Redwall Abbey

"Kraw! KRAW! KEEERAW!"

Margaret shivered, and quickened her pace. She had strayed from the path to pick up some daisies and was now paying the price for it.

Thwack! A pair of spears buried themselves inches from her feetpaws, their shafts quivering in front of her.

"KRAAAAW!"

Margaret hurried past the spears, oblivious to the shadow that followed her through the treeline. An arrow whistled past, trimming her whisker tips. The mousemaid failed to suppress a sob and stumbled over a stray root. Had she not done so she might have been crushed by the boulder that crashed into the ground in front of her.

"Kraw! Kraw! Who goes through the land of Kew-Kew?"

A horrific creature dropped down from the foliage above. A black mask of fur lay over wide, curious eyes that stared down at the mouse. It's tail and arms were bare, muscular and lined with a few stray strands of fur. It wore a skirt of feathers and carried a jagged spear in one paw.

"Who be you?" The creature demanded, sniffing at the mouse.

"D-don't-" Margaret sat up swiftly, and did her best to back away from it's frightening countenance. "Don't come closer."

The creature snorted and crouched down on all fours. "I is only sniffing." It jabbed at her with his spear. "Mousey-thing stinks of fear. Smells worse than I does! Hihihihi!" It composed itself, and went on. "She should be careful. Mouse is in eagle-territory."

"Eagles?" She swallowed and eyed the trees around her with worry.

The creature nodded, grinning wide. He placed a paw on his chest. "Lotsa eagles eatta lotsa mousies. But I is not that kind of bird. Mouses big yucky! Kew-Kew like other eagles more!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "And sometimes eggses!" The creature sat down besides her. "I tried mousey-thing once, just de tail-part." The creature pulled a face and pretended to retch.

Margaret might have found the motion sympathizing were she not terrified beyond wit.

"Sorry I scares you. Trapses were meant to catch other, more yummy thingies."

"So you set up the spears?"

"Yes yes! And the big stone! Kew-Kew did it all by himself!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I is smart."

"Y-yes. Very smart." Margaret cleared her throat hopefully. "The smartest eagle there is."

"Mousey thing is kind." The rugged beast appeared to be blushing, and wrapped his strong arms around her in what might have been a hug. "It is also easy preything."

"Aaaaaaaah!" Margaret felt the air rush past her. Had she been thrown? Was she flying? Was she dead? Her back hit a branch, and suddenly she lurched downwards again. "OOOF!" She came to a sudden halt, now suspended a hundred feetpaw off the ground.

"H-how...?"

"Kew-Kew is smartest eagle because Kew-Kew hunts other eagles!" The strange creature bragged, appearing on a branch at her level. "When eagle come swooping for mouseything I swoops down on eagles!"

"S-so I'm the bait!?"

"Keeragh! Smart mousey-thing!" He tapped her on the nose. "Yes, yes, you is bait! Catch Kew-Kew biggest eagle and I frees you, yes? Big eagle kill mother of Kew-Kew, I wants te kill biiiiig eagles!"

"B-but you're not an eagle!" She tried to protest.

"I is." He said stubbornly, once more tapping her nose. "I is biggest, bestest, hungriest eagle!" He tapped at the feather's on his skirt. "Eagle that eats eagles! And if I is not eagle... what is I?" He waited all of three seconds, his eyes wide in wonder, as if seeking the answer, before licking the mouse across the face. "Don't worry. Kew-Kew always catches something."

"Oh for the love of St. Ninian's! You are not. An. Eagle!" Margaret cried, desperately rubbing away at the drool on her face.

"Kraw! Mouseything talk too much, bait too little." The slobbery wearet poked Margaret on the nose, a habit he seemed to have picked up in their time together. Still, the mousemaid found it preferable to the sniffing and the licking. "All day Kew-Kew is waiting to catch eagle and mousey-thing won't bait good!" He threw up his paws in a show of frustration.

"Well I'm sorry," Margaret spoke through gritted teeth. "I had no idea you were such a busy creature. Perhaps I had better come back and resume my duties tomorrow. Why don't you go back to your little nest and rest!"

Kew-Kew shook his head from side to side, the way a particularly stubborn dibbun would. "If mousey-thing stays out at night, night-eagle swoops down and eat it up!"

"N-night eagle?"

"Night-eagles," Kew-Kew affirmed. "Like day-eagle, but with squashed pancake-face, and eyes so big they sometimes sees I before I sees them."

"Pancake faces? Y-you don't mean owls, do you?"

"Mousey-thing never eatta pancake?" Kew-Kew's eyes widened in horror. "B-but how does mousey-thing live without pancake?"

"How do you know what a pancake is!?" Margaret's head was beginning to spin, not just because all her blood was going to her brain but because this creature made. No. Sense.

"Of course Kew-Kew knows what pancake is!" The wearet snorted. "I make biggest, bestest, yummiest pancakes in all Land of Kew-Kew!"

Margaret took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. If it wasn't a dream... If it was a dream it did raise the interesting question of 'what on earth had she eaten last night?'

Margaret swiftly pushed those thoughts away. They weren't important right now. "When I open my eyes I'll be in bed. I will not be faced with an ugly, furless savage. I will be home. I will be safe."

"Mousey-thing is safe!" Kew-Kew snapped indignantly. "Safer with Kew-Kew than down on forest floor. Lotsa trapses dere!"

"Traps that you set up," the mousemaid seethed, opening her eyes again to find the same ugly, furless savage still grinning at her.

"Eagle needs to eat also." The wearet shrugged and turned on his heels. "I is gonna hide now. Be good bait, mousey-thing!" With a smile and a wave Kew-Kew vanished into the foliage.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Margaret was not sure how long she had been dangling from the treetops now - it was hard to tell the time with no sun in sight - but it already felt like several weeks. Being strung up for this long was not good for one's health or hygiene. At this point she was pretty sure she did stink worse than Kew-Kew. Probably looked worse for wear too... Her ears and whiskers drooped down miserably, her arms and legs were sore and stiff and the vine around her middle was growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

The dull silence of the forest was broken by the arrival of her captor, who appeared as if from thin air. "Hello mousey-thing!"

Margaret did not find the strength to even snap at him.

"You is not good bait," Kew-Kew once more drew uncomfortably close and passed his tongue over her face, oblivious to the look of disgust she shot him. The wearet chewed thoughtfully and sniffed. "Still stink too."

"Rich coming from you," the mousemaid hissed, with all the venom an exhausted, helpless and starving rodent could.

Kew-Kew did not seem to take offence in the comment. "I brought mousey-thing food." He raised a piece of eggshell up to eye-level, displaying the vomit-inducing contents within. "Pancake!"

Margaret flinched away from the appalling concoction and retched. She was not sure what exactly the sloshing, churning bile was, but that did not make it any more appetizing. In any case, it wasn't a pancake.

Kew-Kew's ears drooped miserably as he lowered the eggshell, yet perked up again when a shadow passed over the pair of them.

"It is coming! It is coming!" he chattered excitedly, dropping the 'pancake' and abandoning the eggshell.

"W-what's coming?" Margaret called out apprehensively, as Kew-Kew vanished from sight. "Wait! Kew-Kew wait!" Her cries went unheard, yet echoed throughout the treetops.

Then all was silent in the deep, dark woods. Here and there a shadow passed, a branch rustled. Margaret could only turn her head so far, and watch and wait. Her heart beat against her chest like a little drum, and tears began to slip from her eyes. A horrible sinking feeling manifested in her gut. What good could come from the excitement of a savage?

Then it all happened at once. A terrible creature burst through the treeline and swooped down upon the captured mouse, it's talons bared, it's beak wide open. It came at her as fast and as forcefully as a bolt of lightning. Even if she wasn't dangling helplessly, there would have been no escape. This was a true eagle. A predator beyond compare. Her doom.

Margaret whimpered, shut her eyes and waited for death to come.

A mere moment from impact, the forest seemed to stand still.

Suddenly, the vine around the mousemaid was severed and she fell with a scream, the eagle's beak snapping shut over nothing but thin air. Margaret landed on a branch below, and hastily wrapped her shaking limbs around it.

"Please stop," she whined to nobeast in particular. "I can't take this any more."

It took only a moment for the eagle to get over their surprise and pinpoint their prey again. And half a moment later it dived again.

"KEEERAAAW!" As it flew, a spear hurtled towards the diving bird and struck it's side. The avian gave a cry of pain, and tried to throw off this irksome flea, yet the projectile held firm. Blood gushed out from between the feathers and rained down upon Margaret and the forest floor below.

The raptor cawed back at the trees challengingly, halting it's dive and beating it's wings in the air as it circled the helpless mouse. Was something trying to rob it of it's rightful prey?

A second spear was thrown, but the eagle evaded it. The sharp eyesight of the hungry predator soon located it's assailant.

"Kraw!" the wearet cawed, raising a third spear. "Kraw! Kraw! KA-KAW!"

The eagle shot off like an arrow from a bow. As it dived it rolled out of the way of the wearet's subsequent spear-throw. A moment before impact Kew-Kew, still grinning like a madbeast, caught hold of a vine and swung away, a fourth, shorter spear in paw. The eagle reacted quickly, and snapped at the hunter's form.

Twisting away from the possibility of horizontal bisection (not that Kew-Kew ever used words like that) Kew-Kew hurled the fourth spear at his opponent and caught the avian in the eye.

It gave a cry of pain, and snapped at the air agaun, but Kew-Kew had already vanished into the foliage. Once more taking flight the avian began to circle the treeline, hungry for vengeance as well as flesh.

Silence returned to the forest. The seconds rolled on, the minutes ticked past. Not even the raptor's remaining eye could find the filthy creature that had attacked it, but the eagle did notice that Margaret had not gone anywhere. Still clutching the branch and shaking with all the fear of a dibbun in deep trouble, she was an easy preything. Barely a mouthful, but easier to hunt. Already half-blind and bleeding, the eagle dared not risk more injury. Mouthful or not, the mouse would do.

Without another sound, the avian dived forwards, it's wings folded carefully behind it's back. The air rushed past it. It's prey drew closer.

"KRAAAAAAAAAAW!" With a battle cry worthy of any eagle, Kew-Kew fell upon the eagle's unprotected back, spear-first. The jagged blade of the hunter's weapon stuck deep into the avian's flesh, and clung on as determinedly as a tick.

Blinded by pain, and unable to bring it's dive to a halt, the eagle crashed into a tree with a resounding SNAP! It cawed weakly, and slid down the trunk with a final, painful shudder.

Deathly silence returned. After several minutes more of helplessly shaking and waiting for the Dark Forest to open its gates to her, Margaret finally let her eyes crack open.

Kew-Kew was grinning up at her. "Well mousey-thing?" he asked, nudging her slightly. "Is Kew-Kew eagle now? Hihihihihi! See mousey-thing? Kew-Kew is eagle, hunter of eagles!"

Margaret gave no reply beyond shuddering, so Kew-Kew went on.

"And you is good bait," Kew-Kew praised, licking the dead eagle's blood off her face. "Not the bestest bait, but eagle still want to eatta mousey-thing."

The mouse's ears perked up a bit, but she did not dare hope for good news. Still... it was worth a try. "So... does this mean... you'll let me go?"

"Yes, yes. Like Kew-Kew said so. Bye bye mousey-thing!" The wearet waved, and hopped off the branch.

"B-but wait!" Margaret glanced down at the forest floor far, far beneath her and clung onto the tree all the tighter. "How do I get down?"

Down below, the once-majestic raptor lay surrounded by broken branches and scattered feathers. It's body lay still, angled uncomfortably. It's mighty wings, once strong enough to blow away the wind, were as broken as it's neck.

"Hihihihihi! Big eagle! Not as big as Kew-Kew, though! Not as smart, too. Big, dead eagle!" Kew-Kew dropped down from above, as usual armed with an impish grin.

Any self-respecting bird would have thought it a fate worse than death to be stripped of one's feathers, but then this bird was already dead by the time the wearet started. "Kraw! Mousey-thing look like big stupid now that Kew-Kew is clearly eagle." He shook his head rapidly from side to side, simultaneously ripping out a fistful of his prey's silky brown plumage. He fitted a few straight into his skirt of feathers, and slid one behind his ear. "Why do mousey-thingies always say somethings like that?"

It spoke much of Margaret's sheer, stubborn, never-before-seen strength of will that by the time she finally slipped off the branch Kew-Kew had prepared a large pile of fluffy down for her to land on.

"Hello again, mousey-thing!" he greeted her, without looking up from his work.

The mousemaid only groaned in response and did her best to sit up. The sight that greeted her was not pleasant in any way, shape or form and not for the first time, she felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. One eagle lay dead, another was busy tearing away at it's last remaining dignity.

"I have question." Kew-Kew looked up from around the heap of feathers he had buried himself in. "Why did mousey-thing say I was not an eagle?"

"Because you're not," she blurted out before she could stop herself. Near-starvation, coupled with the very real possibility that she would be stuck with this slobbery beast for Martin-knew-how-long did not brew the coolest of tempers.

"I is." he said stubbornly. Kew-Kew gestured at the carcass that lay between them. "How does mousey-thing explain big, dead eagle if I is not eagle?"

"Just because you kill something doesn't mean you are something." To her credit Margaret did her best to keep her temper. Trying to forge a path home would have been the smarter choice, but in her current state she doubted she'd get far before she ran into something dangerous. Kew-Kew, at least, seemed somewhat harmless... as long as you weren't an eagle anyways. "If I had killed the bird, would I have suddenly become one?"

"If mouse had killed eagle, mousie would be mousie and Kew-Kew would be proud," chirped the wearet, beaming.

Margaret's paw reached up to her forehead, all the better to massage it. "Alright. But because you killed an eagle, you are one. So if you killed a fish, you'd be a fish as well?"

"If I killed swimmy-thing I would still be eagle," Kew-Kew protested. "All eagles eatta swimmy-thingies!"

Margaret bit her lip and once more found herself looking over the 'bird'. His sharp, yellow-ish teeth, the mask of dark fur around his eyes, his strong, furless arms... none of it was avian. He was missing a beak, wings, feathers of his own... Had he never been confronted with his own reflection? Had nobeast ever thrown a mirror at him? The mousemaid shook the thought away and breathed deeply. What Kew-Kew was did not matter to her. If he wanted to call himself an eagle, that was none of her business. The wearet had promised her freedom and Margaret was eager to seize it.

"You know what? You're right." she nodded slowly as she rose to her feetpaw. The mousemaid dusted off her ruined clothes and continued to nod the way a particularly thoughtful beast did. "You are an eagle. I don't know how I didn't see it before."

"Keeraw! Smart mousey-thing!"

"Now if you don't mind, since I helped you catch that other eagle and all." Margaret cleared her throat. "Could you help me find my way out of here?"

"Mouseything is lost?" Kew-Kew got up, shaking away any stray feathers that clung to him.

I wouldn't be here if I wasn't... "Yes. I'm lost and I have to get back to my family. I-I've already been gone for so long, they must be so worried." Margaret passed a paw over her face. "Could the... biggest, er- bestest eagle help a poor mousey-thing in need?"

"Of course I will help mousey-thing! Kraw! But mousey-thing should be careful with who mousey-thing trusts. Other eagles won't help a yummything like I do."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure the er- lesser eagles wouldn't hesitate to swallow me whole." She glanced down at the featherless corpse that had tried to do so not too long ago. Margaret might have felt more sympathy for the poor creature had it not tried to kill her. Still, she averted her eyes. Nobeast deserved to die like that... "I live in a small village not far from these woods. I... don't think you've ever been there, but I'm sure you'll be very helpful regardless."

"Yes, yes! I will be helpful! Most helpfullest eagle ever!" Kew-Kew scrambled over to where she stood, his fat, furless tail wagging besides him like a mutant rat's. The wearet sniffed the air and grinned. "Mousey-thing smells better! No longer fear-stinking!" He sniffed again. "Smells like flower now."

"That's great. Now, let's see. Over there is where you dropped the boulder so-"

"Not so fast mousie." As if to underline this statement, Kew-Kew stepped on her tail. The wearet raised a claw. "First I must feed the eggchickies and bring the big, dead bird to nest. Then mousey-thing goes to mousie village."

Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Gritting her teeth she nodded. "Fine then. We'll feed your chickies and take the eagle to your nest. And then you'll help me get home?"

"Yes, yes. I promises!" The eagle hunter pulled out a vine, and began to bind his captured prey, the easier to drag it along behind him. Setting the soft down, as well as the longer, taller feather's upon the raptor's lifeless chest, Kew-Kew motioned for Margaret to follow behind and the two set off.

Luckily for the unlucky mousemaid, who was all too eager to get home, it was not too long before Kew-Kew pointed out a particularly wide tree and declared 'Behold! Nest of Kew-Kew!'

"It looks lovely," said the mousemaid with a diplomatic smile. Frankly, it looked like a perfectly average tree, but saying so was likely to upset her large companion.

"Wait till mousey-thing sees inside," the wearet chirruped excitedly. "Nest is even better inside!" Pulling aside a curtain of leaves and plumage, Kew-Kew revealed a boulder that Margaret would not have been able to budge. One which he effortlessly sent rolling away. Behind it lay a tunnel.

Margaret hesitated, not knowing what would greet her at the end of it. It would be all too easy for Kew-Kew to murder her if she walked right into his lair. She shuddered, as the thought of being skinned and worn as a skirt crossed her mind, and stepped away from the cavern altogether.

"Mousey-thing is stinking again." Kew-Kew commented. The wearet cocked his head to the side. "Why is mousey-thing scared?"

"I'm not scared." Margaret cleared her throat to give herself something to do. "Just... cautious..." She watched in horror as Kew-Kew strung up the mound of flesh that had once been a mighty eagle. The raptor was beyond recognition now, a blob of lifeless pink, wrapped up in vines.

Picking up armfuls of the avian plumage, Kew-Kew snorted. "Mousie has no reason to be scaredy. Kew-Kew is good eagle, and eggchickies of Kew-Kew is also good eagles. Come, come! I make pancake for mousie!"

The last thing Margaret wanted at this point was whatever the wearet's idea of a pancake was. Saying so, however, was unlikely to help her get back any sooner. Kew-Kew's skirt of feathers, and the last of his furless tail vanished into the treetrunk. A final, hesitant pause later, Margaret followed.

The tunnel lead upwards into a wider part of the tree, before opening up into a perfectly round room of sorts. The soft down of perhaps a hundred unfortunate birds covered the floor, and upon the walls lay the bones and feathers of what could only be even more unfortunate birds. Spears of the crooked, jagged and blunt kind littered the place, and in a last-ditch attempt at hospitality Kew-Kew was gathering them up as swiftly as he could. To one side of the wearet's makeshift nest lay a small clutch of eggs, each as tall and as wide as Margaret herself.

"Ta-da!" Kew-Kew declared, dropping down on all fours. "What does mousey-thing think?"

Aside from the pungent, putrid stench that seemed to follow Kew-Kew everywhere and the questionable ethics of lining one's floor with eagle parts, it was rather... cozy? "It's lovely Kew-Kew."

The wearet's ears went pink and the smile on his face grew wider. "Mousey-thing is nice to say so." He gestured towards the eggs. "Eggchickies of Kew-Kew!" The wearet approached the eggs, and turned them towards Margaret. "Flap, Peck, Talon and Beaky!"

"They're lovely." Margaret found it strangely sympathizing that he had drawn individual faces on each of them. "I'm sure you're a wonderful father."

Kew-Kew's chest puffed out with the pride only a 'wonderful father' could muster. "Yes yes, Kew-Kew is good father to eggchickies." To underline his point, Kew-Kew wrapped his arms around the two nearest eggs and pulled them into a hug.

For perhaps the first time since they had met Margaret found herself overwhelmed with curiosity. A dozen questions raced through her mind, though she doubted Kew-Kew would know the answer to half of them. She was not entirely sure what he was, and it was already explicitly clear that he wasn't either. There was also the interesting question of how somebeast who admitted to eating eggs could raise eggs as if they were his own... and the equally interesting question of where he'd gotten his eggs from.

"Mousey-thing is quiet." The mousemaid nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Kew-Kew's voice behind her. For a beast as big as he was, he sure was stealthy. "Is mousie tired?"

