She was about halfway home when she saw the footprints for herself.
Mrs. Brisby stood there, at the base of the massive tree that overhung the open path, frozen in shock at the sight of the trail of massive prints that led across it; an icy chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran through her very bones at the sight of them. The wind blew gently through the leaves, the gentle rustling being the only noise she could hear throughout the woods, creating an ominous silence that was only amplified by the appearance of the tracks.
They were gigantic. Each one on their own was just large enough for her to lay in without discomfort; they were deep too, up to her knees in depth, telling of the sheer size of the beast that made them. There were two individual sets of footprints, one for each set of legs, showing that it was a creature that walked on all fours. The prints of the hind feet looked like those of a bird or lizard, though they had no backwards-facing 'thumb': just three long, spread-out toes that ended in the grooves of sharp claws. The prints of the front feet were peculiar, though: they almost looked like a human or fairy's hand-print with three fingers and a thumb, albeit with a reptilian shape and even longer claws. And both had light but clear imprints of sharp, patterned grooves in the dirt; scales, like those of Jedidiah's footprints.
And worst of all: they were fresh, the mud still wet and smeared around the edges.
But it wasn't just the size and appearance of these monstrous footprints that made the mouse doe's throat clench in horror. It was where they were that made her heart seize in her chest.
How close they were to her home.
She quietly thanked Frith numerous times that Ages had the wisdom and kindness to warn her of this creature before he had left: what would've happened had they set off for the upcoming Moving Day without any knowledge beforehand, only to end up crossing paths with this beast while it was on the hunt? She would've been helpless to protect her family (and herself) from becoming a meal for this horrid creature.
She also thanked Frith to see that the footprints were heading in the opposite direction of the Lee of the Stone, leading deeper into the forest: there was a clear path in the grass where it had gone, the stalks flattened out from where it had pushed its way through.
But the beast knew the path was here. A path that was used by other animals for travel as well, which made it the perfect spot to ambush prey. It was only a matter of time before it would return.
Not only that, but it was also very likely it would follow the path as well.
Right to the Stone.
She gave the large tunnel a wary stare as she tip-toed past it, giving it and the footprints a wide birth, before scurrying off into the brush. She pushed her way through the grass and hopped across the rough terrain in the direction of the Stone.
It wasn't as easy to traverse as the path, but that way wasn't safe anymore.
As she continued home, she mentally debated what she should do: the news that a third Titan Beast had made its home in this very forest was earth-shaking, to say the least.
They had lived in the protection of the Stone for years, safe in its stretching shadow from all airborne predators and the weather. Its safety was the very reason Johnathan had moved them here in the first place, far from the troubles of Rosebush City and the dangers of the open wilds alike.
To think that safety was now compromised by the first new Titan Beast since the birth of Dragon…of all the places in all of Nimh…
They may very well have to leave.
The very idea was heart-breaking, and she had to bite back a whimper when the idea crossed her mind. She loved this place: Johnathan had built it for them with his own two paws, pouring almost an entire year of his life giving it everything it needed for them and their children: it was safe, homely, and warm: everything a mouse could ask for. Food on the table, warm beds to sleep in, strong walls to protect them from the harsh world outside.
To leave it…to throw all that he had built away to flee back to the city they left in the first place…merely thinking about doing so felt like throwing away a piece of her heart.
But what else could they do?
If those footprints were anything to judge by, this new beast was more than large and strong enough to tear into her house to get to them. And if it was anything like Dragon, then they had to get away before it found them, or there would all be devoured. Consumed in a monster's dark thirst for blood.
It was too dangerous to stay.
The farm-mouse scurried across the fallen branch that laid across the old frog-pond, taking a shortcut across it. While the pond was now free from the thick layer of ice that covered it, a few stray pieces could be seen melting away at the edges of the water, slowly dripping down into the still-cold waters below. Not a single frog or toad that lived along its banks could be seen, still hibernating within the mud at the bottom; it would be a few more days before they would start to awaken to the change in temperature.
With a running jump, she leaped from the edge of the branch over the last bit of distance across the pond...and ended up missing the shore just a tad.
She yelped in shock as she landed in the water with a splash; it wasn't very deep, only coming up to her shins, but Frith Above was it cold.
She awkwardly stumbled out of the pond and onto its banks, hoisting her now-soaked skirts up to her knees with one paw while holding her envelope with the other. She kicked her hind legs vigorously, one foot at a time, to shake the icy water from them. She then set the medicine to the side so she could wring them out of what little more she could rid herself of, splattering the muddy shore with cold drops of water. After which she silently retrieved the envelope and continued on, now cold, wet, and even more miserable.
That was another problem with leaving; one that had nothing to do with and was far more concerning than mere sentimental value. The very reason she had come out in the first place: Timothy was too sick to move.
Three weeks. That's how long Mr. Ages said they had to keep Timmy in bed, and any attempt to shorten that time would make the pneumonia even worse: one breath of the dying winter's chill would kill him. That's what Ages had said. She couldn't move him out of the house, let alone make the journey to the city under such conditions. Even the trip to Dapplewood, the nearest rodentkin settlement, could take up to three days, depending on how often they stopped and rested. And the journey to Rosebush City would be far longer.
The only means to escape now would result in Timmy being left behind, and that thought was banished from her mind before it even formed; she would sooner throw herself to the monster than even consider abandoning her children.
Besides, who would say they would be any safer there than they were here?
Rosebush City certainly would be: being an underground city built into the depths of a great mountain made it an natural fortress that stood against enemies and monsters alike. The walls of outer rock were covered with damage from when war had tried to tear it down, but it remained as strong and unmovable as always. As was the very nature of a mountain.
Dapplewood, on the other hand, was an open forest community that built their homes in the roots of the trees. A Titan Beast could just as easily break through their walls and feast upon the helpless rodentkin who lived there as easily as it could tear into her home and feast on them.
The more she tried to think it out, the more it began to seem like a truly hopeless situation.
She quietly slipped under the leaves of the bush and stepped out into the open forest floor as she made up her mind: The only way she could think of where they all made it out would be to brave out the three weeks of recovery, and then make a break for Dapplewood as soon as possible, and then to Rosebush City.
She debated this idea in her mind as she trodded through the grass, only paying partial attention to her surroundings: the food stores they had stashed for the winter were almost gone, but there should be enough left to last for the three weeks. They might also be able to gather some roots and wild beets from around the glade, or some of the berry buds if it wasn't too early for that. It would have to do: they couldn't be outside for too long, let alone long enough to tend to the crops, and by no means was she letting any of them leave the Ston-
She had been so caught up in her internal struggle that she didn't pay attention to her surroundings, and thus never noticed the telltale signs beforehand.
