turned just in time for her arrival.

Hardpear was an elderly mouse missing half her tail. She had lead a long and stressful life, and the last thing Harlapple wanted was to add to it. Which was why his secret hobby of playing at war (in a very literal sense) had to be kept hidden from her.

"Could you go and get some from Honeyfur? You know, the local beekeeper?"

"Of course mother." Harlapple replied. "I was just on my way there. Thought I'd get some honey too, we're nearly out."

"Such a thoughtful boy." She praised, tapping his nose. "Well go on then. Don't let me keep you."

"I will be right back." Harlapple promised. With that the mouse turned and left.

The market was not far from where he lived but Harlapple rarely visited it. There was too much noise for his liking but he could bare that for the sake of his mother. She didn't like her teas as much without the sugar.

As soon as he got off the grassy path that lead away from his home in the hills, and as soon as he put footpaw down upon the town's cobblestones, he was lost.

A dozen beasts seemed to materialize behind him, appearing from behind stalls and corners like ghosts. Half as many were all of a sudden in front of him. From all sides Harlapple was assaulted by noise.

"Barny's Barnacles! Bestest barnacles in town!"

"Berny's Barnacles! Better an' cheaper dan Barny's uns!"

"Buya wanna get wanna free!"

"D'ye have any of them pies with them swirls on top?"

Gritting his teeth, and doing his best to avoid getting stepped on by the oblivious creatures around him, Harlapple pushed through the crowd. The mouse squeezed past a pair of rats shouting aggressively at one another, neatly side-stepped a fast-moving otter (who promptly crashed iinto the aforementioned rats) and strolled under a wolverine determined to sell their collection of stolen banners. All the while voices both vague and oddly familiar shouted out prices and numbers.

"Southard lace! Only three silvers!"

"Authentic Sword of Martin The Warrior! Complete with shield and battle armour!"

Harlapple was tempted to have a look at some of the offers (especially the last one), but knew that if he strayed off the path there would be no getting off the streets before nightfall. It was easier to get lost here than in the thickest of fogs.

So he persevered, shoving the few creatures smaller than him out of the way, and in turn getting shoved to the side by anybeast marginally taller than he was.

"We need bigger roads." He muttered to himself.

"I'll be speakin' te yer manajjer!" Echoed a particularly loud voice that drew several gazes towards a hapless weasel and an aggressive hedgehog.

"Or less people." Harlapple growled.

"Perfume! Perfume! Lovely scents from the tropics!"

"Sampetra Sundaes!"

"Flea killer! Get yer flea killer 'ere!"

With every breath he took Harlapple smelled something new. Everywhere he went a dozen voices filled the air. Something was always new at the market. Beasts were opening stalls and going out of business all the time. It was a whirlpool of life.

Inevitably, someone trod on his tail.

"Yowch! Watch where you're going you bucket-kissing son of a pine tree!" Harlapple shouted, nursing his wounded appendage. A few faces turned but none took credit for the accident and the culprit had no doubt vanished into the crowd by now.

Scowling, Harlapple trudged on. The sooner this was over, the better. Instinctively he clamped his nose shut as he passed the local fish-sellers. Rumour had it that they had been trying to sell seven-season old fish under the pretext that it was some delicacy they called 'haggis'. Harlapple was of the opinion that they were trying to create a new type of poison.

A few stalls down from the poison-makers lay Honeyfur's cart. The badger seemed to be trying his hardest to pull a few coins off of his paw.

"Rose honey you know," he said conversationally, catching sight of the disgruntled young mouse. "Very sticky and these little silvers you mice use. If I had a silver for every silver I've gotten stuck on me…" The badger shook his head. "Out on errands are you?"

"Mother would like some honey and sugar." Harlapple replied matter-of-factedly. He had never warmed to the badger. The Traumatic Incident Of The Dreaded Beeswax was still fresh in his mind and having gotten stuck to the badger one too many times he knew better than to offer a pawshake.

"That'll be twelve coppers." Honeyfur pawed a large packet of sugar and three jars of honey towards him.

Harlapple reached a paw into his pocket, and found to his horror, that he had forgotten his wallet. Glancing back towards the crowd and the marketplace that separated him from his home he felt his ears drooping in misery.

"Hold that for me please, while I fetch your payment." The mouse grunted, turning on his heel and vanishing into the sea of beasts.