"A little bit." Margaret admitted. "But I'll rest when I'm home... Say... Kew-Kew..." The questions returned to her with renewed frenzy, but she could only give voice to one. "Do you ever get lonely here?"

"Lonely? No, no. Kew-Kew is never alone." The wearet grinned wide. "I always has something to talk to!" The grin faltered. "B-but it is nice to have something talk to Kew-Kew. Even if it's preything."

The two drifted off into an uneasy, awkward silence. The mousemaid felt a stab of pity as Kew-Kew began to chew at his claw. He couldn't be too old and yet he was all alone, stuck in a tree and playing at eagleship. He needed guidance, clothes, a bath, companionship, perhaps a bit more fur in places... He needed a... parent?

"Does mousie have name?" said Kew-Kew, all of a sudden.

"Pardon?"

"Mousey-thing. Does it have a name or is it just a mousie?"

"Oh, it's Margaret." Insitinctively she stretched her paw out towards him.

Kew-Kew ignored the gesture, his brow furrowing. "Marr-garr-ett? Is Kew-Kew saying it right?"

"He is, I mean, you are." The mousemaid lowered her paw and the silence returned. This time it was Margaret who broke it. "If you don't mind me asking... why do you think you're an eagle?"

"Kraw!" The wearet shook his head good naturedly. "Margaret-mousie still thinks I is not an eagle."

"I didn't say that-"

"Mousie didn't, but Marr-garr-ett was thinking like that." Kew-Kew sat down and gestured for her to do the same. "I am eagle because I came from egg, like eagle. Because I live in eagle territory, like eagle. Because I hunt and look after eggchickies, like eagle!"

"But you haven't got any feathers." The mousemaid sat down, mentally preparing herself for what would no doubt be a long conversation. "Or a beak, o-or talons for that matter."

"Hihihihihi! But I has feathers." Kew-Kew gestured at his skirt. "I has beak." He tapped his muzzle. "I has talons." He waved his claws in her face.

"Those are claws," the mousemaid protested.

"Then these are talons." The wearet thrust his footpaw towards her.

Margaret brushed it away, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Those are also claws Kew-Kew."

"Looks like talons," he muttered under his breath. Idly he raised the same footpaw to scratch at an ear. "I asked Margaret-mousie before, when mousie was being bait. If I is not eagle, what is I?"

To Kew-Kew's credit, this time he waited longer than three seconds for an answer. Still, the mousemaid did not have a reply to that beyond pursing her lips.

"Krackaw! Hihihihihihi! Mousie doesn't know! Mousie doesn't know!" The wearet grinned. "How can mousie say what I is not, if mousie doesn't know what I is?"

"Because I know what an eagle is. E-eagles are birds."

"I is bird too." Kew-Kew stuck his tongue out at her, the way an insolent dibbun would.

"But you're not! Birds have wings. Birds fly. Y- you don't."

"Not all birds flap-fly, mousie." Kew-Kew countered, easing himself into a more comfortable position.

Margaret opened and shut her mouth, unable to find a response to the wearet's argument. "But you can't be a bird!"

"Hihihihihi!" The wearet snickered and slid his eyes shut. "Margaret-mousie should sleep. When morning-time come I takes her to mousie village."

"Sleep? What do you mean sleep? You said we were just coming here to feed your eggchicks!" Margaret protested, not at all keen on spending the night in a nest.

"Is dark now." Kew-Kew protested back. "Margaret-mousie is tired. Better wait for morning-time."

"I'm not tired." The mousemaid shot to her feetpaws, the better to underline her statement.

"But I is." The wearet's eyes cracked open. "Please mousie. Wait for morning-time. Then I takes you home. Yes?"

Margaret growled, and was sorely tempted to give the ignorant savage a kick, but decided better of it. It would not do to antagonize Kew-Kew now. "Fine."

"Yay!" Kew-Kew shut his eyes, and curled up to sleep.

"But at first light we are leaving. Understood?"

The wearet's reply came as a soft snore. The mousemaid bit back another growl.

It was the longest wait of her life. The snore of the eagle-that-was-not-an-eagle echoed throughout it's nest, bouncing from wall to wall and denying it's guest the sweet silence of sleep. After an hour or two Margaret decided she was better off sleeping outside, but a short trip through the tunnel later she found to her horror that the boulder door had been replaced at some point. Kew-Kew's snoring sounded quite a lot like mocking laughter then. Once more braving the den of the wearet, Margaret sat down amidst the eggs, crossed her arms and watched as the Northland's most misguided predator snoozed the night away.

Margaret did not remember falling asleep, but knew that she must have at some point for the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was the wearet's slobbery grin. "Morning mousey-thing!"

"Morning." Margaret replied cordially, batting away at the wearet's breath.

"Well is not actually morning." Kew-Kew scratched the back of his head. "Is more noon-time. I woke up early, but Margaret was sleeping so peaceful-like. I didn't want to wake uppa mousie. But is not too late to go to village! Mousey-thing village not far, right? I can take you there now, like I promise. Unless mousie wanna eatta eagle, first?"

Margaret most certainly did not want to eat an eagle, but she did not remember the last time she'd eaten. And despite her private thoughts about his pancakes, Margaret had to admit that the chunk of roasted flesh he was offering her looked rather succulent. Eventually, as it so often did, hunger won out.

A while later the pair sat outside the nest, munching on big, dead eagle meat. "Kew-Kew?"

"Yes Margaret-mousie?"

"If you don't mind me asking... what was your mother like?" Kew-Kew's snoring may have deprived her of sleep, but the mousemaid's mind was still sharp. If Kew-Kew could remember an eagle killing his mother, such that his singular goal in life was to kill and pluck eagles, then surely he would know that his mother was not an eagle herself. At least she had deduced as much.

"I know what mousie is thinking." Kew-Kew smirked slightly. "And mother of Kew-Kew was eagle too, just like Kew-Kew."

"Just like you?" Margaret pursed her lips. "So she couldn't fly either?"

"No, no. Mother could fly. Mother had wings as tall as trees. But Kew-Kew was always small eagle. Biggest eagle- but small. I never could flap-fly like mother." He shrugged. "I is not that type of bird."

"So you were adopted?" Margaret blurted out. "Oh it all makes sense now, you were adopted by an eagle and so think-"

"I don't think!" Kew-Kew snapped. "I is eagle, mousie. Not eagle like mother, but still eagle. In fact, mousie is lucky I is different. Mother loved mousey-things more than anything!"

Margaret recoiled and a moment later, the wearet's ears fell. "Sorry. I is not meaning to scare Margaret-mousie. Is just... " Kew-Kew glanced about the forest to make sure nobeast was listening in. "I is... sensitive. Lotsa beasts say I is not eagle. Mousie is not the first. It always bothered Kew-Kew, because Kew-Kew always feel like eagle. I has always been eagle! An-and if I is not eagle-"

"What is I..." Margaret muttered under her breath.

"Yes. If I is not eagle I is something else but if I is something else I is not eagle." Kew-Kew finished.

Another stab of pity made it's way through Margaret. Of course he wanted to be an eagle, he'd been one for so long that the thought of being anything else terrified him. And rightfully so, Margaret could not begin to think what her reaction would be to waking up one morning and realizing that she was, in fact, a rat. "Well, how about this? In my village there's a library-"

"Lie-bray-ree?"

"It's a place where beasts keep books."

"Books?"

You poor thing... "It is where beasts go to have their questions answered. So... if we hurry home we can go there-"

"And ask why mousey-thingies always says I is not eagle!" Kew-Kew finished, clapping his paws excitedly. "Kraw! Margaret-mouse is smart. Almost as smart as Kew-Kew!"

"Yes," Margaret blinked once. "Almost as smart as Kew-Kew..."

It took the eagle-that-was-not-an-eagle almost an entire hour to leave the nest. Margaret waited outside the tunnel, her footpaw tapping away at a piece of exposed root. Find the path, get home... that shouldn't be too difficult. If only we could get started already!

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Kew-Kew scampered out the tree trunk. "Kraw! I is ready Marr-garr-ett. Mousie village is not far, yes?" he asked, rolling the boulder back into place and covering it once more in vines and foliage. "Eggchickies have enough to eat for many days, but not too many." He turned to face her. "I can come back soon, yes?"

There was a sort of nervousness about him that Margaret had never seen before. His tail thrashed from side to side behind him, and his ears swivelled about left and right in search of some non-existent threat.

The mousemaid told him what he needed to hear. "Of course you can come back. Nobeast will keep you prisoner. If you want to go, you'll be allowed to go." She stretched her paw towards the frightened wearet, who seized it as if it were a lifeline. "You're more than welcome to stay of course. I guess I owe you that much after your... hospitality." Turning away from the makeshift nest, Margaret began to lead the way.

"Yes yes, mousey-thing is right. Eggchickies will behave, and Marr-garr-ett will be with family. I is silly for being scaredy."

At this the mousemaid could not stop herself from snorting. "Scared? Sweet-cherry pie Kew-Kew, you hunt eagles for a living. How can you be scared of anything? This is just a short trip to a small village. Nothing to be scared of."

"I knows, I knows." Kew-Kew raised a gnarled claw to his lips, the better to chew at it. "But I never leave eggchickiesh for sho long. And not all moushies are like Marr-garr-ett." He pointed the saliva-coated claw at the aforementioned mousemaid. "Margaret-mouse is kind and smart. Very scaredy but not mean. Other mousies much meaner and say all kinds of bad things about Kew-Kew."

Is this before, or after you string them up as eagle bait?

Oblivious to Margaret's private thoughts Kew-Kew continued. "They say I is crazy, I is ugly, I is stupid. They say I is not eagle. One called Kew-Kew vermin!" The wearet huffed. "And after I catch eagle and frees them, they is all angry and screaming and blaming Kew-Kew. Then they run off into the woods and I never sees them again."

"Well I don't think you've met anyone from where I come from." Margaret's village wasn't particularly big and if any of her neighbours had been kidnapped and used as eagle bait, she would have heard about it. "And I'll be sure to put a good word in for you."

Kew-Kew beamed, and his tail began to wag. "Is very nice of mousey."

''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was nearly midday by the time Kew-Kew and Margaret stumbled upon the rough cobblestone path, and by the time they reached the outskirts of the mousemaid's village, the sun was high in the sky and beating down upon them with all the fury of a vengeful deity. Together they scrambled up the final obstacle- a hill entirely devoid of thorns. At the top, a small, creaking sign welcomed them both to Thornhill Grove.

Kew-Kew, who had never laid eyes on a sign before, stared at it (and the village beyond) in wonder.

More than used to the view, Margaret merely sighed in relief. The end of her ordeals seemed to be in sight.

"This is village of mousey, yes?" The wearet beside her whistled appreciatively at the place she called home. "Is big, is very big. Lotsa mouse-nests."

"Well it's not really that big, at least, when compared to other towns and such." Margaret rubbed the back of her neck. "This is nothing compared to, say, Craylock."

Kew-Kew tested the word on his tongue. "Cray-lock?"

She waved away the question. "It's another town. You wouldn't know about it, nothing happens there anyways." Raising a paw, the mousemaid pointed at a far-off corner of the village. "I live somewhere around there, so not too far left but erm... I was hoping to ask you a favour?"

"Kraw! Of course I do Marr-garr-ett favour." He clapped his paws excitedly, and for a moment Margaret wasn't sure he knew the meaning of favour.

Still, things would be easier if she could prepare for his arrival. "Well it's just, most of my neighbours have never seen a er- an eagle before. Er- especially not one like you and well, we wouldn't want to frighten them, now would we?"

Kew-Kew nodded in primitive agreement. "Mousies stink big when scaredy."

You have a strange sense of smell... thought Margaret. "Exactly!" said Margaret. "A-a-and that's why I was thinking it might be best if you waited here and let me go ahead and er- help everybeast get ready for you." The mousemaid clapped her paws togethers and put on her most winning smile.

"Wait... here?"

To her surprise the wearet sat down immediately. "Yes, yes. I wait here. Momma come back, yes?"

"Y-er-yes I'll come back. Just er- don't go anywhere, alright?"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Come back? Of course I'll be back!" A tall jill threw her head back and laughed as she set down a small ball of pink skin and sparse fur. "Just wait there lil' rat an' momma'll be right back!"

"Awlwight momma! I'll be de best waitew evah," promised the infant. By the time he finished speaking however, his mother was long gone. The creature wriggled himself into a more comfortable position amidst the brambles and feathers that surrounded him and leaned back against a large, white stone-thing.

Then the waiting began. At first it was easy for Kew-Kew to occupy himself. All the branches were different, and he spent a great deal of time hopping around the white stone, waving his sticks high in the air.

It wasn't until this game got boring that the young wearet grew impatient. Crossing his paws over his chest Kew-Kew leaned back against the stone, his footpaw tapping impatiently at the brambles. He tapped away until he got tired, then he settled for standing very still.

As the forest darkened, his arms grew slack and fell to his sides. His ears flattened themselves against the top of his head and only shot up at the sound of movement. Yet nothing sounded like his mother's approach. Not the rustle of feathers. Not the shadow that fell over him. Not even the sharp beak that leaned in to sniff.

Eventually the harsh truth set in, the way a cold wind did, and the wearet whimpered. A comforting talon was placed gently on his shoulder, and Kew-Kew clung to it desperately as tears began to slide down his face.

"Kraw," he cawed, coming back into reality. The 'weird dreams' as he liked to call them had come and gone for as long as he could remember, yet never stayed long. "Mousey is taking long time," the wearet mused- the 'dream' already banished from memory. Frowning slightly, he rolled onto his front- the better to stare at the village below. "Maybe mousey is lost again? No, is Marr-garr-ett's home. Only big stupid gets lost in home... but Marr-garr-ett is also not big smart..." Thoughtfully, Kew-Kew picked at his nose.

Going to look for Margaret was the nice thing to do, but she had also asked him not to follow her. As much as he would have liked to take a closer look at the village below, the mousemaid probably wouldn't like it if he did that.

"Yes, yes. I is good eagle. I listen to smart mousey Marr-garr-ett thing and wait here. I is good waiter. Always wait for the eagles to swoop in and then-"

The wearet's tummy rumbled slightly.

"Lunchy-time!" he cheered, scampering down the hillside without another thought.

....

Among the many things Kew-Kew considered himself the 'bestest' at, it was stealth that proved the most useful. The wearet's feetpaw made nary a sound as he slunk across tiled rooftops. Nobeast noticed his furless paws snatch a flowerpot off a window-sill. Nor did the chattering mousies take note of the clothes disappearing from their washing lines. Imperceptibly, Kew-Kew bolstered his new-found collection of trinkets with any strange objects he caught sight of. And the eyesight of an eagle was legendary.

Taking shelter behind a particularly wide chimney, Kew-Kew spread his treasures across the roof of a bakery. To the average beast they were mundane items, the kind of things that often went missing and were swiftly banished from memory. To Kew-Kew they were strange and foreign and exciting and the wearet was most eager to explore them.

A set of thin, round things jingled and jangled and made all sorts of noise as he tossed them high into the air. But they were hard things and cold, and wouldn't fill him up.

He chomped at the flowers next and found that they were not at all tasty. Spitting them out, he proceeded to dig through the soil. Kew-Kew was most disappointed that there were no worms inside, and upended the flowerpot's contents onto the street below. Frowning, he decided that this object was useless and boring, and tossed it over his shoulder.

Oblivious to the sound of shattering clay, the wearet picked up a dreamcatcher, and fiddled with the weaving. His claws slid through and poked at the intricately made patterns, until he decided that it would look pretty atop his head.

"And Kew-Kew is pretty eagle!" he giggled, batting at the feathers and ribbons dangling from the object the way a dibbun would.

Still wearing the dreamcatcher, Kew-Kew moved on to the final object- a scarf. "Notta good rope," he commented, having accidentally torn it to shreds. Realization struck him as soon as he had tossed the remaining rags into the wind, and suddenly horrified, he cried out in alarm.

"I is gonna starve in village of preythings!"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The initial panic faded away as soon as Kew-Kew started using his nose. A hundred different scents hit him all at once, each as mouthwatering as the next, and they all seemed to be coming from behind his head.

The wearet twisted around, peered down the nearest chimney and took several deep breaths. The most delicious things were sending up tentacles of smoke to meet him, hooking their tendrils round his nose and beckoning him forth. They were calling him and Kew-Kew was not the type of beast to refuse an invitation. Licking his chops, the wearet climbed down the sweet-smelling tunnel, his tummy rumbling in approval.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Everything at the end of it screamed to be eaten. Demanded to be tasted. The wearet was more than happy to oblige- and had already left behind a long trail of half-eaten bread loaves. Crumpets, muffins, pancakes, quiches- Kew-Kew snatched and tore at them all without mercy. His stomach had long since stopped complaining, but it was now the wearet's tastebud's that ached for more.

A sizzling, buttered-up pancake was snatched from its pan, rolled up and swallowed whole. A loaf of nutbread was torn to crumbs in a matter of seconds. Kew-Kew's teeth, long since adjusted to tearing at flesh alone, made short work of all that was put before him, till at last the most offensive of belches came roaring forth.

"Beshtest... nesht... evah!" Kew-Kew grinned, picking his teeth. "Only missing a sweet-thing..." The wearet sniffed at the air, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The overwhelming stench of fear hit him like a bucket of cold water. Slowly, he turned towards the doorway and found himself faced with a violently-shaking hedgehog.

Kew-Kew glanced about the bakery and opened his mouth to greet the spiky-thing. Yet before he could utter a single syllable, the creature fainted clear away.

The wearet closed his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. "Marr-garr-ett mousie should be back by now."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

It was a bit of a squeeze getting back up the chimney (Kew-Kew blamed the food), but soon enough the wearet emerged with a fresh coating of soot to boast about. He swaggered across the rooftops, smacking satisfied lips and rubbing a content tummy, when suddenly his ears twitched.

In the distance a bell began to ring, but not too far away Kew-Kew heard somebeast call his name.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

"Doesn't sound like Marr-garr-ett..."

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

"Kraw! Could be trapses!"

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

The voice began to ring within his head.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

"Kraw! Fine!" The wearet threw his paws into the air in a show of frustration. "Kew-Kew coming, Kew-Kew coming!"

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Blasted thing is broken again!" Somebeast was saying as the insistent calling continued. The noise was coming from a window somewhere beneath him. As quietly and quickly as he could, Kew-Kew scrambled off the roof and onto the side of the loud mousie-nest. His talons found easy purchase between the square-stones , and soon enough he had found what he was looking for.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

"Just shut up," a weasel howled, beating the watch against his desk. It returned the gesture by singing louder than ever.

CUCKOO! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!

"The neighbours will complain again," said the weasel, screwing his eyes shut. "Damn mice."

"Kraw! Is a noisy-box!"

"They'll complain again and I'll get evicted and-" the rest of their sentence was cut short by a girlish shriek. Their own, of course, but then most creatures would have made a similar (if not as high-pitched) noise at the sight of a wearet pushing open their window.

The weasel-thing stumbled backwards, tripped over something (as beasts often did when scared witless), shot to his feetpaws and darted out the room. Screaming the entire time.

Kew-Kew paid him no mind, barely registered the lingering stink of a frightened creature, and picked up the strange-noise box. He turned it over in his paws, but found that it had grown silent. The wearet shook it thoroughly, but not another 'cuckoo' was to be heard.

"Looks like mousie-nest." Kew-Kew frowned thoughtfully, his eyes darting from the box in his paws to the houses outside. "Nest of veeeery lil' mousie?" Lifting the box up, he pressed it against his ear in search of the tell-tale heartbeats of a living thing. There were none to be found but there was a kind of ticking sound coming from within the box. A quick sniff, however, confirmed that no teeny-tiny mice resided within the strange little nest.

He was just about to put it down and make his way back towards the hill Marr-garr-ett had so kindly asked him to wait on, when the true owner of the home emerged.

CUCKOO! CUCKOO! CUCKOO!

Kew-Kew cawed in alarm and thrust the noisy box at arm's length. A small, yet bloodthirsty bird flapped towards him with all the fury of a badger in bloodwrath, before retreating once more behind the doors of it's home.