However, when she rounded the base of the giant tree and the sight came into view, her focus immediately snapped to full attention and she skidded to a halt, breath hitching in her throat and eyes widening in terror.
It was a weasel, as large as a lion and almost twice as long. The serpentine mammal had its back turned to her, its black-tipped tail swishing back and forth, as it greedily dug into the freshly-killed corpse of its prey: an unfortunate El-ahrian that had wondered too far from the Burrow Hills. The predator's own focus was purely on its meal, pushing one paw against the rabbit's side to noisily rip a strip of bloodied meat from the carcass; the weasel's snout and maw were soaked red with blood, as was the ground around the disemboweled rabbit. It noisily scarfed the mouthful down before plunging its head back into its meal, spilling the entrails of it across the dirt.
It was all Mrs. Brisby could do to keep from throwing up at the sight, covering her snout with her paws in a futile attempt to keep the metallic stench out of her nose and mouth, as well as keep the scream from escaping her throat.
She had let her guard down. She had been lulled into a false of security by the unnatural silence and was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had completely forgotten to watch out for all the other dangers of a mouse's very existence. Had she been paying attention she would've heard the predator, or smelled the kill, from a mile away.
But the weasel hadn't noticed her either. It was far too invested in gorging itself on El-ahrian flesh, the rabbit blood covering its snout masking her scent. There was still a chance to escape.
Not taking her eyes off the danger in front of her, she took a very slow and very quiet step backwards, making as little to no noise as possible. The moss on the ground barely made a sound beneath her paws as she slowly backed away back to the tree she had rounded. All the while the oblivious predator continued to eat.
The harsh snap of a breaking twig echoed in the distance; that prompted the weasel to pause, looking up in the direction of the noise with an alerted growl. Luckily, it was in the opposite direction Mrs. Brisby was, and she took the opportunity to duck behind a root of the tree, flattening herself to the ground. The weasel glanced about, sharp golden eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when nothing ultimately came of the noise it returned back to its food, the viscera sound of tearing flesh filling the area once more.
The terrified mouse didn't dare take her eyes off the mustela until she was back behind the tree, completely hidden from its potential view. She pressed her back against it, shaking like a leaf as she tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. As she readied to flee, she tucked Timmy's medicine into the inside of her cloak, making double sure it was secured in place.
She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally counting down in silence…and then she hopped out from the behind the roots and turned to flee…
…only to come face to face with a second weasel, one with a darker brown coat and amber-orange eyes, stepping out from the grass right in front of her.
The second weasel paused mid-step, clearly caught off guard by a mouse suddenly leaping out into its path. But said surprise quickly turned into outright-malicious anticipation as its lips curled into a wicked, tooth-baring grin. Mrs. Brisby froze in fear as the grin split open into an open-mouth snarl, a sharp, almost-reptilian hiss rattling from behind its flesh-piercing teeth, as its long tongue licked at its fangs in preparation. Her heart was hammering inside her breast and her lungs heaved in her ribs: adrenaline kicked in like the strike of a lightning bolt, readying her body for the chase that was about to begin.
One that began its own countdown as the weasel slowly crouched back for the kill…
…and in the exact instant the predator lunged, she bolted for it: the jaws of death snapped the space she had been occupying mere milliseconds before, just missing her tail.
All thoughts of self-presentation were abandoned the moment she took off running on all fours, looking to all the world like a feral mouse in clothing. She scurried through the undergrowth of the forest as fast as her paws could carry her, ignoring the twigs that tore at her cloak, and the rocks that scraped and bruised her fingers and toes; the sound of snapping branches and angry snarls were right behind her as the weasel bounded after her, snapping and slashing through bushes and grass as it gave chase.
She didn't dare look back, lest she trip, her every fiber of being focused purely on escape. On survival.
She scrambled up the side of a large root in an attempt to evade her pursuer, tiny claws outright tearing at the bark as she climbed up it. The weasel leapt in an arching pounce to grab her, this time catching the hem of her cloak in its teeth. Mrs. Brisby gave a choked cry of panic as the fabric pulled taught around her neck, causing her to choke as she hysterically clawed away; with just enough strength, the edge of the cloak tore free in the predator's jaws, the sudden release of tension throwing her up and over the edge of the root. She hit the ground on the other side running, stumbling as she used a paw to loosen the grip of her throat, taking a much-needed breath of air.
The weasel snarled in frustration as it fell back down on the other side, spitting the torn shreds of fabric from its mouth before climbing up after her.
Knowing she had only gained a few seconds of distance, Mrs. Brisby fled deeper into the woods, bursting out of the undergrowth and out into a clearing beneath the trees.
It was there she spotted it; a massive, age-worn log covered in moss and vines, stretched across the forest floor, and propped up upon a cresting hill like a giant slide. The mouth at the base of the hill looked like the looming maw of a great cave to the mouse, its insides hollowed out by age, mold, and insects, creating a natural tunnel of wood and moss, with the other end resting at the top of the hill.
Without a second thought she made a sharp turn to the right, going straight for the log; the move cost her the distance she had gained, and the weasel was instant back at her heels, its flexible body especially built for making sudden turns.
Another barking snarl made her glance back, only to see the first weasel had joined the case, its mouth still soaked red in rabbit's blood. The instinct to chase prey was not easily ignored, even when a kill had already been made.
Having two sets of teeth snapping at her heels only motivated her to run even faster, adrenaline coursing through her veins. But she didn't head towards the base entrance; instead, she ran along the side of it, leading her pursuers away from said entrance. The side of the log, especially around the base on the ground, was full of much smaller holes leading into its interior, eaten away by wood-burrowing grubs.
And when she saw one that was just big enough for her, she took the chance and dove into it.
It was almost too small for her, forcing her to wriggle through, but that meant it was far too small for a weasel; she wriggled her hips free just as the weasel lunged at her, and she rolled out of danger just in time.
The mustela's face stretched against the edges of the hole that was too small for its skull to fit through. It snarled and snapped angrily at the frightened mouse just out of its reach, thrashing against the wooden frame that held it back from its prey, but didn't budge…at least, at first. The wet, moldy wood began to crack and chip away to the creature's struggle, the head beginning to squeeze through as it continued to claw and dig at the entrance, all the while savagely biting at the air with an outright-rabid ferocity.
Mrs. Brisby didn't wait to see if it would hold. She scrambled to her feet and scurried up the log to the exit on the top of the hill. The moist, moss-covered floor of the log proved difficult to climb, and she ended up kicking a bunch of loose chunks of wood, as well as a few pillbugs and grubs, behind her as she ascended. The pillbugs in her path either crawled out of her way or curled up into a ball and got knocked aside, rolling down towards the weasels that were starting to break their way through.
This was her chance. If she could get out of the log before they got through, she could lose them. Get out of their sight and find a place to hide, then wait until they give up trying to find her scent again. Then she was home free.
When she reached the exit at the top of the hill, she didn't waste a single second: with a strong kick of her back legs, she leapt out of the log's mouth with all her might, eager to gain as much traction as she could.
Only to find her paws catching nothing but open air.
The heart-seizing realization came to her in an instant as she saw just how far the ground was below, time crawling to a standstill as her eyes widened and mouth fell open in pure panic.
It wasn't a hill the log was leaning against. It was a cliff.
And she had just jumped off of it.
For a brief moment, she felt as though she was suspended in thin air, frozen between the sky and the earth…then time slowly resumed its pace as gravity took hold, and the world became a blur as she fell. A weak cry escaped the mouse's lips as she plummeted, clawing at the air in desperate instinct to break her fall. It was to no avail, of course, and she could only close her eyes and brace herself as the seconds counted down…one…two…three…
*CRASH!*
She hit the ground not with the thud of earth, but with a loud, rough clatter of something hard yet loose; her body screamed in pain as she hit what felt like a pile of stones, the wind knocked from her lungs. She didn't even have time to register the first bout of agony before the next came as she was sent tumbling down the base of the cliff into the dried-out riverbed; each blow only led to another as she rolled head over heels down the slope, kicking up a rain of gravel behind her. She slammed face-first into what felt like a large rock as she crashed against it on her way down, causing her vision to go white as pain exploded through her skull.
By Frith's mercy, the ground began to level out, and her tumble slowed until she came to a stop on level ground in the middle of the riverbed, upon the pile of loose rocks. Where she lay for what felt like an eternity, curled up into a bloody, bruised ball, her body in excruciating pain.
Every heaving breath felt like red-hot hooks pulling at her lungs, coming in deep, croaking gasps, her rib-cage feeling as if it were crushed in on itself. The palms of her hands and the underside of her wrists had been scraped raw from the tumble, while blood trickled out from beneath her matted hair and from her bruised nose, mixing with the large tears that rolled down her face and whiskers. Her head swam with all the horrible sensations wracking her form, causing her mind to flicker in and out of consciousness.
She wanted nothing more in that moment than to just pass out and be free of the pain. To just make it end, if only for a moment.
But she knew she couldn't; amongst the hazy ringing in her ears, she could already hear the distant snarls of the two weasels, who were no doubt already on their way up the log.
So, in spite of her body's pleas for relief, she rolled over and struggled to lift herself, eyes still tightly scrunched shut in pain. Her scraped palms burned in protest as she pushed herself up into an upright position against the pebble-covered earth. The smaller ones shifted under her weight, causing her body to give and ache with each sudden movement…and yet, even in her pain, she could feel something was off about these 'stones'. Their texture was wrong; they were jagged but not sharp. Smooth but not perfectly so.
A harsh, wet cough erupted from her throat, clearing her sinuses of the blood that had been blocking it…and it was then she smelled it: none other than the truly-revolting smell of dead flesh, both fresh and rotting, as well as the metallic odor of blood that was not her own.
The very air around her was filled with it…as if-
A cold dread seized her chest, and with a bit of effort, she managed to open her watery eyes.
Only to find herself face to face with death.
She screamed in alarm, frantically scrambling away from the blooded skull of a feral rat, whose snout had been mere inches from her own. Empty eye sockets stared blankly into oblivion. Dried blood caked the entire thing in a layer of filthy red. And what remained of the stump trailed behind it in a bloody pile of entrails: whatever had separated the head from the body had not been clean about it. It laid there, flies buzzing around its rotting remains, surrounded by the remains of oth-
She looked down. At the 'stones' that she was currently sitting on, and her heart seized in absolute horror. They were not pebbles.
They were bones.
The bones of dozens of small animals. Rats, squirrels, moles, hedgehogs, small birds, and more, scattered about in a pile of the dead. No skeleton was complete; the most intact were little more than skulls and limbless torsos (some of which missing half of said torso). They had been picked clean of most flesh but were still stained red with blood, along with the few scraps of meat that lingered; some of it was rotting from time, while others were still fresh.
She looked down at her trembling paws, her palms soaked in blood that she now knew was not hers. Her jaw quivered as the urge to scream, or throw up, or even both built within her.
Then she made the mistake of looking up. To what was, without question, the absolute most horrifying thing Mrs. Brisby had ever seen in her entire life.
A Mass Grave. That was the only thing it could be described as; an image straight out of the depths of the underworld itself. Hundreds of corpses, both freshly-killed bodies and picked-clean skeletons, from all forms of animal filled out the bloody riverbed.
There were bodies of animals as large as fully-grown deer and wild boar, their torsos hollowed out and emptied of their entrails, while their limbs were stripped of meat with truly-gigantic bite-marks in the bones. The remains of medium-sized animals, like foxes, raccoons, rabbits, larger birds, and wild goats looked as if they had been torn in half and messily devoured in single bites, the severed remains, heads, limbs, and tails scattered about when the jaws had bitten down in the middle. The only thing that could be found left over of the smaller animals were the heads and smaller bits that had been bitten off when they had been devoured whole. Entire clouds of files, from normal sized ones to the grape-sized Nimh variety, filled the air in a buzzing cacophony of rot, eager to feast on the leftovers. And the ground, once dry from the winter's frost, was soaked a deep red with blood, tricking across the stones like water and forming large pools throughout the bed.
The mouse couldn't move a single muscle, even as her instincts screamed at her too; she was utterly petrified with sheer horror, her blood turning to ice in her veins. All she could do was tremble like a leaf in a hurricane, her wide eyes dilating with primal fear and her heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst.
This was the reason the forest was as silent as death, for that was exactly what had taken it. This was why all the animals had fled the forest…those that were still alive, that is.
For all who hadn't had been killed. Slaughtered by the hundreds.
Hunted down in mass and devoured by the jaws of Nimh's new Titan Beast.
Chunks of dirt clattered down from above, snapping her back to her current reality: she looked up to see the weasels had already begun their own descent down the cliff face. Unlike her, they hadn't jumped blindly into the abyss and instead were taking the slower but safer path of climbing down, their long, flexible bodies far more suited to traversing such treacherous terrain.