Kew-Kew swiftly glanced about to make sure nobeast had seen his brief moment of terror. The fact that the bird had been the only witness only made his next course of action the obvious one. "Kraw! Kew-Kew just wanted sweet-thing!" The wearet licked his lips. "Hihihihihi! Bye-bye angry bird-thing!"

The next coo of the cuckoo clock, would be its last.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

A pair of elderly rodents shouted at each other from balconies a street apart. "Matilda! Did you take my flowerpot?"

"The one with the roses Heidi?"

"No don't be daft, the lavender."

"In that case I did not."

"Hmmm... So you did steal my roses..." Heidi Bankvole muttered under her breath.

"Did you take anything from my washing line?" demanded Matilda Dormouse. "I've got a scarf missing, and I could've sworn I had more cloaks than this."

Before the bankvole could holler out her response a frightened weasel raced past the pair, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"There is a monster in my office! A-a huge, towering, hulking, s-slobbering, ravenous, hungry-looking-"

"Somebeast's spent too much time with the thesaurus..." Matilda muttered.

"I barely escaped with my life," the weasel went on, oblivious. "You should have seen it, the monstrosity, strong enough to tear me apart a-and with barely any fur. Terrible teeth-"

The pair of old ladies yawned as the terrified vermin went on about this new threat to their community. The townsfolk began to peer from windows and balconies all around, or else stopped and stared.

"It tried to kill me I swear to you!"

Many were skeptical of the existence of the creature that was being described, until the baker emerged from his bakery, wailing as loudly as a spoiled dibbun.

Then all hellgates broke loose.

"Heidi!" Matilda called, lighting a torch from the safety of her balcony. "Get the pitchforks out!"

,,,,,,,,,

"Of course I had second thoughts! I had second, third, and fourth thoughts! But I couldn't just leave him alone like that. All by himself with nobeast to talk to but his eggs."

"Maggy you just said he wasn't a bird!

"He's not!"

"Then why does he have eggs?"

"I-I don't know? I didn't think to ask."

"Well you clearly weren't thinking when you brought an eagle to our village. You do know eagles eat mice, right?"

"I am well aware, thank you." Margaret hissed, recalling the wide open beak of the eagle Kew-Kew had killed. "But for the last time Kew-Kew is not an eagle!"

"Then why do you keep saying he is?"

"I never said that he was an eagle!" The mousemaid tugged her ears in frustration. She loved her family, she really did, but nothing irritated her as much as them. "Look, you'll see him for yourselves soon enough and then you'll understand why I brought him here. Alright?" Her parents and siblings shared looks of concern and worry, to which Margaret rolled her eyes. "I'll take that as a yes. Now come on, before he gets himself into trouble."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

It did not take long for the townsfolk to find Kew-Kew. Stealthy though he was, he stuck out like a sore thumb in a village where everybeast knew each other. Catching the 'eagle' was a different matter.

For his part, the wearet was not sure why the mousies were so determined to capture him- the bird he'd eaten hadn't been a real bird (which had irritated him to say the least)- but he didn't care too much either.

A pair of mice came charging at him from opposite ends of a street. Long-since accustomed to dodging diving eagles, Kew-Kew merely stepped aside and let the rodents run into each other.

"Hihihihi! Kraw! Mousies not as quick as Kew-Kew"

A third mouse managed to sneak up on the giggling wearet, pounce upon his back and throw their skinny arms around his neck.

"I've got it! I've got the monster!"

"Kew-Kew is eagle, not mon-star," the eagle-that-was-not-an-eagle corrected good-naturedly, not at all bothered by the mouse's pathetic attempts to choke him.

A fourth mouse tore down the street to meet the wearet head on, pitchfork in paw. "It's here! The monster's here!"

Kew-Kew scrambled up the side of a house to get away from the overly-zealous mob-member. The mouse clinging to his back shrieked in terror as the ground grew further away from them, and clung on all the harder.

Kew-Kew watched, giggling and cackling, as the streets below began to fill with mousey-things, ratty-things and weasel-things. Many were armed with spiky-forks and hot-woods and plenty were shouting, but all stunk of fear and Kew-Kew knew from experience that a scared preything was an easy preything.

"Hihhihihi! Mousies slow! Mousies slow!" Kew-Kew taunted, as he hopped down from the roof and into the crowd below. His prey scattered and screamed, their pitchforks and torches forgotten. Cackling, and using the face of another unfortunate mouse as a stepping stone, he hopped onto another roof. The mouse on his back screamed all the louder, their eyes screwed tightly shut.

With a great roll of his eyes and an impish grin, Kew-Kew dropped onto all fours and shook off the irritable rodent, then he sat down and surveyed the crowd below. His mother would have made short work of them all, and belched afterwards but Kew-Kew was not that type of bird. In truth he found their puny attempts at scaring him off amusing.

"Monster!" the crowd screamed as they lost what little courage they had had to begin with.

"Run for your lives!"

"All hope is lost!"

"Evacuate the village!"

"Kew-Kew!" Margaret stomped towards the wearet, her teeth gritted and her paws curled into fists. "Get down right this instant!"

Swallowing audibly, and knowing that now was most certainly not the time for argument, Kew-Kew clambered down the building and made his way towards Margaret with his tail between his legs.

The frightened mob fell silent, and stared dumbly at the scene.

"You promised to wait," Margaret went on crossly, more than aware of the fact that everybeast was now staring. Well, that was to be expected- she had been missing for some time. Then again, the mousemaid doubted any of them were staring at her.

"Kew-Kew did wait," said the eagle, sheepishly. "But mousie was taking a long time and Kew-Kew was hungry." At the sight of her widened eyes and sudden palour, the wearet shook his head rapidly from side to side. "Kraw! No, no, I don't eat any mousies. No needs to be scaredy. Kew-Kew is just playing with the mouseythings, see?" He gestured at the crowd, many of whom had either fainted away or had their jaws hanging open.

Eventually somebeast broke the silence that ensued. "M-Margaret, d-do you know this beast?"

The addressed mousemaid chewed her lip, and turned to face her neighbours. "A-as a matter of fact yes. Er- Kew-Kew is..." she glanced in the wearet's direction. "Well you could say he's a er-friend of mine."

"Kraw! Kraw! Keeraw!" The eagle-that-was-not-an-eagle pounced upon a table with a great flap of his wings.

"Getit getit! Catch de eagle!" A swarm of dibbuns were in hot pursuit.

"KRAW!" Kew-Kew cawed in alarm, as one of the innumerable little mousies pounced upon his furless tail.

It had been a few days since Margaret's return and Kew-Kew's arrival, and what was normally a quiet, peaceful house in a neighborhood made up of quiet, peaceful houses had become something of a circus.

"Getit! Getit!" Cheered the leading dibbun, refusing to let go despite the wild wagging of the wearet's tail.

"Quick! Quick! Before it flies!"

Yet too late. Kew-Kew's ability to leap from tree to tree (or rather, furniture piece to furniture piece) came in handy once more, and before the armada of miniature mice could surround him, he had shimmied up the chandelier.

"Nooooo!" cried the dibbun clinging on to Kew-Kew's tail, as the floor grew further and further out of reach.

"Hihihihihi!" Kew-Kew giggled, his own paw tightening around the dibbun's tail. He pulled the squirming, squealing and laughing mouse to eye level, and did not hesitate to lick them across the face.

"Ew! Yucky!" came the chorus of the dibbuns below.

"Not as yucky as lil' mousie-worms," Kew-Kew retorted, doing his best to appear as if he'd swallowed something foul and unappetizing. "Not even hungry eagle can eat it."

The laughter and giggling that followed was interrupted by the voice of another creature.

"Children! Time for school!" It was the Violet-mousie. The one that took the dibbuns away and forced them to do such horrible-sounding things like 'learning' and 'education'.

"Nooo!" the young mice all chorused.

"Quick!" said one, taking shelter behind a cuckoo clock.

"Hide!" cried another, vanishing under the carpet.

But it was too little, too late. Violet opened the door before any more children could choose their escape routes, and all it took was a stern glance for the dibbuns to know that now was not the time for arguments.

Several goodbyes later and Kew-Kew was left to his own devices. The mouse family had been kind enough to give him an entire nest for himself, and needless to say he was nothing short of grateful.

They were a strange bunch of mousey-things to be sure, but not bad at all. Elizabeth and Tom-mousie were always kind and patient with him. They were old, fragile things with bent whiskers and wrinkled, smiling faces. Despite the fact that they were also convinced he was not an eagle (for reasons Kew-Kew knew not), Kew-Kew liked them very much.

He was less fond of their son, the Barth-mousie, who had attempted to water-cook him a day into his stay.

"C-cook n-no! Don't be ridiculous." Barth gave a nervous laugh. "I-it's just a bath you know? Help you wash up and stuff."

Of course the wearet had proved more than a match for the frightened preything, and had proceeded to serve the burly bully a taste of his own medicine.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! N-no! Not the soap! Not the soap! My EYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

Barth had not bothered him again.

Marr-garr-ett's other brother, the Hammond-mousie, was fun, but was more frightened of Kew-Kew than anybeast else. At times it was hard to be in the same room as the fear-stinking plump one...

"Is not fault of Kew-Kew if Hammond-mousie is perfect eagle bait," the wearet muttered crossly, as even now he detected the terrified mouse's unmistakeable stench.

The Violet-mousie kept her distance, yet Kew-Kew knew she was not all bad. She was after all, the mother of his dearest friends. The lil' mousie-worms. They were a loud, noisy bunch, and no doubt his own mother would have found them a delightful appetiser, but Kew-Kew loved them to bits. They were like more energetic versions of his own eggchicks and always had a dozen different games to play.

They were also the only creatures in the household wise enough to know an eagle when they saw one.

"Kew-Kew?"

"Marr-garr-ett!" And finally the nicest of them all, a mouse even his own mother would have (momentarily) hesitated to devour. Kind, patient, gentle- stubborn in her misguided thoughts on his identity but Kew-Kew could forgive her that one flaw- the Margaret-mousie. "Kraw! How is mousie today?"

"I'm well, thank you." Margaret smiled slightly. "I was just thinking about going to the library and wondered if you wanted to come."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The minute he stepped footpaw outside the door, Kew-Kew's nose wrinkled in disgust. The stench of fear floated through the air, as overpowering and offensive as the raised posterior of a deceased pheasant. He could feel a dozen eyeballs following his movements, from every window and on every street somebeast seemed determined to stare at him.

It was unnerving, being so exposed. Normally only the fearsome night-eagles could see him before he saw them, but here there was no escaping the gazes of the townsfolk- not when Margaret insisted he walk like an ordinary beast at least. They watched and watched, and he who had always been the hunter, felt himself the hunted. Kew-Kew shivered slightly.

"Now I stink too..." The wearet muttered under his growl.

Margaret had heard him of course. Margaret almost always heard him. But she made no reply beyond offering him her paw. Kew-Kew took it gratefully and could not help but notice that Margaret smelled like roses. That she no longer feared him put a spring in his step. Unfortunately, said spring vanished instantly at the sight of the library.

A huge block of solid rock, the likes of which one would never find in any forest, stood tall and cast a dark shadow over all below. It stretched up so high it seemed to touch the sky and scatter the clouds.

"All it misses is a bit of lightning in the background." Margaret mused. Besides her Kew-Kew was shaking and shivering like a leaf in a gale. The mousemaid gave his paw a reassuring squeeze (he returned the gesture by clamping down upon her paw with enough strength to crush all the bones within it), and lead him past the wide open jaws of the beast (the doors of the library).

Despite it's impressive size- the library was easily the largest building in the village- the library was not as well-stocked as one could expect. A dozen empty bookshelves greeted them and thrice as many said hello with nothing but a few manuscripts to boast of. The ignorant might have assumed that the populace were all avid readers, but Margaret knew that books were precious, rare and hard to come by.

Which was why she screamed as loudly as she did, when she spotted Kew-Kew chomping down on one.

Instinctively, she clamped her free paw over her mouth, but it was too late. A dozen beasts materialized from between the bookshelves, each as insistent as the other that silence be maintained. A moment later most of them screamed at the sight of the wearet (less so because he was eating one of their books, and moreso because Kew-Kew was Kew-Kew) and vanished back into the bookshelves.

"Books are not for eating." Margaret whispered furiously, once all the echoed screams had faded away.

Kew-Kew had the grace to look sheepish as he swallowed. "Iss very chewy..." he admitted. "But taste better than mousey-thing."

The mousemaid, unable to reply to that without raising her voice, gritted her teeth and dragged him away from the shelves as quickly as she could.

...

"How... curious..." said the head librarian, upon being confronted by the unlikely pair. He was an old weasel who had had the misfortune of being struck by lightning in his youth. His perpetually-frazzled fur and drooping whispers were a testament to this incident. Setting aside the tomes and manuscripts he had been poring over, he gestured for the pair to make themselves comfortable. "Yes very curious indeed, and you are quite sure you are an eagle?"

"I is," said Kew-Kew, taking another bite out of 'Ten Delicious Recipes To Excite Yer Friends With'.

"Well I'm afraid Mister Kew-Kew, that that is not the case. I know exactly what you are, and only need a glance to do so." The librarian paused for dramatic effect. "You are a wearet."

"A what?" Margaret blurted out, she glanced towards Kew-Kew who continued to chew- sullenly.

"A wearet, child," said the weasel, flipping through a book with practiced speed. "A very rare creature, especially in these parts. It is er- what happens when a weasel and a ferret grow too close."

"I ish not weahsel-shing," Kew-Kew muttered, from around another mouthful of paper and ink.

"Indeed, you are something else entirely. Owing to their rarity there is not much information on your kind. The majority die young, an unnatural combination you know- all sorts of issues with health and deformities... Have you always had such little fur?"

Kew-Kew nodded.

The librarian smiled. "Those that do survive childhood are usually employed by some horde, or some warlord or what will you. Their frightening countenance alone has laid waste to heroes big and small. You say you were adopted by an eagle-"

"Marr-garr-ett said that," Kew-Kew grumbled. "Kew-Kew said mother of Kew-Kew is eagle."

"But surely you must know that that can't be the case." The librarian found the page he was looking for, smiled very widely and turned it towards the wearet. "Surely even you must realize you have more in common with this fine fellow here than our feathered friends?"

Margaret flinched at the drawing. A roaring beast, with slobber dripping from it's long, deformed fangs. It's back was arched and deformed, one arm was longer than the other, it had a flat, squashed nose and it's ears did not seem to exist. Even the mousemaid had to admit that the resemblance was scant.

"Looks nothing like Kew-Kew," sniffed the wearet, his nose turned towards the ceiling. "No feathers, no mask, no smart. Wings of Kew-Kew are same size, back of Kew-Kew is not so bent, teeth of Kew-Kew is more yellow, nose of Kew-Kew is good sniffer, ears of Kew-Kew are on head of Kew-Kew. Iss not Kew-Kew, iss wearet. Kew-Kew is eagle."

The librarian ceased smiling at once, and turned, befuddled, towards Margaret. The mouse could only shrug at the look on his face.

"I-I don't, I mean. Does every eagle look the same?"

"No. Some eagles big, some eagles small. Some eagles flap-fly, some eagle no fly."

"Exactly, and so you see, not every wearet looks the same either. In fact, owing to the fact that wearets are hybrids you'll find rather... large differences just based on the individual mother and father. So while you might not look like this one, you can surely see there is some... similarity."

"Not similar." The wearet crossed his paws over his chest. "I is not wearet."

"You are," the librarian insisted, flicking through the book in search of another artistic rendition. "You are the spitting image of one."

"I is not spitting. But iffen weasel-thing is wanting spit, Kew-Kew will spit."

"He means you look like a wearet." Margaret translated.

"Weasel-thing is rude."

"I'm not being rude I'm just- aha! This one's better." The librarian put on his most winning smile, and flipped the book towards them.

...

"Rawr! Rawr! Krawr! We caught de eagle!"

Kew-Kew sighed dejectedly as the young mice swarmed all over him. They pulled at his whiskers, his tail, what little fur he had and even his eagle-feather skirt- yet the wearet payed them no mind whatsoever.

"Children! Time for dinner!"

Kew-Kew rolled onto his back and waved away the Violet-mousie's calls. For the first time in a long time, he found he had no appetite.

"Kew-Kew? Are you awake?"

The wearet did not make a sound until Margaret's footsteps had faded clean away.

He clambered out the window, just as the claws of dawn began to stretch across the horizon. The sun rose as Kew-Kew sat himself down atop the chimney.

"I is not eagle..." the wearet sniffed, his eyes growing as wet as the dewy grass below. His resemblance to the second picture had been uncanny... irrefutable. A painful truth. His mother had not been his mother. Her caring wings, and loving beak had all been a lie. His whole life had been a lie. "Kew-Kew is smallest, worstest, stupidest wearet. So stupid wearet-thing that Kew-Kew thinks Kew-Kew is eagle." He kicked at a loose tile, and felt marginally better at the sound of it shattering upon the street below. "Wearet that hunts eagles," he spat, disgusted at the very thought. "And momma... momma never tell Kew-Kew..."

"No, no! Kraw! Kew-Kew no flap-fly!" Large talons wrapped themselves around the young wearet's middle, and dragged him away from the edge and towards the center of their nest. "Bad Kew-Kew! Bad!"

"B-but all de oder egg-chickies flappy-flap," Kew-Kew complained as she set him down amidst the unhatched eggs.

"Kraw, you is just not that kind of bird," said his mother, gently caressing the top of his head.

"I is not bird-thing momma." Kew-Kew hissed, hopping to his feetpaw. "Is is wearet. Stupid, stinky wearet. Not eagle. Not eagle..." Breathing heavily, he stomped towards the edge of the roof. He knocked aside tile after tile in his frustrated sorrow.

"Birds have wings. Birds fly. Y- you don't."

The wearet shook away the memory. "We'll see mousie... we'll see." Kew-Kew growled. He glared down at the garden below, hating it as much as the drawings in the library, and jumped.

...

"Owwwieee..."

"Oh for the love of baked apricot tarts, Kew-Kew what were you thinking?" Elizabeth huffed. "Jumping from a roof like that, and in the early morning no less? At a time reserved for sleeping? Heaven help me boy, that was stupid of you."

"Lucky you landed on the rose-garden really." Barth was saying. "Imagine if you'd hit your head on the fence..."

"I'd rather not imagine that." Margaret shuddered, and picked a thorn free of the wearet's foot. "In any case we're lucky the flowers were there."

"Pity about the thorns," Hammond muttered, pulling out another of the prickly little things.

"I tried to flap," Kew-Kew sniffed. "T-to be eagle again." He winced as another thorn was tugged away. The wearet sobbed. "But I fail!"

"Perhaps it's for the best son." Tom placed a consoling paw on the wearet's shoulder. "Being an eagle looks mighty dangerous."

Kew-Kew merely sobbed louder in response.

Elizabeth shot her husband a look, and Tom scurried off with a mumble about getting breakfast ready. "Well that's the last of them," the mouse-mother announced- tossing away the final thorn. "Try to rest up dear, and don't even think about doing anything like that again."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Pity and guilt chewed away at Margaret as she chewed her breakfast. Aside from the very real danger that Kew-Kew would get himself killed in his attempts to prove he was an eagle, a simple fact remained to tear her apart. The wearet had been happy in his ignorance. What right did she or any library book have to take that away from him?

"How are you feeling?" she asked a short while later, Having brought him a breakfast tray.

"Bad." Kew-Kew admitted. He looked smaller than ever, his eyes red and puffy. "Lotsa hurts." He sniffed at the food but turned away quickly. "I is not hungry Marr-garr-ett. Feed the mouseyworms."

"Food would do you some good really." Margaret dangled a pancake in front of his nose. "And whatever happened to being the er- biggest, bestest hungriest eagle, eh?"

"Stop! Please!" Kew-Kew whined and threw his paws over his ears in a desperate attempt at blocking out the noise. "Don't mousey-thing. I is not stupid. Now mousie feel bad for Kew-Kew and say alla nice things about Kew-Kew. How Kew-Kew is eagle, how mousey was wrong- but mousey is lying! Marr-garr-ett is just trying to make Kew-Kew feel good." The wearet lowered his arms and blew his nose into his wrist.