With a frightened and outright desperate sob, Mrs. Brisby tried to get up and start running again, but no sooner did she try did her left leg explode in pain, causing her to cry out and fall back into the bones. As the angry snarls grew ever closer, she looked down with tear-filled eyes; her left ankle was heavily swollen, the redden skin of said swelling visible through her fur.
'No! Please Frith, no!' She quietly begged as she tried to crawl away, desperation gripping her heart.
But it was too late; when it had gotten down far enough, the second weasel took a mighty leap from the cliff base and soared through the air. Mrs. Brisby barely had time to roll over when a massive paw slammed into her chest and pinned her back to the dirt, the weight of her captor causing them to skid through the bones with a clatter. She squirmed and squealed wildly, but the grip on her body was as strong as the claws were sharp.
Then it leaned in, jaws opening to take the first bite.
"WAIT!" She screamed in desperation. "PLEASE!"
In all surprise the weasel did pause at her cry, though it looked more amused than anything else, tail swishing back and forth as it kept her pinned.
Then it spoke.
"Hmmm…Mousey morsel begs?" Its voice was cruel and hissing, matching the glint of malice in its eyes. "Wishes to live, mousey does?"
"Please! I beg you! Let me go!" She sobbed, fresh tears rolling down her face. "I have four furlings at home, and one is very sick! Please, I'm all they have left in the world!"
To that, however, the weasel openly laughed, unmoved by her pleas, before looking down at her with a truly malicious grin.
"Mousey morsel now…furling feast for desert later."
The mouse's eyes widened in terror, and her struggles became frantic. "Why?!" She cried desperately. "Look around! You have all the meat you could eat here!" She pointed to the first weasel (the one who had been eating the rabbit), who was already helping itself to the leftovers of a dead sparrow.
"Dead Flesh old and taste bitter. Eat later." It scoffed, as if it was obvious. It lowered its head closer, golden eyes gleaming with evil anticipation as the hungry jaws opened again. Drool dripped down its long fangs and onto her terrified face, the sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. "Mousey fresh and sweet, and chase made one hungry. Eat now, while still so."
"No…NO! PLEASE, NO!" Mrs. Brisby cried in horror, mouth agape and quivering while tears dripped from her cheek-fur.
This was it. All these years she had struggled to survive, and then to protect her family, all about to end. As she stared into the approaching jaws of death, the most impactful moments of her life flashed before her eyes. Her life as a feral, meeting Johnathan for the first time, their wedding in Rosebush City, building their home the Lee of the Stone, and her wonderful children. Then she imagined them, waiting for her to come home that very night, only for her never to return. She imagined them growing up orphans, losing both their parents to the cruel world, Frith knows what kind of lives awaited them…except for Timothy, who would never get his medicine now; he would die soon as well, and only as a child.
She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself, wanting nothing more in that instant to see her furlings one last time. 'Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, Timothy, Johnathan! I'm so sorry!'
Then everything went dark when the very sun itself disappeared behind a wall of purple and gold.
*C-C-CRUNCH!*
The weasel's eyes bulged from their sockets as a massive pair of jaws as large as it was clamped down around its torso with enough strength and force to completely shatter its rib-cage. Teeth the size of swords penetrated deep, blood splattering across lips covered in scales, as well as bursting from the weasel's mouth as it spat up its crushed insides.
This all happened in an instant, which was followed by a thunderous crash that shook the very earth as if the planet had been struck by a meteor. The weight of the paw pinning her chest disappeared and she was sent tumbling away, rolling head over heels. She heard the once fearsome predator shriek for its dying life, thrashing wildly as it was lifted clean off the ground and into the air.
Head spinning from the tumble and terror of facing death, she woozily opened her eyes, half-expecting to wake up in Frith's Realm, greeted by her beloved husband.
What she saw instead questioned if Frith even existed at all; the fear of the weasel was quickly forgotten entirely, and she clutched the sides of her face as she stared up in pure, unadulterated terror.
The ancient and primal terror that could only be awakened in mortal hearts by none other than the mightiest creature in all of creation.
A powerful beast larger than any creature she had ever seen before. An armored hide of scales stronger than even the most durable of steel, and a more beautiful purple than the purest of amethysts. Enormous crimson wings that filled the sky behind its shoulders. A seemingly-endless tail as long as a river and lined with deadly sword-like spines. Mighty horns and spines that adorned its head like the crown of the true king of all beasts. Teeth that were like swords. Claws that were like spears. And eyes that burned with the internal flame that would destroy all its breath blew upon.
Another sickening crunch of flesh and bone rattled throughout the chasm, followed by a wet thud of flesh against stone as the weasel that had just been chasing her fell to the ground in a bloody heap…or at least part of it did: the body from the arms up, one arm missing. Its eyes that once shone with a cruel, ferocious glint now stared lifelessly into the abyss, its face forever frozen in a silent scream of agony, blood pooling from its open jaws. Though the small trickle from its mouth was pitiful compared to the gushing viscera that pooled from the torn end of its remains, strips of severed muscle and what few entrails that clung to its upper rib-cage spilling out in a gory mess.
The rest of it disappeared down the throat of the monster that stood before her; the purple-scaled beast raised its head back, its all-encompassing shadow growing ever larger as it did, and tossed the lower half of the mustela's corpse into the air before catching it in its jaws, snapping the lion-sized animal up with a snap more akin to the clap of thunder. The sickening sound of bones being crushed like they were mere pretzel sticks sounded from behind its teeth, sending shivers down the poor mouse's spine, followed by a swallow that sounded like the earth shifting. Blood trickled down the sides of its lower jaw, while its fiery orange eyes burned with the dark satisfaction of the kill.
Under normal circumstances, Mrs. Brisby would've either fainted or thrown up from the sight of so much gore, given her weak tolerance for it.
But these circumstances were far from normal.
All she could bring herself to do was to stare, mouth agape, in fear…a fear so ancient, so primal, so deeply ingrained within her very blood, she might as well be face to face with Death itself.
She had heard the stories: the legends from a time long forgotten. The tales that Johnathan had gathered from his journeys across Nimh to bring back and entertain her, and later their furlings with. Stories of great horned serpents that breathed fire, able to burn down entire villages in a single night, guarding unimaginable riches in their lairs deep within the earth. They had always been described the same: as creatures of strength and power beyond anything mortal rodentkin would ever know: larger than even the largest of cats, with hide stronger than the strongest armor, and a breath of fire that burned hotter than even the most ferocious of forest fires.
But to see one in the flesh…to actually gaze upon the size and might of the beast that all too many tales sung of in jest, never truly grasping of what they spoke…
The stories did not even begin to do them justice.
This…this was no mere fairy-tale spook made up to scare unruly furlings into behaving, nor was it just another big bad beastie for the heroic knight to simply slay and rescue the princess from. Were it just another giant monster with sharp teeth, it actually would've been better. Still incredibly terrifying, yes, but it would've been far easier to behold.
But there was something far more to this than mere appearance. She could feel it…literally feel it: a presence about this creature's form. An 'aura' of sorts that radiated from its body, flowing through the air and across the earth like an invisible river rushing across the land, swallowing all within its vicinity into its overwhelming current. She could outright feel this 'presence' against her own body with a very real tangible strength, as if she had been submerged underwater, the sheer pressure of it pushing her down to the ground.
It didn't feel like she was standing in the presence of a large animal. It felt like…like standing before the raging, all-consuming wrath of a massive forest fire.
Within the shadow of the immovable, looming might of a towering mountain.
Struggling to stand against the trembling, earth-splitting destruction of a powerful earthquake.
Cowering in horror at the ever-approaching doom of a horizon-wide tsunami.
And futilely screaming against the furious, over-whelming roar of an unstoppable storm.
She now understood why all the animals had fled from the forest: this was no mere 'beast'. This was the very might and wrath of nature itself given life and flesh. A living force of nature.
But to all who knew even an inkling of the tales of old, it went by a far more familiar name. One that had terrorized beings of all races since the dawn of history itself:
A Dragon.
A giant clawed foot that matched the footprints she had seen before lifted off the ground as the dragon took a four-legged step backwards, turning its massive form around in a matter that reminded her of a wolf or big-cat turning in place. Its footsteps were so heavy that the earth shook under them, thundering through the ground with enough force to make Mrs. Brisby bounce a few inches off of it, a hoarse squeak escaping her throat as she was sent tumbling back, rolling over herself until she laid motionless on her stomach.
However, the building-sized beast seemed to pay her no mind as it turned around to directly face the remaining weasel, who was all but frozen in place with the same deep, primal fear that was outright crushing her.
Draconian eyes blazed with a murderous fire as the dragon glared at the intruder with a fury akin to a raging flame, and a deep saurian growl comparable to an earthquake rumbled from behind bared teeth the size of large swords.
That was all the weasel needed to break out of its stupor of horror. Without hesitation or a single sound, the once-unchallenged predator of the rodent world bolted across the riverbed, frantically scrambling back up the cliff-side as if Cama Zotz himself was on its tail.
The dragon merely waited, watching with its unwavering glare, until the intruder was at a desired height.
Then it moved.
As if she knew it was coming, instinct screaming forth from deep within her gut, Mrs. Brisby gripped the ground as if her life depended on it; her twisted ankle burned with protest, but she didn't dare let go.
And it was all that kept her from being blown away like a leaf in a storm: she could feel the very air whoosh past her in a roaring fury, her cloak and skirts whipping wildly in the wind, as the great beast swung its massive tail in an arching spin, tearing it through the air at speeds a creature of that size and mass shouldn't even be able to move at, let alone with such agility.
The weasel didn't have time to react. It barely had the time to look back before the heavy end of the tail completely and utterly smashed it like a bug on the wall.
The blow e was strong enough to split the very bedrock of the cliff's foundation, the web-like cracks bursting forth with an ear-splitting shatter of breaking stone; it, along with the dozens of long, blade-like dorsal spines that lined it, completely flattened the mammal's fragile body as if it was made of paper, completely obliterating its skeleton. Its limbs went rigid, and its eyes bulged from their sockets, as a geyser of blood and pulped organs erupted from its mouth.
Then it fell limp, hanging lifelessly from where it had been impaled.
With an almost dramatic, albeit barbaric flair, the dragon pulled its tail away and swished it back in a rough whipping motion, flicking off the blood and viscera that clung to its tail-spines. It watched, still glaring with those horrible burning eyes, as the blood-soaked remains slowly slid to the base of the cliff in a fleshy heap, leaving a long smear of red behind it. Several stones broke free from the sight of impact as well, tumbling down the bloodied cliff-face in a dusty clatter.
It gave a fierce, bestial snort of defiance at the remains, bathing the pile of gore with twin streams of smoke from its nostrils. This was followed by a deep, guttural sigh that visibly vibrated the flesh around its throat, a deep exhale escaping from its mouth as it turned its gaze away from its latest victim…
…and back to the poor lost mouse that had stumbled into its domain.
Its steps were outright silent in comparison to how they had thundered before, only creating soft tremors as the dragon slowly approached her. Even in her mind-crippling fear, she couldn't help but think it looked almost like a giant, purple cat, the way it approached her: slowly slinking to the left and right, pausing mid-step every now and then, like a curious cat approaching something of interest. By no means the swift, jerky motions of a lizard or other such reptile…although the way its neck, body and long tail outright flowed after its head through the air was very serpent-like, like a large snake 'swimming' through the air. It was almost hypnotic to watch, like the dance of a cobra readying to strike mixed with a panther stalking its prey through the dark of the jungle.
Mrs. Brisby gave a soft, weak cough as the sheer 'presence' of the dragon grew ever heavier as it came ever closer. Its stare had pinned her to the ground, leaving her unable to do anything but pitifully crawl away on aching limbs.
The beast didn't stop until it was practically standing over her, its mighty form looming over her like a great cliff of immovable stone, before lowering its head slighty; enough to get a closer look, but still keeping distance between itself and its newfound curiosity. She could outright feel the vibrations of its breath rumbling from its chest; feel the huge bouts of air being sucked down its throat and into its powerful lungs. It shifted its wings against its sides as it adjusted its balance to stand in place; this simple act of moving its wings was enough to kick up a small torrent of winds, tiny dust-devils dancing across the riverbed. It's breath blew hot as it exhaled, so much so that it felt like she was trapped in the blaze of a raging forest fire, sweat mixing with the blood in her fur.
And its presence? Mrs. Brisby felt like she had been sunk to the very bottom of the ocean, the sheer 'weight' of its magical aura threatening to crush her like a bug.
She wanted nothing more in that moment than to flee. It didn't matter where: anywhere to just get away. But her body, already battered and bruised from all that had happened, had given up; her limbs felt as if they were made of lead, and weighed twice as much. Her head swam as if she was being tossed in a stormy sea, still bleeding from the wound on her forehead. She tried to speak…to scream for help…to beg for her life again, but her voice was locked in her throat, leaving her unable to do anything but whimper in short, frantic breaths.