"Well... I won't deny that that's what I was going to do." Margaret pulled up a stool and sat down. "But I won't do it now. Not after you asked so nicely. So... you're a wearet."

"Don't remind Kew-Kew," he said with a sniffle, turning away from her. "Go away mousie-thing."

"My nest. My rules." Although technically this was her brother's room. "Please look at me."

Muttering and grumbling under his breath about how he should have eaten her while he had the chance, Kew-Kew turned to face her. His eyes fell upon the piece of paper she was holding, and flinched away from it.

It was the second drawing the librarian had showed them. A wearet that, while not lacking in fur, undeniably resembled Kew-Kew, roared at them both.

Very slowly, Margaret tore the page in half.

Kew-Kew gasped.

Please don't make me feel bad about this... Margaret cleared her throat. "You might be a wearet. You might not be. But you are definitely an eagle. You see, what you are in body isn't quite as important as what you are in spirit. And you most certainly have the spirit of an eagle."

"Kraw! Mousie is trying to be smart again. Mousie said Kew-Kew is not eagle, and mousie was right."

"Mousie was wrong," Margaret retorted. "Besides, you can be both."

"No tricky, mousie. Iss not true." The wearet crossed his arms with a huff and turned away from her. A moment later he turned back towards the mousemaid. "How can Kew-Kew be both?"

"Well, if you are a wearet, you've been one since you were born. But you've also been an eagle until yesterday. Cream and chestnuts, didn't you come from an egg?"

Kew-Kew opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of any argument.

"Think of it like... the way I'm a gardener," Margaret explained. "I'm a mousey-thing, but I'm also a er- planty-thing, right?"

"B-but but mousie said I is not eagle! Mousie say Kew-Kew no fly-"

"But you've never been able to fly. Which means whether or not you can fly should have nothing to do with whether or not you're an eagle."

"But all the other-"

"Kew-Kew. My point is that you can be whatever you want to be. You want to be an eagle? Then be an eagle. Nothing's stopping you. Not me. Not my family. And certainly not some dusty old drawing in a library book."

It took a minute or two for her words to sink in, yet Kew-Kew already looked far more cheerful than before. "So I is eagle?"

"The sweetest one I know."

Grinning, the wearet pulled Margaret close and hugged her tight. This hug was an improvement from his first.. well at least it did not end with her dangling from the treetops...

"Thank you Margaret-mousie."

"You're welcome Kew-Kew."

He released her and gestured excitedly for the breakfast platter, which he began to eat from immediately.

Happiness was a precious, priceless thing. And if he had to be an eagle to be happy, the lack of logic could be forgiven.

"So..." he said, halfway through his third pancake. "Mousie nest... mousie rules... should Kew-Kew go back to nest of Kew-Kew?"

The mousemaid had not expected the question. "W-well... that's entirely up to you I suppose. You can stay here if you want, I don't think my parents would complain too much. The dibbuns definitely won't. Rolf might if he gets back, but that's a problem for later. If you'd prefer to go back to your er- nest of course, then you're welcome to."

"Hmmm..." The wearet chewed thoughtfully. "Is lonely in nest, is nice here b-but... eggchickies." He paused for thought, before placing his paws together and grinning hopefully. "Would mousie family be angery if eggchickies stay too?"

"Dammit Ralph, last match of the season and you had to go all-out. Stupid, big-headed rat I'll show you... one day... I'll... I'll- grrr I'll do something!" Rolf limped through the streets of his hometown, glad that nobeast was awake to see him do so. He was a short and scrawny mouse, with fur that seemed perpetually ruffled and a gap between his buckteeth large enough for a fist to pass through.

"Sunrise... not much time..." he whispered, desperately tip-toeing past a wide-open gate. As usual luck was not on his side, and the mouse tripped over a misplaced brick. His nose, already blue, became intimate with the ground and turned purple.

"Ow, ow, ow," he seethed, dragging himself across the path towards his home. "Ow, ow, ow," he repeated, pulling himself up a small flight of stairs. He dug his dirty fingers into the nearby potty plant in search of a spare key, and using the wall to prop himself up, unlocked the door.

"Alright, just need to sneak into bed before mum gets up, then act like I'm too tired to do much walking around until the limp goes away... Shouldn't be too hard as long as Great Aunt Maggery isn't staying over again." The young mouse's family had a nasty habit of using his room as the guest room whenever he was away. Which was pretty often. Work, or rather Ralph, kept him busy.

With newfound determination, Rolf dragged himself up the staircase, one step at a time. "Nearly there, nearly there, nearly there..." It was a good thing none of his family were early-birds, they'd no doubt have a dozen good questions about why he looked as bad as he did. There was still the risk of somebeast waking up for an extra-early breakfast, but it was a risk he'd have to take if he wanted a bed to sleep in.

Rolf pulled himself to his feetpaws at the top of the staircase. "Okay, okay... nearly there... nearly there... ow, ow, ow..." It was a good thing his room was the first one on the landing, merely a hop or two away from the top of the stairs.

The pain in his bad leg was worse than ever by the time he laid his paw on the handle. But he'd made it. With a final grunt of exertion Rolf pushed the door open.

Something thick and malodorous wasted no time in assaulting his nostrils, yet it was the sight of his room that nearly knocked-out Rolf.

"M-my room..." he gasped at the sight of his torn bedsheets. "What on earth-" A pair of his finest tunics lay crumpled on the floor, surrounded by bent and broken spears. Everything in sight was somehow covered in feathers and no less than four large eggs lay in the corner, decorated with all sorts of ridiculous faces.

"New mousie! Hello!" A horrific creature sat up from where it lay on his bed, grinning wide.

Taken by surprise, and more than a little alarmed by the size, sharpness and colour of it's teeth, Rolf let out a cry of alarm and leapt backwards.

As luck would have it, he landed on his bad leg, swore loudly, lost balance and fell down the stairs.

Kew-Kew winced at the repeated 'ow's', his grin faltering rapidly.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Oh my pore baby! Don't even think about trying to walk." The one good thing Rolf got out of his early-morning surprise was his mother's medical expertise. Already his bad leg was beginning to feel as good new. "If only you had said you were coming, we'd have prepared for you, w-warned you at least."

"Should have knocked son," his father chided. "Look at you now, bruised all over."

"Didn't want to wake you up." It had also given Rolf an excuse for all his injuries. Now at least he wouldn't have to worry about hiding a dozen bumps and bruises from his family's prying eyes and curious noses.

"Oh you sweet thing," Elizabeth, his mother and the family's matriarch, seized him by the cheek, and tugged, the way she so often did. "Planning to surprise us at breakfast, were you?"

"You know me so well."

"Well you did fall down the stairs last time as well," Barth interjected, grinning that smug, insulting grin only an older brother could manage. Rolf had no doubt that, were both their parents not present and were his leg not thickly bandaged, the elder mouse would have had him in a chokehold.

"Hello to you too," said Rolf, his lips curling into a frown.

"Don't let Barth get you down Rolf." Margaret sat down at the breakfast table, and bit back a yawn. "He hasn't had anybeast to pick on for months now."

"Barsh will be Barsh," Hammond summarized from around a crumpet.

Elizabeth ceased her bandaging and turned towards her fattest son. "What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full."

"Shorry," the tubby mouse swallowed abruptly.

"Barth ought to get into fighting." Rolf tapped his purple nose knowingly. "I could set you up with a couple of guys you'd get along great with." Ralph and you are practically the same after all. "Maybe it'll teach you to pick on somebeast your own size."

"That's how you win, eh?" Barth grinned cheekily. "Pick all the teeny, tiny runty opponents?"

Hammond butted in before Rolf could come up with any fitting retort. "Honestly, I still have no idea how you became a champion. You can't even beat me."

"Weight classes Hammond, weight classes." Rolf chided. "And it's mostly luck really. I get some good matches." He pointed a finger at his bag. "Brought home another trophy."

"Wooooo! That's my boy!" Forgetting his son's injuries, Thomas the proud father brought his paw down upon Rolf's bandaged footpaw.

The wounded mouse yelped, yet failed to suppress a smile as his ears turned pink.

Violet was the first to seize the trophy. "Ooooh! First place!" The mousemaid shook her head. "And they misspelled your name again."

"Haha! That's our 'Ralph' for you. Best fighter in the world and too polite to correct the blacksmith." This time his father settled for thumping the table in appreciation. For that Rolf was grateful.

"Y-yeah." If Ralph ever finds out where all his trophies went I'm a deadbeast. "S-so... yeah, lot's of interesting fighters this season. Saw some lizard in the ring too, and let me tell you I would not want to get on that guy's bad side." Ralph had, and it had made Rolf very happy. "What about you guys?"

"Nothing much," Barth shrugged, and took a bite out of a delicious breakfast pastry. "Me and Violet have been busy with the kids. Pieholes, they grow fast. Mum and Dad have been tending to the garden- lovely rosebush outside, I'm sure you saw. Hammond here is fatter than ever. And Margaret... Margaret can probably tell you herself."

Rolf turned expectantly towards his elder sister.

"Well," all-in-a fluster Margaret tugged at a whisker. "It's a bit of a long story but I suppose the gist of it is that I was kidnapped and used to hunt down an eagle." Rolf's eyes widened. "By... another eagle who currently lives with us." Margaret scratched the back of her neck. "I er- think you've met Kew-Kew."

The creature beside her, who now resided in Rolf's bedroom, waved. "Sorry I scares you," he said. The stinking, slobbering, masked monstrosity raised a claw to his mouth and chewed at it. "I ish not echpecting moushie to shcream sho loudly. Or to fall on shteppy-shteps."

"It's fine," Rolf blinked, wondering what on earth had compelled his family to let the creature stay in his room of all places.

"An' shorry I shleep in nesht of Rolf-moushie."

"Not with your mouth full Kew-Kew," Margaret reminded him, and the wearet immediately pulled his saliva-ridden claw away from his maw.

"Sorry," the wearet repeated, before gesturing at a stack of pancakes.

"Now I know what you're thinking, and yes, we might be a little bit crazy." Margaret slid the desired dish towards Kew-Kew, who proceeded to wolf it's contents down without mercy, and a distinct lack of table-manners. "But he doesn't really have anywhere else to go, and well... haven't we always prided ourselves on our hospitality?

"I... see..." A large platter was placed before Rolf, and ever the fussy mother, Elizabeth began to heap food upon it. A knife and fork were delicately placed within his sore paws. "Well I suppose he can't be any worse than Great Aunt Maggery."

At this, the entire family laughed.

A second look at his room gave Rolf second thoughts about that statement. The mess was nothing short of a major safety hazard, and the stench would no doubt stick to the walls for a long time to come.

But then, Kew-Kew couldn't be any worse than Ralph.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

It was a while before Rolf was healthy enough to walk again, a while longer before his mother allowed him to and nearly a month before he was given anything resembling a chore. Not that Rolf complained. As boring as being bed-ridden was, it was preferable to being thrown around and beaten. A pity he couldn't earn trophies for sleeping.

The mouse's first order of business, upon recovering, was to make his room habitable once more. The windows were thrust open, the curtains pulled apart, and the multitude of stray feathers swept up into a pile. His bed was pushed into a corner, and what belongings his family had managed to keep from Kew-Kew, were brought back and neatly organized around the sparse furniture.

"Rolfie has lotsa cup-things," Kew-Kew noted.

"They're not cups," Rolf snapped irritably, pulling yet another feather out of his mattress. "They're trophies."

"Troffee?" Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side.

"Like... prizes."

If anything Kew-Kew seemed even more confused now.

"Rewards then. It's er- it's something only a winner gets."

"Kraw! So Rolfie is winner. Is that what champie-thing is?"

"Y-yeah... I guess you could say that."

"Keeraw! Rolfie is big champie to have so many cup-things" Kew-Kew praised, setting the latest trophy atop one of his eggchicks. "Bestest champie!"

"Y-yeah... big champie..." The mouse's face fell as an old guilt began to stir within him. "The bestest..."

"So what does Rolfie do to be champie?"

I get my tail handed to me on a solid, silver platter. "I er- fight. Professionally that is."

"Fight?" Kew-Kew turned to Margaret for explanation.

"It's when two or more beasts try to kill each other, usually without the killing part. Rolf goes from town to town with a little fighting troupe of sorts and they put on a show of beating each other up."

"I-it's not a show," Rolf hastily corrected. "We do beat each other up."

"I know. It's barbaric."

"But what does fighter-thing do?" Despite the mousemaid's explanation, Kew-Kew was still visibly confused.

"They bite, spit, claw and snarl at each other."

"We do more punching actually," Rolf scowled.

"Kraw!" The wearet clapped his paws excitedly. "The lil' mouseyworms is big fighters then, always scratching and biting." Another thought hit him, and Kew-Kew began to hop around excitedly. "Keeraw! Kew-Kew is fighting-thing too." He stood still long enough to jab a thumbclaw into his puffed-out chest. "I is biting and scratching eagles since I is eggchick! And I is best eagle hunter in all land of Kew-Kew. And I is eagle!"

Margaret, more than used to Kew-Kew's eccentricities (and especially his sense of self-importance) shook her head and made her exit. "I'll be in the kitchen if either of you need me."

"Bye Marr-garr-ett!" Kew-Kew waved her away. Rolf turned back towards his shelf of cup-things and sighed wistfully. If he squinted his eyes a little the 'Ralph' looked ever-so-slightly like a 'Rolf'...

"PREEEEEEEEEESENTING! The one, the only, the greatest fighter this ring has ever seen, you all know him and he needs no introduction but I'm being payed to say this anyway!" The crowd laughed and for once it was not because Ralph had somehow humiliated him. "Give it up for ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLF!"

Amidst violent applause, and the proud smiles of his family Rolf raised this trophy high.

Kew-Kew's voice pulled the mouse free of his daydream."Does mousey want to fight?"

"H-huh?"

"Just as game," the eagle explained, wearing the biggest, goofiest grin the mouse had ever laid eyes on.

"W-well, I mean... I just got back recently and-"

"Awwww! Please? I is always fighting little mouseyworms, fighting fun, lotsa fun!"

Rolf took one look at Kew-Kew's yellow teeth, furless arms and thick tail and knew that he most certainly did not want to fight him.

"A-another time maybe."

"Aaaw." Slightly disappointed, Kew-Kew dropped onto all fours. He made to turn towards his eggchicks once more, but something caught his attention. Rolf stepped back against the wall as Kew-Kew drew nearer, closing the space between them. The wearet's nose twitched and sniffed at the air until it prodded the mouse's middle. "Rolfie is scaredy," Kew-Kew accused, his voice nasally.

"I-I'm not scared," Rolf stammered.

"Is scared. Is stinky," Kew-Kew withdrew his sniffer. "Kew-Kew can smell it."

"I do not stink!"

"All thingies do when they is scaredy."

"I'm not-"

"Is scaredy Kew-Kew is better champie-thing-"

"Th-that's not-"

"Kraw! Is true!"

Rolf growled. "F-fine then. We can fight. But no biting or clawing o-or wounding o-"

"Yes, yes." Kew-Kew was once more grinning wide. "No killa the mousey. I promises."

For some reason the mouse was not reassured.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"And if you give up, or are having difficulty breathing or anything just tap the floor twice like so." Rolf demonstrated the motion, more for his sake than Kew-Kew's. "And remember, if you see me doing it, it means you've won and you should let me go, okay?"

Kew-Kew nodded, and practiced tapping at the floor.

"Well I guess that's it then," Rolf swallowed audibly. "Er- whenever you're rea-"

"KA-KAW!" Before the mouse could finish his sentence, let alone enter a shaky stance, Kew-Kew had pounced and pinned him to the ground.

"I-I wasn't ready," Rolf squeaked.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"This time Rolf-Mousie hit first," said Kew-Kew, with an air of great generosity.

Continuing to mutter under his breath about how much he did not want to fight, Rolf threw a punch. Kew-Kew, who was taking this 'game' very seriously, scurried backwards and returned the motion. With interest.

"That's gonna sting..." Rolf winced, rubbing at his freshly-blackened eye.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"On three, okay? Three-"

"KRAW!" The wearet spun round in a flurry of feathers and used his muscular tail to sweep Rolf (who had been about to say two) off his feetpaws.

"I was still counting down," the mouse groaned.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Rolf darted forwards, but Kew-Kew was ready. Yawning, the wearet sidestepped the blow and extended his footpaw, predictably, the mouse tripped over it and hit the ground hard.

"Issa fun game!" Kew-Kew cheered, sitting down atop the downed champion..

"Maybe for you," Rolf grumbled to the floor.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The results were the same for the remaining rounds. Somehow or other Kew-Kew always came out on top. In most cases quite literally.

"Is Rolfie tired?" the eagle asked good-naturedly.

"What do you think?" the mouse panted. "We've been doing this all day."

"And champie-thing Rolf didn't beat Kew-Kew single time!" Grinning, Kew-Kew helped the mouse off of the floor and onto the bed.

"Yeah, yeah, you win," Rolf muttered, tugging a feather loose from the fur between his ears.

"But Rolfie is good champie-thing!" the wearet went on, sitting down besides the mouse. "Is not fair fight. I is eagle, you is preything- eagle always eat preything- but still mousie is only little bit scaredy of fighting Kew-Kew and not give up! Barth-mousie big scaredy of fighting Kew-Kew and Hammond-mousie big scaredy of Kew-Kew- but Rolfie is fighting Kew-Kew all day!"

Rolf could not help but smile at the notion of his elder brothers cowering before his present roommate. "Thanks I guess." Yeah, you're definitely not as bad as Ralph.

Kew-Kew licked him across the face by way of saying 'you're welcome'.

In some ways you're worse...

"So what is Rolf-mousie like when fighting other champie-things? Rolfie is getting beaten less, yes?"

"Oh of course. Much less." Far, far more... "See normally I would never fight someone like you- you'd be in another class, er division that is- you'd be in another group and you'd fight beasts closer to your size."

"Other eagles?" he asked hopefully.

"Y-yeah, maybe. I was thinking more along the lines of big, muscular rats... the type that wear noserings y'know?"

"Knows-ring?"

"Terrible fashion choice," Rolf explained. "I usually fight people more my size. Voles, moles, shrews, other mice... the occasional rat."

"Kraw! Kew-Kew would love to see Rolf-mousie fight!"

The mouse laughed nervously. "Hahaha, y-yeah that would be fun. Er- n-not that I think it would ever happen. We don't really fight h-here in Thornhill."

Kew-Kew looked mildly disappointed, but Rolf would have to live with that. None of his family had ever seen him fight and with good reason. His mother would have murdered Ralph several seasons ago... and she'd have made sure Rolf never left the safety of his bedroom again...

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

As the weeks rolled by, Rolf found himself spending a great deal of time with Kew-Kew. The wearet was not so bad (when he was not insisting that they fight) but took a great deal of getting used to. He was, rather literally, the monster under Rolf's bed. And while he was no Ralph, Rolf doubted he'd ever, truly, get used to living with him.

"Issa pancake!" Kew-Kew insisted, gesturing at the naseauting contents of a pan he was trying to get the mouse to eat. "Makes Rolfie big, strong mousie!"

"Th-that is not a pancake," Rolf squeaked, backing away quickly from... whatever it was.

"How is Rolf-mousey knowing is not pancake if mousie is not eating it?" demanded Kew-Kew, crossly.

"Because it's not!"

"Is! Kraw! Champie-thing small and weak. Eatta pancake be big like Kew-Kew! Then Rolfie win much cup-things!"

Despite the absurdity of the statement, Rolf could not help picturing the scene. A taller, more muscular, less bruised version of himself at the center, lifting a trophy with his own name on it. Countless opponents, many of whom greatly resembled Ralph, lay defeated on the floor behind him.

Before Rolf could even finish his daydream, a spoonful of Kew-Kew's pancake was shoved into his mouth.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The months flew past, the fighting season drew nearer and in no time at all it was time for Rolf to depart again. The young mouse stood at the gate, waiting for his family to finish their farewells.

"And remember to be careful on the road, they say you never know when a brigand is watching," his mother was saying as she fussed over his whiskers.

"Don't worry 'bout that dear, any no-good thief tries to stop our 'Ralph' they'll get a swift one-two and regret it, eh son?"

"Y-yeah dad, of course," Rolf neglected to mention that the last time he had run into highwaybeasts he had been stripped of all his possessions and forced to borrow some of Ralph's clothes. "And yes mother, you know me. Always picking the safest routes."

"Here's a snack for the road," Hammond said, emerging from the house and handing him a large haversack filled with food.

"And here's one for good luck!" Barth laughed, punching him none-too-lightly on the shoulder.

First bruise of the season...

"I thought you might like a journal, something to write down your thoughts and all that," Margaret chewed her lip as if trying to bite back something harsh and vile. "But then I figured you'd find bandages more useful in the long-term."

"Gee, thanks Maggy," Rolf accepted the gift with a great roll of his eyes. "As if I'd need them." Thank you! Thank you so much! You have no idea...

"Bye-bye Uncle Wolf!" the dibbuns chorused, as they waved at Rolf's departing figure.

"Darlings," sighed Violet. "His name is Rolf."

"Don't forget to bring back another trophy!" Tom called. "And make sure they spell your name right this time!"

"Victory, here I come!" Rolf cried, throwing a fist into the air. His family and even some of the neighbours cheered as he departed.

The mouse skipped through the town, unburdened by the weight of his luggage, until his family was out of sight and out of earshot. Then he slowed and began to drag his feetpaws along the ground, his ears drooping in misery.

Bitter defeat, here I come...

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Kew-Kew watched from the rooftop as Rolf trotted away, cheered from all sides by the townsfolk. The same townsfolk that watched Kew-Kew like a hawk every time he set footpaw outside.

"Kraw! If fighting such a bad-bad thing why is all mousies happy-clapping?" The wearet scowled. "Even Marr-garr-ett big happy-clapping... But then Margaret-mousie is not knowing every-thingie."

Rolf had refused Kew-Kew's offer to accompany him in no uncertain terms and had made it quite clear that he did not want the wearet going with him. Margaret had of course told him repeatedly that he wasn't missing out on anything...

"Hihihihihi! Lucky Kew-Kew doesn't always listen to prey-things!" As if a mere champie-thing could stop a determined eagle from doing what it wanted! Rolfie had described fighting in big, complicated and epic-sounding words and Kew-Kew had long since made up his mind to see a real fight for himself.

"Of course, Kew-Kew is good eagle and is wrong to go with Rolfie if Rolfie don't want Kew-Kew to... but is not wrong to go in same direction." Cackling gleefully Kew-Kew scrambled off the tiles just as the speck that was Rolf drifted out of sight.

And Rolf would know nothing. Like any good eagle Kew-Kew was good at hiding things if he wanted them hidden.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Ah, there goes our champion," Tom sighed contentedly. "We raised a good one, didn't we honey?"

"Oh I don't know dear," Elizabeth tugged one of her whiskers into line. "It sounds quite dangerous. And I know Rolf is all grown up now, and he'd hate to hear me fuss over him but he's still my little baby."

"Aaaaaw, I'll be sure to tell him that when he gets back," Barth snickered. "And c'mon Ma, he's been doing this for a while now. No needs to worry about-"

"I is leaving!" Kew-Kew announced, appearing behind the family of mice. At once they whirled around to face his grinning face.

"Y-you're leaving?" Margaret raised an eyebrow.

"Not for long time," Kew-Kew promised. "I is back before mousie misses Kew-Kew. Is just Kew-Kew is hungry." Right on cue, the wearet's tummy rumbled. Hammond, who had never warmed to the wearet, visibly flinched. "And mousie-food is much good but I is wanting eagle. Or maybe eggses." He paused for thought, wondering which type of food he missed more.

"W-well that's alright." Margaret had to bite back the urge to beg him not to use anybeast as bait.

"B-be careful of brigands dear..." Elizabeth's eyes trailed up to Kew-Kew's terrible teeth and monstrous fangs and trailed off.

"Yes yes. Kew-Kew no eat the big-ans," the wearet bobbed his head up and down. "Is bad for stomach. Is bringing back big eagle for mousie family, yes? Lotsa big eagles and eggses too."

"That er- that won't be necessary Kew-Kew," Margaret tweedled her fingers. Please don't bring back an eagle, please don't bring back an eagle, please don't bring back an eagle...

"Lil' mouseyworms take good care of eggchickies, yes?" Kew-Kew crouched down, the better to address the dibbuns.

"Yes Mister Eagle!" they chorused, their little chests puffed out and their arms raised in salute.

"Kraw! Good mouseyworms!" he ruffled the fur between their ears and stood up. Clapping his paws, he grinned down at the assembled prey-things. "Don't worry, I is coming back much soon!"

Before anybeast could think of a reply, Kew-Kew gave a piercing screech of farewell, then hopped over the gate and scampered down the path.

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

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

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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

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

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

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

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

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

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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

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

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It seems I have a challenger!"

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

"Oi! Feet off me face!"

"Excuse me!"

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

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

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

"Got a name?"

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

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

"Applause," advised the stony-faced hamster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FIGHT!"

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

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

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

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

"At long last, the final opponent!"

It was Ralph.

"Rooooooooolf!"

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

"Hahaha! There's ma favourite pipsqueak!"

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

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

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

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

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

Rolf looked puzzled, and Ralph clarified.

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

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

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

"Right..."

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

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

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

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mercy!" cried Alphonso.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

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

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

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

"B-but-"

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

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

Carrabas gave him a scathing look.

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

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

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

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

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

"I won't," Rolf muttered sullenly.

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

Now armed with an overly-large trophy (a useful tool for bashing beasts out of his way) Kew-Kew stomped through the market district of Plomplemoof. Word seemed to travel far in the city for creatures great and small offered him all sorts of gifts. The cowering, simpering preythings had no doubt heard of his prowess and had come to offer their new apex predator his due respect.

"This pearl!" exclaimed a ragged old vixen clutching at an egg-sized jewel. "Will grant good luck to the holder! Whomsoever has it shall win all their bets, win all their matches, and clear all their debts- for big money it catches!"

Kew-Kew accepted the pearl with an excited squawk- he wasn't sure what 'mon-ee' was (Margaret had yet to explain it to him)- but if it was big it was most certainly worth catching.

Further down the street a tailless squirrel was selling extravagant and flamboyant hats. "Feathered, fancy, piratical- I've got the lot!"

These gifts too, the wearet accepted without hesitation. By the time he was done bedecking his trophy it greatly resembled a coat-hanger. The squirrel had run away screaming. No doubt, thought Kew-Kew, he had left something cooking in the oven.

A choice apple, several slices of a cheese and onion turnover and even a fancy blanket to wrap around his tail were all given to Kew-Kew and the wearet accepted them most graciously. He remembered his manners of course. Marr-garr-ett had taught him quite a few things about politeness.

"Thank you preythings!" he squealed, flashing them all a big, goofy grin. Several beasts screamed, several stumbled backwards, some even asked him to help with thieves!

"HEEEEEEEEELP! THEIF! He's stealing all my onions!"

Armed with a growing collection of trinkets, Kew-Kew thanked them all and left the traders considerably poorer and shivering in their boots.

"Nice city," the wearet sighed.

"Ye wanna plushie?" boomed an incredibly deep voice. Kew-Kew turned to find a massive, black-furred wolverine glaring daggers at him from behind a stall laden with stuffed animals. From her size, tone and the menacing way she seemed to breathe Kew-Kew could tell she was a fellow predator.

His tail wagging happily behind him, he skipped forwards. "What is plush-ie?"

The wolverine, who had never in all her years of stitching plushies had a willing customer (let alone a curious one), cocked her head to the side. "It's like a pillow... but wiv personality..." she considered his eagle-feathered skirt, the silken cape wrapped around his tail, the giant trophy he carried with a pearl inside it and several hats dangling from it's handles. Her eyes darted from his furless arms to his dirty, bandit-masked face. After much staring she realized she had no idea what she was looking at. "What is... yew?"

"I is Kew-Kew," once more he employed his signature grin.

"Auslag." They shook paws. "Ye new here?"

"Yes. I is following a friend- he is big champie-thing here. Kew-Kew wanted to see Rolf-mousie fight but can't find mousey anywhere," he sighed dramatically. "Too much fear-stink in the air. Can't smell Rolfie."

"Rolf, eh? Well lucky for yew I happens te know every fighter in this city- it's 'ow I can get all 'em plushies made. Let's see I've got two 'Wolf's- short for Wolfgang and Wolfnag a'course, I've got a coupl'a Ralphs- none of 'em are mice though. An' there's Rudolf a'course," she withdrew a fierce-looking stuffed hare from her wares. A pair of gnarly horns stretched out from the top of his head. "Calls hisself the Red-nosed Rain-deer. Current champion o' the Molepit. 'E's one o' my favourites, he is."

"Hmmmm, what is this one?" a gnarled claw was pointed in the direction of a smaller plushie, a stuffed rat with a nosering.

"Ralph, newer fighter. Hasn't won any real matches yet but they insist 'e's gonna be a big thing. He's got a fight later t'day actually. Tell ye what, paw over that pearl an' I'll give ye the Ralph an' tickets te see his match."

Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion even as he reached for the pearl. "Tick-ate?"

The wolverine shook her head. "Ye know what? It's been too long since I played tour-guide. Yer new round 'ere an' I like yer outfit." She snatched the pearl from his paw and produced a set of flimsy white papers. "Let's go see a few rounds- my treat, I've got tickets te everythin'!

And so the wearet did not spend much more time looking for Rolf- it was obvious he would have no luck finding the mouse with a hundred other smells in the air- and instead decided to play at being a tourist. Not that he knew what a tourist was or ever used long, complicated words like 'tourist'.

,,,,,,,,,,,

"I-I'm gonna be a real fighter?" Ralph, predictably, only heard the parts that related to himself. "A-and get into th- the Hanzaman's Hut? A-as in the Hanzaman's Hut?"

"That's what Carrabas said," muttered Rolf, through tightly-gritted teeth.

"Finally! Oh finally! I'll be goin' places! Fame! Fortune! I- I gets te hit somebeast hard!" the rat bounced from footpaw to footpaw, unable to stay in place for longer than a second.

"As if you've never done that before." Perhaps for the better, Rolf's contempt went unheard. Ralph's bubbling excitement had made him even more oblivious than usual. The brown rat chattered incessantly, his nosering swinging to and fro.

"I'll gets myself a big villa a-an' from the balcony I'll wave at my fans all day long. There'll be a swimmin' pool-"

"Do you even know how to swim?"

"An' fruit trees an' a garden!"

"A garden of weeds."

"Ooooh an' I'll get an obedient servant!"

"So long as it's not me."

"An' I can have a cupboard full of my trophies!"

"Misplaced another one, did you?"

Only this seemed to give Ralph pause. After a while the rat shrugged. "Trophies don't mean much anyway. I'll have another by the end of the season and more soon after..." Ralph's face darkened. "But if I ever catches the beast what took 'em..." he cracked his knuckles menacingly, and Rolf made the mental note to not bring up the subject of Ralph's trophies ever again.

"Y-yeah, y-you'll do the scumbag in p-p-proper," the mouse swallowed audibly.

Ralph's eyes widened horribly and for a split second Rolf was convinced he was about to be done in proper. It was not until the rat with the nosering spoke that Rolf realized he was safe. "I can't be a real fighter if I fakes all ma victories, can I? S-so what are yew goin' to do?"

Rolf breathed a sigh of relief and shrugged. "Haven't been told yet. I suppose Carrbas'll have something, for later on I guess. Dunno. Might be jobless for a while."

"Oh," the rat's ears noticeably drooped, his shoulders sagged and he drew his paws closer to tweedle his thumbclaws. If Rolf did not know any better he'd say Ralph looked guilty. As it was, Rolf felt he knew better.

"Hey it's fine!" Ralph declared, perhaps a bit too forcibly. "I'm sure Carrabas has a job for ye. Somethin' easy an' good. An'-an'-" the rat's face lit up, as if he had just gotten the greatest of ideas. "An' yew can always be ma number one fan, eh? Doesn't that sound like somethin'!"

Rolf made a noise of misery, and clutched at his ears.

This, Ralph didn't notice. He was far too busy thinking up his ingenious scheme. "Yew can go around tellin' beasts when an' where I'm fightin' an' makin' sure they come an watch me win. An' yew can start booin' whenever it looks like I'm about to lose. An' then there's the laundry of course."

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"RALPH! RALPH! RALPH!"

It never ceased to amaze Rolf that in a town with at least a hundred fights going on at any time, there was always a crowd willing and waiting to cheer Ralph on to victory. Ralph the stupid. Ralph the smelly. Ralph the rat who couldn't fight any better than a toad yet was placed again and again in the position of victor.

It was not that he liked his job. Rolf was the first person to tell himself that he hated it. He was paid well, but suffered greatly. True, he had enjoyed the first few seasons of his time with Ralph, when they had been travelling around from town to town to put on their performances. He had even liked some of their training sessions. But most of all he had loved the looks of admiration and pride his family had given him whenever he whipped out a new trophy.

Rolf sighed. If he was lucky, Carrabas would pair him up with another beast called Ralph...

"Aaaaaaaaand in this corner, our challenger of the evening, the one, the only, the Rooooooooooooooolf!" From his place in the shadows Rolf raised his fists high and marched into the ring amidst a cacophony of booing.

"Rolfie! Rolfie! Rolfie!" A single, much smaller voice cheered him on, but the mouse was quite convinced this was his imagination trying to cheer him up. Touching paws with a grinning Ralph, he braced himself for the coming pain.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Kew-Kew had spent an enjoyable few hours in Aslaug's company. Together they had cheered the Red-nosed Rain-deer in his sixty-eighth consecutive victory. Together they had won a heaping big pile of inedible yellow things betting on a blind shrew. They had spent the inedible yellow things on large heaps of food and spent the next few matches gorging themselves before retiring to a smaller arena, in which they could wind down while watching some of the less-serious fights.

And just when it looked like his day could not get any better, Rolf appeared, his tiny mouse-fists held high. At once, Kew-Kew leapt to his talons and cheered with all his might. "Rolfie! Rolfie! Rolfie!"

His encouragement was swiftly swept away by the crowd's negative response. A concentrated chorus of booing erupted around the eagle. His fur bristled, his whiskers twitched, his chest swelled, his face went red and Kew-Kew turned to snarl at the nearest booers. "Rolf-mousie is big champie fighter-thing, owns lotsa cupses and is nestmate of Kew-Kew!"

Everybeast in the immediate vicinity silenced themselves.

"Yer rootin' for the mouse?" Aslaug did not bother hiding her surprise.

Kew-Kew nodded excitedly. "I is coming here to see him win tro-fee!"

A bell rung, and the battle begun. Rolf's opponent was a rat not much taller than him, though he was much wider, who's sole distinguishing feature was an overly-large nosering that swayed left and right with his every pawstep.

He was a formidable foe and came at Rolf in a blur of fists and swings. Kew-Kew watched with bated breath (having understood from a previous incident earlier in the day that he was not supposed to jump into the arena should his favourite fighter lose) as the nimble mouse weaved between the blows as if he knew they were coming. He even managed to land a jab!

The eagle cawed with joy and practically flapped into the air with excitement. "Rolfie! Rolfie! Rolfie!"

His excitement was short-lived however as a second later the rat's villainously long tail curled around the mouse's ankle and brought Rolf crashing into the ground.

"No! BOOOOOOOO!" screeched Kew-Kew as the crowd around him leapt up and screamed 'RAAAAAAAAAAAALPH!'

"Who's de best?" demanded the noseringed rat.

"Raaaaaaaaaaaaalph!" screamed his avid supporters.

"I can't hear ye!"

"RAAAAAAAAAAALPH!"

"Rolfie! Rolfie bite the ratty! Bite!"

"Nobeast can challenge me!" Ralph boasted. "Remember that pipsqueak!" his great, slimy, worm-like tail struck Rolf hard across the back. Even Kew-Kew, who had inflicted all sorts of pain upon his roommate, winced.

"I said remember that pipsqueak!" Ralph repeated, now bringing his foot down upon the downed mouse with extreme prejudice.

Kew-Kew hissed like a mutant swan, and shook with all the intensity of a boiling kettle. He would have swooped down into the arena without a second thought had Aslaug not put a firm paw on his shoulder.

"Oi, relax yerself bird-brainhin. I ain't gettin' kicked out of another arena just coz yew lost a bet." Aslaug clicked her teeth. "Ye know it's pretty funny I've never seen this Rolf win a fight... but I swear 'e looks just like that mouse Ralph was pummelin' last season."

"I saaaaid, remember that pipsqueak!" By now even the most avid Ralph supporters in the audience were giving half-hearted cheers.

As if suddenly remembering himself Rolf at last cried out. "Mercy, oh mercy, oh Ralph the Great! You have once more proven yourself superior to me in- in the art of combat. I have no choice now but to wallow in my defeat f-for all eternity. You have defeated me, just as you have in the last season, and the one before that... and the one before that... and I have no hope now but to beg for your mercy!" Every word was visibly forced, every syllable hammered out of an unwilling throat. Yet nobeast in the audience seemed to catch that. Most were too busy ogling the trophy that had just been wheeled in.

"And the winner tonight iiiiiiiiis RAAAAAAAAAAAAALPH!" A cup-thing was presented to the noseringed rat. A humble-looking thing when compared to Kew-Kew's own, but it glittered with a dozen sparkly stones.

In fact, it looked identical to some Kew-Kew had seen before. In Rolf's collection.

The eagle's lower beak dropped open as realization set in.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Footnote: Kew-Kew has just realized something! But what could it BE? Now, you probably think this is the end of this chapter, but it's not! Technically it is, but much like the first chapter where I opened with Kew-Kew's app I'm going to toss in Rolf's application here. Which is basically his fight with Ralph from this chapter from his point of view. Thus without further ado... Rolf, duelist, mouse.

Rolf was used to all the noise. The bruises, the pain. The inevitable defeat. Losing was, after all, in the job description.

"Who's de best?" Came the voice of his opponent, the rat's nosering swinging left and right. Down upon the floor Rolf rolled his eyes. "Who's de champion?"

The crowd roared back with just as much ferocity. "Ralph! Ralph! Ralph!"

"I can't 'ear ye!"

"RAAAAAALPH!"

"Raaaaalph." Rolf muttered from the floor. The rat's name was ringing between his ears. Wherever they went, all he ever heard was 'Ralph, Ralph, Ralph' with a side-dish of 'haha it's the loser!'

But I guess I should have thought about that before taking the job...

"Nobeast kin challenge me!" Ralph thumped his chest. "Remember that pipsqueak!"

And now he hits me...

The rat brought his tail crashing down upon the 'helpless' mouse.

And now I beg for mercy...

That was always the worst part. Being payed to say things like 'please oh great and powerful Ralph, mercy, mercy' had been a pretty fair way of making a living for a while, but Rolf was sick of it. The very thought of doing it again was revolting.

Just once... I'd love to have the spotlight...

"I said remember that pipsqueak!" Ralph repeated, now bringing his foot down upon the downed mouse with extreme prejudice.

Not this time Ralph... not this time...

"Hey Ralph!" The mouse pushed himself to his feetpaws, to the astonishment of the crowd and the big rat. The vermin's jaw dropped, his nosering beginning to shake again. "Thought I'd let you know a few things." The mouse clenched his fist, drew his arm back and delivered the single most powerful haymaker in the history of rodent combat!

The crowd grew wild again, hopping about and cheering. Finally, a worthy opponent!

"You hit... way too hard." Rolf chuckled, his own paw sore from the ferocity of his blow. "And that irritates me." Before the stunned Ralph could think of a reply, Rolf turned on the spot, bringing his whip-like tail into the vermin's face. "Lousy, isn't it? Being the one on the losing side? Try and remember that, the next time you're rubbing your 'victory' in." The mouse next delivered a swift pair of jabs directly to the rat's nose. "It makes me mad to see you on top. It angers me. Coz deep down, you know I'm a better fighter than you." Rolf turned to the crowd. "I let him win! Every. Single. Time! And you know what? I am done!"

He brought another fist into Ralph's jaw, knocking a tooth loose. The roar of the crowd was deafening.