She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She could barely even think, for all rational thought, as well as any hope of seeing her family again, had been lost within the flaming gaze of those burning draconian eyes.
In the end, all she could do was curl up into a shaking ball of fur, cover her face with her paws, squeeze her eyes shut, and pray that it would be quick.
But it never came.
In fact, nothing happened at all.
And following an intense moment of mind-crippling fear, the presence of the beast faded.
It was a very bizarre yet relieving sensation: the overwhelming invisible weight filling the air seemed to almost flow away, like water being drained from a lake, slowly but surely lifting off of her. It was so relieving that her heart began to calm from it, despite knowing full well that her life was still in grave danger. The intense, fire-like heat of its breath and eyes also faded away into a soft, almost-distant glow of ember; more akin to the gentle warmth of a hearth in winter than a raging, all-consuming forest fire.
It was almost pleasant.
Swallowing the large lump in her throat, she dared a peek from behind parted fingers. The dragon was still there. but something had changed. The sheer essence of standing before a living force of nature was…subdued: it was still there, but it was far, far weaker than it was before, hidden behind the veil of simple flesh, bone, and scales. It was now more akin to observing such a phenomenon from a distance: still able to see its great destructive power, but in a place of perceived safety. Didn't make the great winged reptile seem any less gigantic, but it was far easier to behold now.
But its aura wasn't the only thing that changed, and she found herself lowering her hands as she looked upon the second transformation of the beast: its eyes. No longer fiercely-burning balls of hot orange and white, but now soft, glimmering pools of gold and magenta. Even in her fear, Mrs. Brisby couldn't help but realize how beautiful they looked: beautiful in a primal sense, that is, like polished gemstones twinkling in the dark cave.
Gone was the ferocious flaming wrath of a wrathful dragon, replaced by a calm, outright-innocent curiosity.
And…something else.
Something hidden deep within those glowing eyes.
Something familiar.
Mrs. Brisby lowered her paws from her face, clutching them nervously to her chest as she stared at the dragon with a mix of confusion, fear, and maybe even a touch of her own uncertain curiosity. The dragon stared back at her with that same familiar look in its eyes for a few more minutes, its tail slowly swishing back and forth; the bones of its previous meals shifted and clattered under the heavy appendage's movements, some of the smaller ones outright breaking under its weight.
It looked as if it wanted to do something…maybe even to say something. Could it even speak? She knew stories of dragons that spoke, but she didn't know if they were true; Frith knew just about everything else about the old stories felt like fanciful nonsense after witnessing the real thing in the flesh.
But ultimately, whether it could or not, it didn't. Instead, it simply gave a deep, thrumming sigh of an exhale and took a step backwards, shifting its body in place as it turned away from the mouse. It left her laying there, shaken but alive, as it stepped over to the second weasel's body, opening its jaws just enough to pick up the remains of the dead predator. It snapped up the bloodied torso like a crocodile snaps up the flesh of its kill, blood spilling out from between the creature's teeth as it messily ate.
This was her chance. Whatever the reason, this great beast had let her live, and she wasn't going to waste the opportunity to escape.
Her bones cried out in protest as she weakly pushed herself up off the ground, and she almost fell backwards in dizzying pain as she stood up; everything hurt, from her ribs to her head to her twisted ankle, the last of which flared from the pressure, making her gasp in a hissing breath as she leaned on her good foot to relieve the pain.
The dragon paused at her voice, its gem-like eye glancing back at her for a brief moment, before it returned to silently consuming its latest kill...as silent as breaking bones and ripping flesh could be, that is.
Mrs. Brisby took slow, limping steps backwards, not taking her eyes off the dragon for even a second; her bad leg continued to protest being used, a hot stabbing pain shooting through it with each step, but even then, she didn't dare look away. She wasn't even sure if she even blinked as she slowly but surely put distance between herself and the beast. However, said beast simply ignored her from that point on, outright deliberately so.
It was as if it was pretending to not notice her, so that she felt brave enough to try to leave…as if it was willingly letting her go.
The timid, trembling doe took another step back…then one more…and then finally turned away and bolted for the cliff as fast as her wounds would aloow her, scrambling across the ground on all four of her paws.
It was one thing to climb up the side of a cliff in the first place; to do so having just taken a long, painful fall off of it was another thing entirely. The large web of roots and vines running down its cliff-face made for the perfect ladders for the tiny mouse to scramble up, scaling the network of plants as easily as any normal rodent would climb, but her aching bones, combined with her natural fear of heights (which was already screaming within her from her last fall), only made what would otherwise be a relatively easy feat a truly harrowing one.
She paused every now and then to catch her pained breath and rest her sore body, laying against the root she was climbing with her claws digging into its side for dear life; she had to fight not to look down, for she if she did, she would not be able to take another step. She had already nearly killed herself the first time she had foolishly leapt off this very cliff, and she knew several of her bones were bruised, if not broken, already. It was a miracle she had survived in the first place.
If she were to fall a second time…she wasn't going to be so fortunate.
She was a little more than halfway up when she paused again, this time to see what the dragon was doing. The winged beast hadn't moved from where it was eating the remains of the weasels, having finished the first and already devouring the bottom half. But it had her in its sights none-the-less; even as it ate, in the same manner a wolf would devour a small rabbit, its eye was watching her out of the corner of its socket. The scaled, reptilian face was unreadable, as stoic and expressionless as the face of a snake or lizard, but there was that same glow of something in its eyes.
Something that she still couldn't recognize…yet felt so familiar.
She had seen that look before. She knew what it was. But be it out of her own emotional turmoil or it being in eyes so reptilian, she just couldn't figure out what. It was starting to frustrate her as much as it scared her.
What was it about those eyes that was so…pulling?
Mrs. Brisby pushed these thoughts away as she continued her climb; she could still feel that glimmering gaze of fire against her back, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it and focus. And the higher she got, the longer time passed without any form of harm or ill-will, she found herself continuing to glance back at the creature pretending not to watch her in turn: whenever it saw her looking back, it turned its gaze away, pretending to focus on its food, only to sneak a quick glance every now and then, as if waiting for her to turn away so it could watch her again.
That actually made a small, silent bubble of a giggle escape her lips as she turned to climb up the last root.