"I am done with losing!" Rolf cried, lost in the moment. "Done begging for mercy! From here on in you won't see me on the floor!" He bathed in the glow of their cheers. "My destiny is in my paws and victory is at hand!" Gonna have to work on the speeches... "Oh and Ralph?" Rolf placed his paw upon the vermin's nosering. "I quit." Rolf drew his arm back swiftly, and there was a terrible noise. Ralph screamed. The crowd cheered. And in his paw the mouse held a bloody nosering.

"I saaaaid, remember that pipsqueak!" Ralph repeated, kicking the mouse again. By now the crowd was much less interested in the two.

Suddenly remembering himself Rolf sighed wistfully, before continuing with the act. "Mercy, mercy. Oh Ralph the Great!"

"Thank you Maggy," Rolf whimpered as he tightened a soothing poultice round his arm. "You have no idea how grateful I am." The fresh bruises still hurt terribly of course, but the minor relief was nonetheless appreciated. He allowed himself a sigh. "Just one more fight. One more fight and this'll all be over... And then I come home, without a job, without a scrap of coin, trophy-less and as purple as a pomegranate..." Nevermind that pomegranates were rarely purple. Rolf sighed again, wincing as a fresh wave of pain rippled through his ribs. The mouse set his bandaged arm down slowly, and sniffled.

In that instant melancholy vanished. His nose twitched. He sniffed at the air. He gagged. It smelled as if somebeast had splattered Ralph's old tunics with dung and left them to rot in a bog with turned cabbages and bad apples. It was foul and disgusting in every sense of the word.

Eerily familiar.

Yet Rolf could not place it until Kew-Kew burst through the door in all his stinking glory.

The hinges screamed and in stomped the wearet. Rolf froze, realizing with something akin to desperate panic that Kew-Kew looked furious. An accusatory talon was pointed firmly at the wide-eyed mouse and when he spoke, the wearet snarled.

"Rolfie is not champie-thing, Rolfie is not winning troffee, Rolfie is liar!"

The mouse swallowed audibly. The simple accusation, the truth thrust upon him, smarted like a fresh bruise. He scrambled for an excuse. "W-wait, wait!" Ignoring the pain that came with flailing his battered arms the mouse became a windmill of gestures and excuses. "I-it's not what it looks like! I- you see I- I am a champie- champion thing- I m-mean I'm a fighter it's just-"

"Lying! Rolfie is lying again!" The accusatory talon drew closer until it was prodding him hard on the chest. "Is like wait-cases and divisions!"

"Weight classes! Those are real Kew-"

"Kew-Kew is not falling for rubbish again!"

"N-no you don't under-"

"I does!" the eagle snapped, and Rolf shrunk. "Mousie is fighting Ralph-ratty and saying all troffees are Rolfie's- but is lying! Cup-thing is troffee of Ralph-ratty!"

Forgetting his fear of the wearet, Rolf leapt up and clamped his paws over Kew-Kew's muzzle. "Shhhhhhhh! D-don't say that so loudly! S-somebeast might hear!" The mouse was frantic now and speaking quickly between gulps of air. "I-I please calm down." Rolf, who's eyes were bulging, who's tail was thrashing anxiously behind him, who's ears were flat against his head and who's whiskers twitched with fresh worry at every word, probably had no right to tell anybeast to calm down.

Nevertheless Kew-Kew obeyed, clenched his jaw shut and stared hard at the mouse.

Rolf released the wearet's muzzle and sat down. He put his shaking paws away and rested them on his lap. "S-so yes. It's true. I lied."

Kew-Kew screeched in triumph. Rolf flinched, and several tenants above went temporarily deaf.

"B-b-but-" a sudden terrible thought made his shivering more pronounced. "W-wait, does that mean- does mum know? Maggy? Barth?"

"No. Only Kew-Kew." The wearet folded his arms at his side, the way a bird would fold their wings.

Rolf allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief. "Oh thank Martin. Okay, okay... good." They didn't know! They had no idea! He was safe from their disappointment and safe from their accusations! "Good," he repeated, again and again until he remembered that Kew-Kew was glaring at him. "S-sorry!" he squeaked.

"Lying to Kew-Kew, lying to parents, lying to Marr-garr-ett!"

"I wasn't lying Kew-Kew! I just... didn't tell... the truth."

The wearet growled and Rolf shrunk further into his chair. "O-okay I am a liar. I'm not a champion. I-I'm not a fighter and-" here he swallowed audibly and glanced around to make sure Ralph was not lurking around the corner- "none of the trophies are really m-mine. B-but before you hit me o-or eat me or do whatever it is that-that you do j-just hear me out!"

The wearet said nothing, but made no motion to ingest the mouse. Taking this as his cue, Rolf began his tale, the furious eagle looming over him the whole while.

"S-so when I first came here I was a-er a little naive about what sort of place this is."

It was only after weeks of pleading and begging and convincing that Rolf's mother had given him her permission to pursue a career in fighting.

"It's dangerous Rolf! You could get hurt, or permanently injured!"

"Mother!" Rolf had protested. "Only the losers get badly hurt or permanently injured! And I intend to win!"

Wide-eyed and open-jawed he stared at the vast arenas that seemed to exist everywhere in Plomplemoof. They all roared with the strength of a hundred volcanoes and stood high between heaven and earth as if the deities of the world resided inside. Clutching at an old and mouldy leaflet the young mouse made his way through a crowd of chattering, excited beasts. "E-excuse me?" he squeaked, as several beasts- oblivious to his very existence it seemed- shoved past him. "I'm sorry-er c-coming through here!"

"Sign me up!" cried the young mouse in blue, unphased by his reception. "The name's Rolf."

The rat on the other side of the application desk had to lean forwards to see the mouse over the top of his bloated gut. They raised an eyebrow. "Bit short for this kind of work, ain'tcha?"

"What I lack in height I more than make up for in skill," Rolf assured him.

The rat shrugged. "Ye've gota match in two hours. Don't be late!"

"I won't!" Rolf promised. "You won't regret this!"

"You might," the rat muttered darkly.

"I should have known better really but I didn't."

Two hours later, Rolf stood in the center of the arena, his fists held high and a massive smile on his face.

"And he'll be fighting the one, the only, Giiiiiiiila theeeee Moooooonster!"

Rolf turned to face his first ever opponent and felt his confidence waver slightly at the sight of a humongous monitor, clad in a breastplate with shoulderguards and a tail spike to match.

"Gila! Gila Gila!" The crowd roared, as a forked tongue passed over the monster's muzzle. Hungry, snake-like eyes bore down on Rolf and tore his confidence to shreds. Before the mouse could so much as think, a hundred blows descended. A dozen swings fell. A mighty tail knocked him flat. A smack here, a slap there, pain everywhere. His face swelled purple, several teeth flew out and blood dribbled from the sides of his muzzle.

"I wasn't expecting things to be as... intense as they are here."

Rolf groaned, stumbled over a loose, badly-fitted bandage and fell on his face. He forced himself up again, stumbled slightly and nearly fell over again. This time however, his face was caught by a helpful paw. Another paw grabbed him by the scruff and Rolf felt himself being pushed upright.

"Easy there mate," a concerned-looking, young rat peer down at him from behind a large nosering. "Yew look like yew need a healer. Yew need te get yer..." the rat paused, noting that every square inch of mouse seemed to have been damaged in some way. "Fixed," he finished lamely. Then he lifted Rolf clear off the ground and waddled in the general direction of the healer. "I'm Ralph by the way."

"Ralph, funnily enough, was the first beast in the city to be nice to me. And Carrabas payed for my healer's bill after I- er- was bloodied up pretty bad in my first match."

"Thank you sir," Rolf rubbed at a black eye, the last of his many injuries.

"Think nothing of it, my young friend," chuckled a well-dressed stoat. "The amount of times I've been knocked bloody when I was your age... Really, any decent beast would have done the same. No mother deserves to see their child like that."

"I-I just wish there was some way I could repay you. I don't really have any money b-but if there's anything I can do-"

"Oh no! No, no no-"

"I insist!" Rolf protested. "My mother would have killed me if she had seen me so wounded."

The stoat paused, chuckling again. "Well... there is one thing I suppose... You've already met Ralph of course."

"And I had to pay him back so he paired me up with Ralph."

"You want me to... lose?"

"With style," Carrabas reiterated. "Just for a few matches in a few of the surrounding villages. Nothing too difficult, not much of an audience but enough to earn some decent cousin. And there's some coin in it for you too! If you're willing that is."

Rolf scratched at an ear. "Well.... I guess I owe you that much. Not like my reputation would suffer much after... Gila."

"And we started doing... what you saw just now. Only for a little bit until I didn't owe him anymore. Then I came back home looking like..." he tapped a claw against his purple nose. "And I never wanted to come back or see an arena ever again but... Ralph misplaced his trophy and it ended up in my bag..."

Rolf dropped his bag at the bottom of the stairs and limped up to his bedroom on the second floor, intent on catching a few hours of sleep before having to explain himself to his parents. He locked the door behind him, and threw himself face-first upon the mattress. The young mouse was just beginning to nod off when he heard his father's voice cut through the silence. "Elizabeth, honey! Rolf's back!"

"Oh no," Rolf moaned into his pillow- any second now they'd come up the stairs and find him miserable. Then he'd have to explain to them all that he had been soundly defeated in his first match and had pretended to be so in all his subsequent matches.

"And then dad found it."

"H-honey!" his father squeaked. "We have a champion in our family!"

"And I didn't want- I couldn't tell them what it really was! N-not when they-they-"

"Wow Rolf!" gasped Hammond, admiring the silvery trophy inscribed with the words Ralph- Champion Of Pouletown-By-The-Sea. "You really beat a monitor lizard?"

"With one paw!" the young mouse bragged, and both his elder brothers gasped in awe.

"That's my boy!" Rolf's father was ecstatic, and hugged his youngest tight.

"Oh hush the lot of you!", Elizabeth snapped. Brushing past them all to tend to Rolf's purple nose. "My pore baby's hurt,"

"Mother!"

"I'm only joking dear." She smiled and pinched his cheek lightly. "I'm so proud of you."

"Not when they were so proud of me! They were all proud of me an-and it felt good, Kew-Kew! It felt good to be the champion for once, not just Rolf the baby brother. And well... they talked me into going again and I brought home another trophy and they were so... proud.."

Kew-Kew crossed his arms over his chest. "Rolfie is still liar-mousie."

"Y-yes, I-I know. B-but what mother doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

"Kew-Kew is never lying to mother of Kew-Kew. There is no reason to, mousie. Why lie?"

"Because", snapped Rolf. "Nobeast would like it if I told them the truth. My mother wouldn't let me leave the house ever again and I don't want to go back t-to being Barth's punching dummy! I don't want to be just 'Rolf'. I- why would I? He's not really the champion of the family, he's not the 'professional fighter' he's just... me. Yes, I'm living a lie, I know. B-but it makes me- it makes them happy, and when they're all there patting me on the back a-an' congratulating me i-it makes me... happy..." Rolf trailed off and for the first time since his story began, met Kew-Kew's gaze.

The wearet was frowning with visible sympathy. Gone was the snarl in his voice and gone was the furrow of his brow. A raw, pink paw was placed on Rolf's shoulder.

"Is Rolfie hungry?"

"Huh?"

The wearet's tummy rumbled. "I is hungry," said Kew-Kew with a shrug.

"... Did you hear any of that?"

Kew-Kew nodded. "Yes, but I is hungry. Rolfie has pancake?."

"I... don't. B-but I do know where we can get some."

Kew-Kew cawed in delight and gestured for the mouse to lead the way.

"So... you're not going to tell my family, right?" Rolf asked a short while later, as they tramped up the stairs. "No mentioning any of this to Margaret o-or my mother, or Barth-"

"I is not telling mousies anything." Kew-Kew promised. "Rolfie is telling them everything!"

"W-what? N-no! Kew-Kew please! They'd never look at me the same. They'd know I lied to them they-"

"Kraw! Is mousie's fault for lying! Rolfie tells family everything!"

Rolf stopped in the middle of the staircase and spun round to face the wearet. "Please! Y-you can't-"

"Kew-Kew will!"

"I'll do anything!" the mouse whimpered. "Please, just don't t-tell them. I- they'd hate me."

Kew-Kew crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. He stood there for what felt like an eternity (and indeed was a good deal more than the usual five minutes) before a brilliant idea came to him, then his face twisted into a look of foul cunning. "Anything?"

"Yes," Rolf promised, his apprehension rising as Kew-Kew's muzzle split into a wide, yellow-toothed grin.

"I is not telling mousies anything if Rolf-mousie helps Kew-Kew catch many biiiiig eagles!"

Rolf swallowed audibly. "H-how many?"

"Ten!" cried Kew-Kew, spreading his paws out so that Rolf could count his fingers.

"B-b-but ten-"

"Does Rolfie want Kew-Kew quiet or Kew-Kew telling everything? Especially to mother of Rolf-mousie!"

Rolf whined, and tugged at his ears. "F-fine, I'll help you catch all the big big eagles you want- but my family never finds out about any of this ever! Understood?"

"Yes," Kew-Kew cawed in triumph, spat on his paw and shook Rolf's bandaged arm the way he had seen some of Thornhill's villagers do. "Kew-Kew says nothing. Mousie family never finds out. And we catch lotsa eagles."

"Good," Rolf sighed and turned to continue up the staircase. The prospect of hunting eagles did not exactly appeal to him but the curled talons of a mighty predatory seemed nothing in comparison to his mother's disapointment. Then again, disapointment couldn't kill him. Before Rolf could ponder his predicament any further, Kew-Kew swept him clear off his feetpaws and passed a thick, slobbery tongue over his disgusted face. "What was that for?" the mouse demanded, in that moment hating every feathery inch of Thornhill's resident eagle.

Kew-Kew did not answer, and instead made a noise between a craw and a purr, his mouth hanging open and salivating profusely upon the preything in his arms. "Rolf-mousie is delicious."

"That's..." Rolf squeaked, eyeing his roommate with growing concern as he wiped the wearet's saliva off of his face. "...good to know."

"Perfect eagle food!" cawed the wearet, licking his lips.

Kew-Kew belched loudly and patted a full belly with a sigh of contentment. Rolf was truly an excellent roommate.

He had found pancakes for Kew-Kew!

"Is that all or would you like some drinks?" demanded the waiter, a burly toad who was eyeing the happy wearet (who had just demonstrated the worst table manners in The Barfing Bird's long history of horrible table manners) with mild disgust.

"I'll have a beer," muttered Rolf. He paused briefly to glance in Kew-Kew's direction. "He'll have some milk."

"Hmph, light weight is he?" the gruff waiter turned and hopped away without waiting for a reply.

"No, but he's bad enough sober..." Rolf sighed and passed a paw over the fur between his ears. Things could be worse, he told himself. Things can always be worse. Ralph still doesn't know about the trophies. My family still don't know about my job...

The prospect of hunting eagles did not exactly appeal to him, and was made even less appealing by Kew-Kew's repeated declarations that he was the 'most tasty mousey-thing ever!' but if that's what it took to keep his secret safe, he'd do it.

After all, I'll take it to my grave if an eagle does eat me.

"So, Rolfie always lets Ralphie win?" Kew-Kew pondered, licking his platter clean.

"It's my job," Rolf shrugged.

"And Rolfie pretends to be big mousey-champie-thing to make Rolfie feel better than Rolfie is?"

Says the wearet who thinks he's a bird... "Yes."

"Kraw," Kew-Kew shook his head from side to side and raised a claw to the heavens in a mockery of every wise beast there ever was. "Mousey-thing should just be mousey-thing! Rolfie is not having to be something Rolfie is not."

The black-eyed mouse gritted his teeth, and pinched the tip of his snout. It was all he could do to remain calm. I am being lectured on the subject of identity by the single most misguided creature on this good earth...

"Family and Kew-Kew will love Rolfie anyway," Kew-Kew placed his pink paw on Rolf's shoulder. "Because Rolfie is bestest roommate."

"They'd like me a lot less if they knew the truth."

Before Kew-Kew could respond to that, the grumpy toad waiter returned with their drinks; a large tankard of milk for Kew-Kew and a small cup of beer for Rolf.

"Stick around," he said in a tone that suggested he wanted them gone as soon as possible. "The Battle of the Bards begins in five."

"Bard?" Kew-Kew turned to Rolf for guidance. Normally Margaret was the one who translated strange words to him, but in her absence he'd settle for her brother.

"A beast that sings," the small mouse sipped at his drink and let out another long-suffering sigh. "The Barfing Bird- that's the name of this place- hosts a Battle of the Bards every other week. They keep trying to replace their current performer but..." he eyed the corner of the inn, where a massive mole, half as tall and twice as burly as Kew-Kew, fiddled nervously with a drum. "Barrumtum has other plans..."

"Fat mole-thing fight other bardies?" Kew-Kew lapped at his milk, his tone inquisitive and excited.

"Not always physically, though that does happen sometimes." Rolf scratched the back of his neck. "Pretty often actually. But whoever sings the best gets hired... In theory."

"Ladies and gentlebeasts," grumbled the toad waiter, "Welcome one and all to our Battle of the Bards. We have three new challengers today- vying for the prestigious position of Bard of the Barfing Bird."

There came a dull cheer from the crowd (many of whom were beginning to leave), and a deafening cry of 'Keeeeeraw!' from Kew-Kew.

"Without further ado, pleeease welcome the 'Amaaaaazing' Kali."

The strangest thing Rolf had ever seen before meeting Kew-Kew had been a mild-mannered, justice-seeking bookworm of a snake. After meeting Kew-Kew, the strangest thing Rolf had ever seen had been Kew-Kew. The new strangest thing he had ever seen now stood on a cheap platform (a bar stool) and strummed at a lute.

It had the long, pointy ears, the narrow muzzle and the rust-coloured fur of a fox, the weight and wide frame of a beast who enjoyed pie a little too much, and the leathery black wings of a demon from Hellgates.

Kew-Kew screeched in excitement, pointed a gnarled claw at the bard and declared for all to hear. "Singing bad-thing! I knows it!"

"You do?" Incredulous, Rolf swivelled around to face his companion. "I thought you didn't know what a bard was?"

"Is singing-thing!" Kew-Kew huffed. "Rolfie just explained." Then the wearet was excited again. "Kali told Kew-Kew all about making pancakes!"

Rolf, who had been on the receiving end of the eagle's cooking more than once, narrowed his eyes, his face darkening. "Did she?"

Kew-Kew nodded enthusiastically. "When Kew-Kew was nothing but little eggchick..."

"Today is day!" cried Kew-Kew, skipping towards the edge of the Flapping Branch, the place from which all young eagles took their first flight. His mother had, of course, told him he wasn't ready but Kew-Kew had seen a dozen hatchlings take the jump and soar into the air and was now convinced that it was his turn to do so.

The young eagle stretched his wings wide, stiffened his tail, crouched low and readied himself for the leap of a lifetime. Today was going to be different. He had tied a few of his mother's longest feathers to the sides of his skinny wings and flapped his arms with all the confidence in the world. This time Kew-Kew was going to hop off the edge of the branch, catch a draft of wind and fly, high into the sky. He would circle around the Flapping Branch and then glide in the wake of his mother who had gone hunting for the day. And then he could go hunting with her! Oh, how the preythings would shiver in the cold shadow of their wings! How they would tremble at the sound of their hunting cries!

"Today is day!" Kew-Kew declared, springing upwards in a flurry of limbs and feathers. For a moment he was gaining altitude, the ground beneath him was growing further away and a feeling of triumph swelled and filled him from nose to toe-tip.

The next moment he was falling gracelessly towards the ground below.

"KeerAAAAAAAH!"

Luckily for Kew-Kew, he did not hit soft ground underneath the Flapping Branch. He did hit something soft though, was bounced into the air again (though not quite as high this time) and rolled to his talons, his wings spread wide.

"Kraw! Who goes through the land of Kew-Kew?" hissed the young eagle, flapping on the spot in a show of domination that would terrify any preything into obedience. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a dazed-looking, deformed bird-thing that looked as if they had flown into a tree and been beset by swarms of feather-eating maggots.

"Oooooow," the creature stumbled onto a pair of short, awkwardly-made legs, it's own wings rubbing at a bruised stomach- Kew-Kew's landing spot.

"What is you?" Kew-Kew wondered aloud, sniffing the air with a great deal of caution. "Bad eggchick?"

Seemingly for the first time, the strange creature noticed Kew-Kew's presence. "Oh I'm a flying fox. We're a type of..." she trailed off at the sight of the small, skinny wearet dressed in feathers.

"Preything!" finished the delighted Kew-Kew. He had caught his first preything! He could already imagine the look of shere delight on his mother's face.

"A... what?" Kali's awkward laughter shook with nervousness. Her mind immediately darted to the dozens of cannibal tribes said to reside throughout the known world. Sometimes it felt like she had ran into half of them. The flying fox stopped laughing and swallowed. "Hi."

"Hello preything," greeted Kew-Kew, circling the fat bat. Her ears and wings had next to no meat on them but she sported a paunch so impressive his mouth watered. "I is Kew-Kew," he managed through the slobber.

"Kew-Kew, that's a nice name!" the bard continued to spin in a circle so as not to expose her back to whatever standing in front of her was. Her only hope was flying away but she had been advised against doing so in a country swarming with eagles. "I-I'm Kali by the-" the bat froze. The half-feathered monstrosity had drawn closer, and was now sniffing intently at every inch of fur he could get pale, pink and furless paws on.

"Stinky," whined the wearet all of a sudden. "Preything is stinky!"

"I do not stink!" protested Kali hotly.

"Stinking of fear," Kew-Kew huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Can't eat it now."

The bat was quick to change tack. "Yes! I stink, I stink! I'm smelly and filthy and disgusting an-and sometimes I wallow in mud- I mean- did I say mud? Well I meant my own filth! Yeah! Coz I stink..."

"But I is hungryyyyy." A lightbulb went off inside his keen, intelligent mind. "Does preything have any food?"

"Well not much," Kali dug through her travelsack until she withdrew a squashed and rolled-up pancake. "I was saving this for lunch though so maybe we could find you some nice berries-"

"Kraw!" The pancake was swiped clean from her wing in half-a-heartbeat and devoured in less than two. The wearet bit into it with a gusto and felt his mouth explode with flavour. "Krrrrrrrrrrrraw," he purred, taking another bite of the preything's heavenly lunch.

Kali watched in horror as her last snack- the one she had been saving for so long- was devoured right before her eyes. Several bites later, Kew-Kew belched with all the politeness of a beast of the jungle (in other words very loudly). There was no hope for the poor pancake.

"Keeraw! Preything make much good food," he said licking satisfied lips. "More for Kew-Kew?"

"I don't have any more," Kali swallowed, watching the undergrowth around her as if expecting more abominable wearet brats to appear and steal all her pancakes. "B-but they're not hard to make- j-just flour and water really."

Pancakes were generally made from somewhat more complex ingredients but Kali was not a baker.

Kew-Kew scowled and eyed her wide middle with pure loathing. "Stupid fat preything. Eating alla the food." Then the feathered fiend's face brightened. "So what is fat stupid preything? Is not mousey, is not eagle, is not eggchick-"

"I'm a flying fox-"

"Fox-things no flap-fly." Kew-Kew shook his head. Clearly he was dealing with an incredibly unintelligent beast. "Mother of Kew-Kew once threw fox-thing out of nest. And foxy only crash-smash everywhere."

Kali swallowed. "But I am-"

"Do not lie to Kew-Kew," the wearet child chided, wings akimbo. "I is smarter than lying not-fox-thing."

"Alright, you caught me... I... am... a... bard!" Kali raised her lute like a hammer. "And I am not going to be eaten today!"

"Bard?" To her surprise, the feathered buffoon cocked his head to the side.

"A beast that sings." Kali explained, strumming at her lute.

"Oooooooh!", Kew-Kew cooed, his eyeballs widening.

Before she knew what she was doing Kali began to play a lively, upbeat tune. The kind a crazy, cannibal child dressed in feathers would appreciate. Because Kali was nothing if not considerate of her audience.

She closed her eyes and started to sing the song of her homeland. It was a far off place she only vaguely remembered, filled with jungles and monsters and plants that ate beasts. But the song was good.

The air was alive with screeching and painful yelps and cries of terror and pain. All the worst noises in the world- chalk on a blackboard, claws raked against metal, the scream of a rusty door's hinge- rested within Kali's music.

Kew-Kew was amazed. His feathered arms dropped to the side. His jaw stood agape. His tail wagged behind him. "It's beautiful," he cawed, tears of joy and sadness swimming in his eyes and beginning to slide down his cheeks.

Kali stopped singing abruptly. One of her loot strings popped with a loud TWANG! as she blinked into reality. "Y-you really think so?" She tried to make it sound casual of course, but the note of hopefullness and the visible perking up of her ears ruined the effect somewhat.

"Is best thing Kew-Kew ever heard," the eagle confirmed, nodding vigorously as he brushed away his tears. "M-majestic! Like- like cry of a dying eagle!"

"I'll take what I can get!" Kali whooped, as unparalleled joy flooded through her entire form. "Finally after all these seasons the universe smiles on me! I have a fan! I'm appreciated! I am amaaaaaaazing!"

"You is also easy preything." Kew-Kew grinned and pointed a dirty claw at the humongous eagle now casting it's shadow over the bard. "Meet mother of Kew-Kew!"

Kali glanced upwards and swallowed. A pair of glowing eyes bore down on her like a pair of miniature suns. "H-hi," squeaked the bard.

"Hello." Kew-Kew's mother opened her beak wide, and swallowed the bat whole.

"Your mother ate her?" Rolf was frowning with skepticism, as he stared up at Kew-Kew's wide-open maw.

The wearet, who had been acting out his entire story and now stood atop the table, his face inches away from Rolf's, shrugged. "Not in front of Kew-Kew, but is what mother said and mother of Kew-Kew isn't big liar like Rolfie."

"Stupid, fat preything sing much-good." Kew-Kew complained, prodding his mother's stomach. "Sings better than it tastes mammy."

"Yes yes, Kew-Kew, but I was hungry." Despite the roll of her great, eagle eyes Kew-Kew's mother still nuzzled him with affection. "You hungry too?"

The young wearet nodded eagerly, and forgot all about Kali the bard. "Yes! Much hungry mammy! Kew-Kew almost flap-fly today! Was flying high! But then saw preything and went hunting."

"Of course you did," she cooed. "Now open wide."

Kew-Kew did as he was bid, and stretched his jaws open.

"N-no needs to recreate that Kew-Kew!" Rolf shoved the wearet's face as far away from his own as he possibly could, uncomfortably aware that more beasts were staring at him and the wearet's various antics then at the bard- who had yet to sing and was still determinedly playing her lute. "I-I know how eagles feed their young..." It was not an incident he liked to recall... "Now can you please get off the table?"

Shrugging, Kew-Kew hopped back onto his stool, picked up his tankard of milk and turned to cheer on the bard. "Kraw! Sing Bardy-bard! Sing like dying eagle!"

The urge to burst into song was strong in Kali, and it now fought an endless war with her need for a job. On the one wing, music was as much a part of her as her wings and talons were, on the other she really liked having a full belly.

And she had been fired from every job she had ever had the minute she opened her mouth.

So Kali resisted the urge, shut her eyes, kept her muzzle clamped shut and strummed away at her precious lute. And things were going well! Somebeast was chattering loudly in the background but everybeast else was likely giving her their full attention. They weren't cheering exactly, but they weren't booing either. And the more they didn't boo the easier it was to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that kept telling her to sing.

"Kraw! Sing Bardy-bard!"

Sometimes the voice was a little louder... and spoke in a different voice... Because it definitely wasn't her audience telling her to-

"Sing like dying eagle!"

-sing in oddly specific ways... Cautiously, she raised an eyelid and scanned the small crowd. A few were watching with mild interest, many were too drunk to know good music when they heard it, and near the back a single wearet was looking on in obvious excitement.

Nevertheless Kali was satisfied. They were asking for it! She sucked air into her lungs until her chest swelled and her cheeks bulged.

"The caaaaaaaaaaaaaaves are aaaaaaaaaliiiiive with the sound of MUUUUUSIC!"

Rolf clamped his paws over his ears as, next to him, Kew-Kew screeched in triumph and burst into applause. The rest of the Barfing Bird were screaming or else calling for silence and making various other noises of protest.

"With songs they have suuuung for THOUUUSANDS of yeeears..." Kali trailed off, the confidence leaking out of her like air from a popped balloon as the cacophony of booing increased in pitch and volume.

"NEXT!" barked the grumpy toad waiter, giving the fruit bat a not-so-gentle shove off of the makeshift stage.

"Kraw! But Kali-thing sing much good," Kew-Kew complained, as Barrumtum stepped onto the stage.

"'Ullo everybeast," the mole swallowed audibly. "Today oi'll be a playin' ee a zong called 'Through 'Ee Rocky Tunnel Te Yore 'eart'." Clearing his throat, the bard began to beat at his drum. Then, with a voice like churned-up gravel. Barrumtum began to sing.

"Oi knows a place ee'll never foind, behoind burly bowlders an' betwixt narsty owd mountins-"

"Bring Kali-thing back!" Kew-Kew cawed grumpily. "Mole-thing can't sings like worm!"

The entire inn held it's breath as Barrumtum stopped playing abruptly, his lips quivering. Everybeast breathed a massive sigh of relief (nobeast more than Rolf) when the mole began to beat his drum again.

"Over a sunroise-"

"Oh give it a rest, will ye?" snapped a drunken stoat near the front as they stumbled for the door. "Ye sing like a ninety year old toad who swallowed a bee the wrong way."

Barumtum put down the drum.

"Oh no," Rolf's ears flattened in horror as all around him the regular patrons stampeded towards the door with no sense of grace or dignity. The mouse put down his glass of beer and hurried to join them. "Time to go!"

"But I is not finishing my drink yet," Kew-Kew protested, holding up a half-full tankard of milk in one paw and restraining Rolf with the other.

"J-just take it with you!" the mouse squeaked, squirming against the wearet's grip. "B-Barrumtum's about to go berserk and you do not want to be here when he does!"

"Ber- serk?" the eagle cawed inquisitively, cocking his head to the side.

"Gaaaaaaaah! Kew-Kew let me go!" The ominous cracking of knuckles did nothing to help the unfortunate mouse's rapidly-increasing heart rate.

"YOU'M BE DISSURVIN' AN SMACK!" roared Barrumtum the mole, reducing an entire table into nothing but splinters with one downward stroke of his digging claws. His blood-red eyes darted around the empty room until they landed upon Kew-Kew and a very terrified Rolf.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" screamed Rolf, his heart threatening to burst from his chest.

"KEEEEEEEEEEERAAAAAAAAW!" cried Kew-Kew, his eyes widening in awe of the mighty mole.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!" roared Barrumtum, tearing a table in two as if it were nothing more than a piece of paper, and hurling both sides at his 'critics'.

Kew-Kew threw Rolf into the air and out of the way, before ducking under one half of the table, and leaping over the other.

"Kraw! Mole-thing can throw better than that!" taunted the wearet, as the screaming Rolf hit the ground besides him with a groan.

Barrumtum roared again, seized a stool and flung it towards his opponent with extreme prejudice.

Kew-Kew caught it, spun in place and used the stool to bat away the next thing Barrumtum threw at him.

Unfortunately, he batted it in the direction of Rolf, who had just managed to find his feetpaws before the flung furniture flew at him and sent the mouse skidding across the Barfing Bird's floor.

"That's gonna bruise," Rolf groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He regretted doing so a moment later, when a table leg spun into his face. "That too..." Another broken table leg whizzed overhead.

"Hihihihihi! Mole-thing can't hit Kew-Kew! Mole-thing can't hit Kew-Kew!" the eagle chanted, batting aside everything Barrumtum threw at him in what was probably the most intense game of cricket in Plomplemoof's entire history. Chairs, tables, cups, tankards, mugs, glasses, even the unfortunate innkeep were all flung towards the happy wearet who smacked them aside without fail.

"I'll sue you both!" croaked the grumpy toad waiter, who at least had a reason to be grumpy, now that half his face was swollen purple. "I'll sue you b- ack!" An entire table, courtesy of Barrumtum, put an end to all the amphibian's current suing endeavours.

Rolf winced, but didn't like the toad enough to offer immediate medical assistance. "He'll be fiiiine," the mouse swallowed, ducking behind the counter where he was mostly safe from stray bits of furniture. "I've had worse bruises than that."

Upon running out of furniture entirely, Barrumtum ceased his futile efforts of striking from a distance and instead charged directly towards Kew-Kew. The mole's long, curved digging claws had sent shivers down the spines of Plomplemoof's greatest fighters but Kew-Kew had seen larger talons on eggchicks.

Entirely unphased by the preything's roaring, Kew-Kew hopped onto a broken table and out of the way of Barrumtum's first swing. He skipped over the second swipe of the mole's dreaded claws and retaliated by spinning around and slamming his furless tail across the mole's face.

"Kraw! Mole-thing can't hit Kew-Kew! Mole-thing can't hit Kew-Kew! Hihihihihihi!" the wearet skipped forwards, and bounced from the top of Barrumtum's head towards a chandelier above. Briefly, he flew through the air, but the chandelier had not been made for swinging on and broke under his weight.

A shadow fell upon Rolf, and just as the wide-eyed mouse looked up to scream, it was followed by Kew-Kew's feathery rump.

THUMP!

"Not best landing of Kew-Kew," the wearet mused, oblivious to his roommate's presence beneath him. The wearet shrugged. "Not worst landing either." He stood up and dusted himself, before flapping onto the counter with a cry of 'Keeeeeraw!' and a great flap of his wings, to continue his battle with Barrumtum.

Rolf, though thankful Kew-Kew's landing hadn't broken his neck, was having one of the worst days of his life. First, he had gotten fired, then Ralph had beaten him up, then Kew-Kew had discovered his secret and now he was in the middle of a bar fight.

"Sing Kew-Kew a song bard-thing!"

"Stupid wearet," Rolf muttered, spitting feathers out of his mouth. He did not want to think about how they had gotten there. "I'm beginning to think he is worse than Ralph..."

Another shadow fell upon the unfortunate mouse before he could pursue the thought further. Rolf merely sighed.

This time the shadow was followed by Barrumtum. Winded on impact, Rolf was quite sure the mole's landing had made a miniature crater. He didn't have time to find out however, as barely a moment later the mole was on his feetpaws and searching for something to throw.

Unfortunately, the only thing behind the counter with any decent weight behind them was Rolf himself.

Picking the mouse up by the tail, Barrumtum spun him over his head like a great bola, his red eyes still focused solely on Kew-Kew. "Oi'll gives 'ee a zong! At yon funeral!"

Rolf spun head over-tail as he flew through the air, and came to an abrupt halt in Kew-Kew's paws.

"Hello Rolfie!" grinned the happy eagle, gently setting his roommate down. "Mole-thing much fun, yes?"

"I think I'm going to be sick," groaned the mouse, stumbling dizzily towards the door. Which, of course, burst open on his face.

"There ye are Kew!" cried Auslag. "I've been lookin' all over for ye." She held up Kew-Kew's eclectic collection of items. "Yew left all this when ye went lookin' for yer mouse." The plushie-maker narrowed her eyes. "What... are ye doin'?"

"Playing with angry mole," Kew-Kew gestured helpfully in the direction of a furiously charging Barrumtum, before side-stepping the mole's violent swings.

"Did ye find yer mouse?"

"Yes, Kew-Kew did!" Kew-Kew chirped, dancing around Barrumtum's offensive. "Rolfie is behind door."

Auslag closed the door so as to take a peek at the mouse squashed behind it. "I see. Well if ye don't mind me takin' advantage of yew..." Turning on her heel, the wolverine put on her salesbeast voice and hollered into the streets. "Hey! There's a fight goin' on! Three silvers te watch!"

Before Rolf had the chance to move out of the way the door burst open in his face again. A crowd of cheering, over-excited and outright bloodthirsty creatures surged in to watch and take bets. Before Auslag could so much as say 'Kew-Kew', her arms were filled with coins.

"They're fighting! They're fighting Barrumtum!" cried an over-excited weasel.

"Break his leg!" advised an old shrew.

"Give him a left one, son!" cheered a ferret.

"Let him have it!"

"Hey! That's the beast that beat Alphonso!"

Barrumtum swiped at the eagle with vicious intent, but Kew-Kew darted out of the way before the bard's digging claws could make impact. The mole swung again but the eagle was far too nimble.

Kew-Kew, enjoying himself immensely, hopped around the enraged bard as Barrumtum swung again and again. Occasionally he retaliated a little, and now sent the mole stumbling backwards with a well-timed shove.

"Ka-kaw!" Before Barrumtum could recover, Kew-Kew flapped atop the mole's head and leapt onto the face of a burly stoat near the front of the crowd. His tail wagging from side to side, Kew-Kew twisted and blew a mocking raspberry before diving headlong into the sea of beasts and disappearing within.

Barrumtum roared, and flung himself headlong into the audience. Rats, stoats, ferrets, hares- all sorts of creatures were sent hurtling through space in the mole's hunt for the eagle.

"Everybeast run for yer lives!" Auslag cried, sprinting for the exit.

It had taken a great deal of effort but Rolf had finally managed to open the door. With a sigh of relief he stretched a footpaw towards freedom, only to be crushed beneath a stampede of beasts apparently no longer interested in seeing a fight. A dozen feetpaw stomped him into the dirt until he was quite sure there was a crater around him.

Pulling himself upwards, Rolf spat dust and grit from between his buckteeth. "Thank you Kew-Kew, this is officially the worst day of my life."

"It's about te get worse son," came a gruff voice from above, belonging to one of Plomplemoof's city guards. "Yer under arrest for participating in unlawful combat practices."

Rolf merely sighed and sunk back into his crater.

  It was almost surprising that the holding cells and city watch of Plomplemoof, where no less than thirty fights went on at any given moment, were as underfunded as they were. But then again, anything from petty theft to divorce could be sorted out in one of the various arenas and crime rates were low in general. The dilapidated cell, now holding Rolf, Barrumtum and Kew-Kew, was damp, dark and cold. A single, overweight guard snored outside, their feetpaws resting on a table besides their keys. A leak somewhere above lent its voice to the strange orchestra of noises.

Click!

Crack!

Drip!

Snore!

"Oooooh, thaaaat's the spot. Y'know," Rolf slurred. "For a bard with anger management problems,"

Click

Click

"You make a preeeeetty good masseuse."

With controlled force and a smile on his face, Barrumtum chopped down on the mouse's bare back. He and Kew-Kew were none worse for wear despite their impressive brawl, but Rolf had been left in a sorry state; his tail was bent, his whiskers askew and his whole body sore. Luckily, Barrumtum was good at more than just throwing chairs around and despite his initial protests, Rolf was enjoying himself. "Thank 'ee zurr. Itten be the least oi could do after oi... after-"

"After throwing Rolfie at Kew-Kew," the wearet besides them provided, helpfully.

"Throwin' ee at moister Kew-Kew."

"Not the first time I've been thrown around," Rolf brushed the apology aside. "And as far as alternative healing is concerned this sure beats acupuncture."

Barrumtum tugged bashfully at his snout. "Itten be moighty kind of 'ee t' say so zurr. It sure is noice t'be precerated." The mole paused, raking his claws across Rolf's back with a gentleness he had never demonstrated in the Barfing Bird. "Oi'm zorry oi lost moi temper. Oi've just been sensitive about moi singin' ever since..."

"Since what?" Kew-Kew leaned forwards, his eyes wide and curious.

"Oi was part of an acting troopay when oi was younger... but they kicked me oot coz they said oi couldn't sing."

"That must have been traumatic," said Rolf, his voice laced, laden and dripping with a sarcasm neither of his cellmates caught.

Barrumtum nodded gravely. "Burr hokey, 'twurr moighty oopsettin'." The mole paused again, pressing down on Rolf's lower back and gently easing his claws upwards. Suddenly, he turned to Kew-Kew with tears in his eyes. "Duzz 'ee really be a thinken oi sing loike a worm?"