It was just above her now; the top of the same 'hill' that she had so foolishly leapt off of, hanging out over the cliff-face in a jutting precipice. The log she had jumped out of loomed over the edge to her left, and she found herself shivering at the idea of going anywhere near it again. The edge was jutting out over the cliff-face she had been climbing, leaving her standing on one of the roots that hung underneath it. The only way up from here was a number of vines that hung in the air from the precipice.
Dangling over the abyss she already fallen into below.
She took a big, audible gulp as she swallowed the bloody bile in her throat, failing to steady her nerves as her shaking hands grabbed the vines, her grip so tight that her knuckles turned white beneath her fur. She closed her eyes and began breathing softly, trying to ignore the sheer wave of vertigo that assaulted her senses as she inched toward the edge of the root, fighting to reassure herself of the last stretch.
'It's just a quick, short climb up.' She told herself. 'No more than ten feet…you can do this…for Timmy. Do it for Timmy.'
Timmy…her son. One of her children. Her beautiful children, whom, for a split second of complete, mind-consuming terror, she had thought she would never see again.
But she was going to see them again. She was going home.
Taking one final, hitching breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and took that one brave step of faith, hopping over the root and clinging to the vine as tightly as she could with all four paws. A jolting pain shot up through her ankle, but she fought through it, holding on with all her might. She hung there, eyes clenched shut, as she waited for the vines to come loose or snap…but when neither happened, she couldn't stop the deep sigh of relief from escaping her lips; the vines were taught under her weight (as little as that was), but were holding fast. She began shimmying up the green rope-like plants. Her bad ankle made it a slow and painful process, the twisted muscle and tendons crying out in anguish with every jerking pull; her eyes began watering from the pain, and she wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, but she couldn't afford to rest now.
The edge was now only a few more feet…home was so close, she had to keep going…just a little further…
A chocolate-milk-brown paw reached over the edge and grabbed a fistful of grass.
A wave of elation flowed through her heart, and she felt as if she was going to cry from sheer happiness. She had made it! She had escaped the jaws of death from the weasels. She had survived a fall into a mass graveyard. She had stared a living dragon in the eyes and came out alive. And she climbed a cliff to escape it all.
She let go of the vines with her other paw and grabbed another fistful of grass. As she struggled to pull herself up, she wondered if Johnathan would've been proud of her. If he could see his wife being as brave as he wa-.
The vine she was still holding onto with her hind-paws ripped free of the ground and plummeted out from under her, leaving her feet with nothing to support her weight.
All relief instantly fled as her legs lost all footing, leaving them and her lower body dangling in the open air, only being held by the grass she was now holding onto with all her strength. She dug her chin into the soil of the precipice, desperately trying to gain any kind of hold. She kicked at the air frantically, clawing desperately at where her mind's eye was telling her the cliff was, but even stretching her legs granted no traction, leaving her swinging back and forth in the air. Small chunks of dirt began to crumble where she clung, the weak soil giving way around her struggling form.
Then, with a wave of complete and utter horror overtaking her heart, she saw the soil around her hands begin to crumble as well, the grass she clung to so tightly starting to tear free from the earth.
"No! Please no!" She croaked desperately, releasing one grip to try clawing at the ground itself.
All this accomplished was her losing her grasp and slipping down. She was now hanging by one paw, still clinging desperately to the edge, the rest of her flailing in the air in blind, mind-consuming panic. Her bruised ribs screamed in agony as her weight pulled her arm, her head ringing from the sheer pain coursing through her body, yet she didn't dare let go.
"HELP!" She screamed in absolute desperation, her body flailing in the air. "Somebody! Anybody! PLEASE! I NEED HELP!"
Heavy tears flowed from wide, terror-filled eyes as she felt her life-line began to crumble. "Dear Frith, P-Please! I-I don't want to die!"
One…chunk…at…a…time.
"HEEEEELP! HELP MEEEEEE!"
The edge she clung to gave way. And Elizabeth Brisby, the widow of Johnathan Brisby and soon-to-be deceased mother of four orphans, fell from the edge of the river's cliff once again.
It was a strange sensation: to see your life flash before your eyes for a second time in one day. To feel time slow to a crawl as an entire story's worth of events flash through her sight again. Her life. Her home. Her family. All of it, just as bright and as beautiful as it had before…but somehow, the fear and pain were even greater this time. This time, it wasn't a predator or other outside force that was going to take her away from her children…
Her precious children…she had failed them.
It was her fault this time; for being too weak and too foolish to even get back home! Had she been paying attention in the first place, instead of letting her mind's rampant worry distract her from the dangers of the world, then this never would've happened.
She wouldn't be falling to her death. She wouldn't be leaving her children parent-less orphans. And she wouldn't be leaving poor Timothy to die of pneumonia.
Sorrow. Misery. Loss. Sickness. And Death. That's all that awaited them now.
And it was all her fault.
The winds began to pick up as she felt time began to rush back to its normal pace once more, along with the wind rushing through her clothes and fur as she began to fall. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for death.
Only to stop a mere second after she lost her grip, landing on something solid yet warm, breaking her fall just as it begun.
Without even thinking, she grabbed onto and instinctively clung to this sudden surface as if her very salvation depended on it. Her breath came in quick, sobbing gasps as she lay on her stomach, shaking like a leaf as she wept hysterically in shock, clinging desperately to the rough, almost stone-like formation she found herself on. Her mind was going a thousand miles a second, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
Both the fact she was about to fall to her death, and that she had been stopped…no…saved by something that hadn't been there a mere second ago.
When the realization came to her, she found that she could've cheered with sheer joy then and there.
She was alive…Frith above, she was alive!
A gasping sob of elation escaped her lips as she outright hugged the rock she was clinging to, the tears that had been of terror now those of gratitude as she snuggled against what had caught her.
What had caught her, she realized.
This wasn't stone.
That's when she opened her eyes, only to see straight through the windows into the soul of the beast.
It was the Dragon: she was currently laying atop his snout, resting on the bridge of bone between his nostrils and his eye-ridges, leaving her clinging to the right side of the scaly face...at an angle that allowed her to stare directly into that great, draconian eye that was larger than her head. She was so close to it she could see her own wide-eyed expression staring back at her within the depths of glowing gold and purple, and deep within the fathomless depths of that slit, reptilian pupil.
If she thought the gaze of the dragon was powerful before, then it was nothing compared to staring directly into its very soul. Even though its presence was still subdued, she could see within those eyes. The great, roiling power of fire, earth, wind, and other mighty elemental forces, flowing deeply within the depths, just waiting to be unleashed upon the world. The unflinching stare of an immortal, with absolutely no fear of death, for it was not an inevitability for his kind, but rather just a possibility.
She could see a primal strength, power, ferocity, wisdom and magnificence so ancient and prehistoric that no modern-day creature could even begin to compare. She could see-
Confusion. Worry. Pain.
Fear.
Everything else seemed to fade around them both when she saw it, the fear of the great, terrible dragon fading away, as did the shock of nearly losing her life. The eye she was looking into was wide and full of emotion she could now clearly see: Fear.
But not for himself. She honestly doubted there was anything on this planet he would actually fear as a threat to his life. No. This wasn't a fear of something…but for something. A kind she herself had felt that very morning: when she watched her son lie bed-ridden with fever, and the very same that drove her to seek out aid from Mr. Ages in the first place:
The fear of losing someone you care about.
And he, the mighty dragon, was feeling that fear for her.
She thought it had just been a happy accident. A mere coincidence that this dragon killed the weasels right before they were going to kill her. A stroke of luck that the beast then decided her small amount of meat wasn't worth the energy it would've taken to catch her. Frith shining his mercy upon her and sweeping her away from the jaws of a monster.
Except…this wasn't a monster. And it hadn't been an accident at all.
This dragon...the legendary beast of fire, greed, death, and destruction…the greatest, most dangerous, and most feared of all the world's fantastical creatures…had saved her life.
Twice.
She felt him give a deep, rumbling sigh of relief, the vibrations of the air rushing through his mouth thrumming beneath her as the fearful worry melted away from his eyes, looking at her once more with that same gaze as before: the outright-innocent stare of a creature that meant no harm, along with that mixed-in emotion from before hidden within it. The one she knew, but couldn't recognize before.
But now, literally face to face with the window to the soul, it was clear as day, no longer able to hide behind the fiery glow of draconian wrath. And impossible to mistake for anything else:
Resigned Sorrow.
The kind someone held when they lost something very important to them and knew they would never get it back; of someone who had no choice but to accept a lifetime of sorrow and emptiness, forever carrying a painful hole in their heart that would never again be filled. And even though they could see what they had lost in the world around them, in the lives of those whose hearts were still whole, they knew it would never be there's again, if was even there's to begin with.
A sorrow she also knew all too well.
She barely noticed when the dragon began to move, carrying her with him; with slow, careful strides he stepped up to the edge of the cliff and began to climb up the side of it. His movements were slow and reptilian, with very precise placing of his hands and feet, scaling the steep surface like a massive lizard. When he reached the top of the cliff, his hands gripping the edge, he extended his neck out as far away from the edge as he could reach, lowering his chin to the ground and tilting his head forward, allowing the mouse clinging to him to gently slide off.
Mrs. Brisby didn't take her eyes off the dragon's own the entire time, slowly sliding off the reptilian snout with not a sound. Her paws finally found their footing on solid earth, far from the danger of heights and predators alike; only then did she let go, taking a small, ginger step backwards as the beast's massive head pulled back to a resting position above his body. The two then stared at each other in silence, the only sound being the dragon's deep, guttural breathing.
The mightiest of all creatures and the meekest of them. Two complete opposites of the food chain. One who ruled without challenge and the other who lived in the shadows of giants.
But for a brief moment, one precious moment of shared hardship and sadness, they were the same.
"Thank you." Mrs. Brisby finally managed to whisper, just loud enough for her savoir to hear.
His reaction to her thanks, however, was anything than expected.
The dragon recoiled a bit, visibly taken aback. Not out of insult, but out of surprise, as if gratitude for its actions was the very last thing it expected. While its reptilian face still held little expression, the mix of shock, confusion, and even hurt were clear in his widened eyes, the pupils actually rounding a bit with emotion. He stared at her, silent and unmoving, as if physically unable to comprehend what he had just heard, all the while the storm of emotions continue to roll within those eyes.
Those sad, confused, longing eyes.
He suddenly shuddered, shaking himself out of his stupor with a frustrated snort, his pupils snapping back to perfectly-thin slits with a quick blink. With another rumbling thrum, the beast pushed itself off the cliff-face in a light jump, landing back down on all fours with a heavy thud. He gave her a stern look before turning away, stepping through the river of bones until it reached the other side. Looking up to the precipice above him, he tucked all four legs together in a very cat-like manner before giving a giant leap up to the opposite shore, clearing the entire cliff in a single bound. His wings flapped against his sides as he steadied his landing, his long tail sliding up and over the edge like a large purple snake, causing a small cascade of dirt and stone to fall behind him.
He turned his head back to give her one last look from across the dried river, their eyes meeting again for another brief moment.
Then he looked away and disappeared into the forest, slipping in between the bushes and trees; she watched in silence as the last of that long tail slithered into the undergrowth.
And she was once again alone.
She blinked as an unexpected hotness pricked behind her eyes. She raised her paw to wipe at the unexpected tears that began to run down her cheeks, wiping a bit of the blood on her face off in the process. She stared at her wet fingers, confusion filling her head…just as a new kind of tight sadness began filling her heart.
She frowned in confusion, even as a soft sob escaped her throat.
What was this? Why was she feeling so sad all of a sudden?
…and why was world suddenly upside down?
She stumbled in place, blinking heavily as her head began to spin. At long last, with all the scares, pain, danger, and several brushes with death behind her, she was safe. And with that realization, the heavy amount of adrenaline rushing through her veins finally began to die down: Literally the only thing keeping her awake at this point was leaving her body, and with it the true extent of her injuries came rushing to replace it. The several bruised ribs, the twisted ankle, the blow to her head, and Frith knows how much blood she had lost through it all.
She rested a weary paw to her forehead, taking a shaky breath as she slumped to the ground, gripping a nearby flower desperately with ever-weakening paws. Everything was spinning round and round, her head feeling lighter with every passing second, and she could feel the strength draining out of her.
She tried to fight it, struggling just to keep her eyes open. To stay awake.
She had to get home…she had to get Timmy his medicine…she had to…
But for all her willpower, her body had reached its limit, and the battered, bloodied mouse finally caved into her exhaustion. She slid down her support until she laid across the ground, curling up into a vulnerable damsel position, resting her head against the flower she dragged down with her. The blood from her forehead trickled onto it, turning the white petals red.
As her vision began to grow dark, her eyelids growing heavy with sleep, she saw a bright yellow light approaching her, accompanied by the sound of large insect wings fluttering in flight.
And just as her mind slipped into the merciful embrace of unconsciousness, she thought she heard a feminine voice sigh in exasperated frustration.