Oh no! Terror forced Rolf tense up, flooding his body with fresh waves of pain. His breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat skyrocketed. More vulnerable than ever before, his very life seemed to depend on Kew-Kew's answer.

"No," Kew-Kew shook his head from side to side, oblivious to the massive sigh of relief Rolf was blowing. "Barrumtum sings better than worm-things. Not as good as Kali-thing but much better than Kew-Kew."

The mole brightened considerably and continued his massaging with greater vigour and enthusiasm. Rolf was not exactly comfortable with the speed and ferocity at which his nerve points were struck, but it was preferable to actually being struck and still more comfortable than acupuncture.

CLICK!

CRACK!

Luckily, Rolf did not have to bear his masseuse's newfound tempo for very long. A nasally voice from outside the cell addressed them.

"Alrighty yew two, ye've been bailed out which means it's the streets for yew! No more cozy cells hahahahahaha!" The jailer, a portly shrew with matted fur/, cackled as he picked up the keys from besides his sleeping colleague.

"This cell is a lot of things," Rolf muttered. "But it's not cozy."

"Careful mouse," the shrew waggled a finger at him. "I could hold yew in here for three months just for sayin' that!" He held the key just in front of the lock, and grinned menacingly. "Maybe I-"

Kew-Kew shoved the locked door open before the shrew could finish his sentence, and smiled down at the comparatively miniscule jailer.

"B-b-but I'm not goin' te do that, c-c-coz ye've been bailed out!" putting on his best smile, the shrew pointed towards the exit.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Why is mole-thing not coming with us?" Kew-Kew wondered aloud as he and Rolf made their way up a flight of stairs.

The mouse shrugged. "He wasn't bailed out I guess. But I wouldn't worry about Barrumtum. For one thing, you just broke the lock and I'll be very surprised if they repair it in a fortnight. And well..." he trailed off as, behind them, Barrumtum could clearly be heard asking the jailer if they wanted a song sung. "He can look after himself."

Satisfied, Kew-Kew nodded. The wearet yawned widely and rubbed at his eyelids in an attempt to keep them open. "Where is Rolfie sleeping?"

"In... the Barfing Bird... hopefully. I'm not sure if they'll let me in again."

"Because of Kew-Kew?" the wearet's ears drooped apologetically. He placed a pink paw on Rolf's bruised shoulder. "I is sorry."

"It's fine..."

Before long they found themselves in the reception lounge. It was just as dilapidated as the cell they'd left behind, complete with furniture that had either collapsed a month ago or was on the verge of losing a third leg. Waiting for them on a moth-eaten couch was a fat, brown rat with a nosering.

"There yew are, finally, I've been waitin' ages!"

"Ralph-ratty," Kew-Kew growled, his eyes narrowing.

Sensing danger, Rolf scampered to stand between them. "Kew-Kew this is my very, good, friend, Ralph," he said pointedly. "Ralph, this is my... roommate. Kew-Kew.

"Hi," the rat managed a tiny wave as the wearet leaned in to sniff. Ralph blinked, and turned to Rolf, wearing an expression of total confusion. "Yew have a roommate?"

Kew-Kew passed his tongue over the side of the rat's face, provoking further confusion and another blink.

"My family took him in," Rolf explained, still wondering what had convinced them to do so.

"Right," Ralph wiped away at the wearet's saliva. "Nice to meet yew then."

Kew-Kew chewed thoughtfully at the lingering taste of rat, before shrugging. "I have plushie of Ralph-ratty," he said conversationally.

At this, the rat's ears perked up. "Oh? A fan, eh?" He shot Rolf a not-so-subtle wink and elbowed the mouse hard in the ribs. "Is this yer first time in Plomple- heeeeey!" Ralph stepped backwards all of a sudden, gesturing madly in the wearet's direction. "Kew-Kew! I-I've heard- Yer the one who beat Alphonso!" Ecstatic, he turned towards Rolf, his tail wagging and limbs flailing in a vortex of mad excitement, and shook the mouse wildly as he declared for all to hear. "He beat Alphonso the Eagle! Legendary champion of the Crowpit!"

"Kraw," Kew-Kew went pink underneath the rat's awe. "Crow-bird was no eagle."

"So it was you! Oh- oh my- oh- can I have yer autograph?"

Rolf blinked, his jaw hanging open, and watched as Kew-Kew plucked a single feather from his skirt.

"I am yer biggest fan!" The rat squealed, holding the feather as if it were sacred.

"Well thanks for bailing us out Ralph," Rolf snapped him out of his reverie, sounding far more bitter than he had intended to. "But it's been a long day and we need to get some rest."

Visibly embarassed Ralph tucked the feather into a pocket. "Oh er- sure. But Carrabas wants te see yew right away Rolf. He's the reason I'm here actually. Oh!" A light switched on inside the rat's mind. "Kew-Kew should come too!"

"What is a carrabas?" Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side. "Is it like carcass?"

"Oh no, he's a stoat." Ralph replied, with a helpful bob of his head.

"He's my boss." Rolf groaned, mentally preparing himself for the chewing out of a lifetime.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Fighting in an unregistered arena!?" the stoat exploded as soon as Rolf was seated opposite him. "I don't expect these things from Ralph, let alone you! Arrested? Do you have any idea how much that could damage my reputation? If I can't control my fighters then what kind of ringleader am I? But you didn't think about that when you went and trashed the Barfing Bird!"

"I didn't-" Rolf wisely held back on the rest of his protest. Carrabas had always been amicable, friendly even when he fired beasts. To see him now, red-faced and roaring was all sorts of terrifying. The mouse flattened his ears and shrunk into his seat, hoping that the desk between them stayed between them.

"I AM BEING SUED!" Carrabas snarled, tearing at his fur. "By the innkeep, by the city watch and by a wolverine named Auslag who claims you broke a table over her head."

"B-but I can't even lift a table!"

Carrabas shoved the desk aside as if weighed nothing and rose to his feetpaws. "And now I have to prove it in court!" He bore down on the grey-furred mouse, his fangs bared. "If this is some sort of protest over your current employment status I assure you I can make things much worse!"

Rolf swallowed audibly, unable to shrink further into the chair.

Carrabas sighed, took a deep breath and collapsed into his own seat, his paws on his face. "I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of stress lately and I expect better from you. I am, of course, fully aware that you are incapable of lifting a stool, let alone a table- and what to speak of breaking one?- and that you cannot be held responsible for the destruction of the Barfing Bird. But you were arrested and that hurts my reputation." The stoat drew away his paws, the better to glower down at his employee. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I-I- but I wasn't fighting," Rolf forced himself to stop shaking. "Barrumtum and Kew-Kew were! I-I was just... there."

"Which of course explains why you were arrested." Carrabas snorted derisively. "I have half a mind to fire you on the spot. But fine, I'll play along. Just tell me... who is this... Kew-Kew?"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"A wearet!" Carrabas cried, his eyes widening in wonder as Kew-Kew squeezed into the office behind Rolf. His anger vanished completely.

The wearet made an avian noise of disagreement and muttered something about being an eagle under his breath.

Carrabas went on as if there had been no interruption. "Why Rolf- w-wherever did you find him?"

"In my house." It sounded a lot better than 'In my bed'. "My family have sort of... adopted him. He thinks he's a-" Rolf glanced upwards and found a very cross Kew-Kew staring at him. "I-er- I mean- he is an eagle."

"A wearet with a gimmick!" Carrabas breathed.

"I is not wearet." Kew-Kew muttered grumpily, crossing his wings over his chest.

"B-boss! Boss!" Ralph burst into the office behind them all, gesturing wildly again. "He's not just any wearet-"

"Kraw!" Kew-Kew glared at the rat, who blinked stupidly and got the message when Rolf helpfully trod on his tail.

"He's not just any eagle! He's the beast- er, bird!- that beat up Alphonso! Y'know- that crow from the Crowpit!"

"No!" the stoat's eyeballs bulged out of their sockets. "Noooo!"

"Yes!" shrieked Ralph, awakening everybeast in an eight mile radius. "And he even gave me one of his feathers!" The happy rat raised his most precious possession for all to see.

"But Alphonso was the reigning champion for seasons! A-and- Kew-Kew, was it?- You came along and destroyed his career in one match!"

The eagle shrugged sleepily. "Crow-bird was big scaredy."

"I heard he pissed himself and flew into the air!" Ralph cheered.

"Do not be so vulgar in my office." Carrabas scolded, his face darkening momentarily. It brightened up a second later, when he turned to address Kew-Kew. "How would you like a job?"

"A what?" Rolf spluttered.

"A job!" the stoat replied.

"B-b-but he broke the Barfing Bird-" the mouse protested. "Y-you were going to fire me for that!"

"No I was not. Don't be ridiculous Rolf. Besides, anybeast who can fight can find work here and from what I've heard you, Kew-Kew, most certainly know how to. So what do you say?"

Stiffling a yawn, Kew-Kew shrugged again.

"Excellent!" Carrabas leapt to his feet, none-too-gently sweeping Rolf aside. "Do sit down!" he said, easing the sleepy Kew-Kew into a chair he usually reserved for honored guests. "We have much to discuss." He turned his gaze upon Rolf and Ralph and smiled disarmingly. "In private of course."

It took Ralph all of eight minutes to figure out what this meant. "Oh! R-right boss, I'll get outta yer fur. C'mon Rolf."

"We'll be upstairs." Rolf answered before Kew-Kew had the chance to ask. Without another word and with his tail dragging along behind him, the mouse followed Ralph out.

"So!" As soon as the door shut behind them, Carrabas clapped his paws together like an eager dibbun, and slipped back into his chair. "How would you like to be the greatest fighter in Plomplemoof?"

"I as champie-thing?" Kew-Kew raised a footpaw to scratch the back of his ear. He considered it for a while longer, picking his teeth in a thoughtful kind of way. In his mind's eye he saw himself, the great and mighty eagle, feasting upon fallen preythings amidst the roar of a crowd. He was even bigger and burlier in this vision, and hefted a trophy eight times his size to the cheers of his adoring fans.

Margaret's voice cut through the dream like a red-hot blade. "Fighting is the most barbaric sport in the world Kew-Kew. Honestly I'm a little disappointed in Rolf for choosing it as a career."

Back in Carrabas' office, Kew-Kew shook his head from side to side. "Kraw! Kew-Kew would like to be big champie-thing very much, but is not good. Is bar-bic."

"Barbic?" the stoat inquired, raising his eyebrow.

"Bar-bar-ick?" Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side.

"Bad," Margaret summarized. "Primitive. Not good."

"Barbic is bad, is not good." Kew-Kew explained as Carrabas' eyebrow threatened to rise off of his face. "Is pimitive."

"Primi- oh barbaric! Fighting is not barbaric," the stoat protested, but Kew-Kew cut him off.

"No. I is best hunter of eagles, but I is not champie-thing." The wearet rose to his feetpaws, stumbling slightly from the day's accumulated exhaustion.

"B-b-but a beast with your talent! I could make you the greatest fighter in Plomplemoof! You'll have everything you could possibly want-"

"All Kew-Kew wants now is sleep," the wearet interrupted, rubbing at his drooping eyelids.

"Please!" Carrabas begged, refusing to give up just yet on what might be the business deal of a lifetime. "Y-you have so much untapped potential!"

Kew-Kew shook his head from side to side. "Kew-Kew said no."

"B-but you could be so good!"

The wearet yawned openly. "I is already good."

"But-"

"No. Kew-Kew only came to see Rolfie fight, not to be champie-thing." At last there was a note of finality in the eagle's voice.

"Very well." Carrabas hid his obvious disappointment well and smiled warmly. "I think you're making the wrong decision but I respect your choice. It's still nice to meet you." He hesitated. "Tell me, would you say you and Rolf are close?"

"Kraw! Rolfie is roommate of Kew-Kew," was the wearet's happy reply. "Is not like Marr-garr-ett or mouseyworms but is good mousey."

"I am quite fond of him too." Carrabas let his smile falter. "I worry about him sometimes. Always throwing his matches." The stoat sighed. "I suppose Ralph never hits him too hard but one of these days... I fear he'll fall and never get back up."

"Is Carcass threatening Rolfie?" demanded Kew-Kew, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Rolfie said stoat wanted to fire him." Kew-Kew imagined the act of firing someone to involve roasting them on a spit, so understandably he was feeling rather protective.

"N-no! Of course- what a thought. No." The stoat sighed again. "He has a few matches left with Ralph before he has to take a break and well... Ralph always gets excited in his last match of the season and he's about to move on to real fighting and... knowing Ralph. I-I'm worried Rolf might be seriously hurt this time! Unfortunately there is nobeast else... willing to throw a match and Rolf refuses to cancel. Unless... no, no that's silly."

"What is silly?" Kew-Kew's face was twisted in visible concern.

I really should have pursued that acting career... "I just thought that... if Ralph fought you instead of Rolf, well he couldn't really do anything to hurt you. And then you would throw the match and wouldn't have to worry about anybeast coming to you and asking you to fight for them. And best of all Rolf wouldn't be hurt. I-it was just a silly thought anyways-"

"Keeraw! Is not silly at all!" Kew-Kew cawed, flapping awkwardly (all flapping was made awkward without feathers) to his feetpaws. "Is smart plan! I fight Ralph-ratty and Rolfie is not hurt. And then I is not champie-thing! Kraw! Carcass smart!"

"I try," the stoat shrugged, the very image of humility.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Yew never said ye needed a roommate," Ralph scratched the back of his ear awkwardly. "Ye know, if it's te pay rent a-an' ye needed one I-I could always share."

"Thanks," grumbled Rolf, his eyes trained to the table his head was resting on.

"So... last match soon." The rat drummed his fingers. "We've been doin' this so long y'know Rolf it feels weird that... that this is it, eh?"

"Hmmmm," was the only response the mouse gave.

"I-I guess we won't be seein' each other as much anymore. B-but we'll still keep in touch r-right?"

"Definetly," Rolf muttered grumpily, oblivious to the pleading note in the rat's voice.

"Great! Ooh! I can give yew tickets te me matches sometimes. A-an' then yew can watch some fights for free!"

"Oh joy."

"A-an' I'll be rich, right? S-so I could maybe buy yew lunch from time te time. A-an' spare tunics in case yew ever get robbed again. Ooooh! I could get yew one of 'em fancy-"

"Rolf my boy, this is why you're my favourite employee!" Carrabas burst in on the pair and before the mouse could react, he was wrapped up in a hug. "Ralph prepare for fame and fortune because Rolf just gave us a one way ticket to fighter heaven!"

"I-I did?" Rolf was, needless to say, dumbstruck. Only a few moments before Carrabas had been a snarling, rage-filled boss on the verge of berserk wrath. Now he seemed to have gone beyond even his usual, easy-going self and transformed into a bubble of joy.

"Yes you did!" cried the stoat. "Because Ralph won't be fighting you anymore. His last match before Hanzaman's Hut is going to be with Kew-Kew!"

"W-what?" Ralph balked.

"I- I don't think that's a good-" Rolf protested.

"And when Ralph wins," the stoat grinned, interrupting them both. "They'll have no doubt about my fighter's worth!" He let Rolf drop to the floor and pointed at an empty piece of wall. "The first thing I'll do when I'm rich is commision a portrait!"

"Kew-Kew knows he has to throw the match, right?" Rolf asked, pushing himself to his feetpaws. As much as he disliked Ralph it hardly seemed fair to set a misguided wearet on him.

As if in reply to the question, the wearet walked in, his mouth stretched into a yawn. "Rooooolfie?" A furless paw wiped grogginess from his eyes. "Can we go sleep now? I is much tired."

A/N: Hello dear readers and welcome! I wanted to do something productive today but well, the day had other plans. I couldn't find my pencil so no drawing (insert desired sad face), didn't know which story to add to so ended up just reading through my documents list instead of adding to it... and stumbled upon this! I have a document where I save my scraps, and well, here they are. Now I know FFN doesn't appreciate interactive fics all that much, but this is still something I thought worth publishing, especially since my archive is more or less a chart of my progression as a writer.

Now, all of the scenes in this chapter were cut out of A Little Bit Kew-Kew, specifically chapters one and two. But mostly two. I'll discuss a little bit about why they got cut at the end of each segment. Hope you guys enjoy!

One eternity later, Kew-Kew rolled to his feetpaws and bit back a yawn. The wearet rubbed sleep free from his eyes, re-adjusted his feathery clothing and stretched his tail. "Morning mousey-thing!" he chirruped, only to find Margaret fast asleep, her tail wrapped around one of his eggchicks. "Kraw! Lazy mousey-thing. No wonder is such good bait." His stomach rumbled hungrily, and licking his chops in anticipation of the breakfast waiting outside, Kew-Kew turned around and let the mouse snooze the morning away.

Unnecessary verbiage that was going to lead into a scene of Kew-Kew chopping the eagle he killed in Chapter one up and cooking it. In short the scene this was leading to was unecessary and got cut because, well, it wasn't all that important, and because this was a shift in viewpoints that came a little bit too early for my liking.

It was nearly sundown by the time Kew-Kew and Margaret reached the edge of Pouletown-By-The-Woods.

The unlikely duo had been delayed, both by Kew-Kew's traps (which the wearet seemed to consistently forget about) and because neither of them seemed to possess much sense of direction. Thrice they had found themselves walking in circles and twice they had found themselves at the foot of the same gnarled tree. Kew-Kew had even suggested turning back at one point... But none of that mattered now!

After much trial and turmoil they had found the path, and Margaret had found a new spring in her step. Home! Home at last. She could not remember the last time she'd been so excited to see smoke puffing out of chimneys or to hear the chattering of beasts. The closer and closer she drew, the faster she walked. Kew-Kew, the ordeal with the eagles, the big, dead bird... It felt almost dream-like now, as if it were a book she had turned the last page on.

"'Hey look!" Came a voice she knew. "Margaret's back!"

"Bless me seasons Gregory, you ain't wrong!"

"Hey everybeast! Margaret's home again!"

The mousemaid flushed and drew to a halt as a dozen familiar faces turned to face her. With a great, frenzied buzz the villagers drew near and surrounded her.

"Where 'ave ye been?" demanded a rat, good-naturedly.

"We were worried sick Maggy!" chattered a squirrel. "You've never been gone this long!"

A brutish-looking hedgehog muscled his way past the rest, took Margaret's paw in his own and shook it excitedly. "So glad you're back! Of course we managed without you but you had a way with the pastries we could never hope to replicate."

"You must be exhausted!"

"Someone fetch her something to eat!"

A rather rotund otter rushed towards the nearest bakery, whether this was for Margaret's sake or because they were peckish would remain one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of all time.

Amidst all the hustle and bustle of Margaret's arrival, nobeast seemed to notice her companion. At least, not until a young mouse raised a paw and pointed directly at him.

"Who ish dat?"

Several heads turned, several jaws dropped. Somebeast screamed and dropped something fragile. In a matter of seconds all the townsfolk had their eyes on the wearet.

"Hello preythings!" he said, grinning wide.

More than one beast screamed at that, and in a matter of seconds the small crowd scattered and fled. They vanished behind carts and under tables, into alleys and doorways.

"Martin help me how could I forget about you..." Margaret muttered, turning towards Kew-Kew.

She was unsurprised to find him snickering. "Hihihihihihi! Mousie village is big scaredy, all is scared of Kew-Kew." The hunter grinned smugly and crossed his furless arms over his chest. "See Margaret-mouse? I is big, scary eagle. If I is not, why do all mousies run away? Even spikey-thing is scared of Kew-Kew!" He pointed a claw at a hedgehog cowering behind a cart of apples.

Margaret raised her paw to her forehead and gritted her teeth.

I struggled a lot with what would become Kew-Kew's arrival in Thornhill. Honestly I had no idea what I wanted Thornhill to be like. The above felt a little bit too much like a tightly-packed community... which Thornhill iiiis, but not to this extent anyways. The community spirit here either suggests a) Margaret is popular (which explains the lack of search party sent after her) or that this town is just really closely-knit. In short I didn't like where this was going and didn't know how to work it into the story.

A short while later, an older mouse clad in a nightrobe, pulled the door open slightly. "Whoishit?" he yawned, trying to rub sleep from his eyes.

"Oh father I've missed you!" Margaret threw herself into the sleepy mouse's arms. "I'm sorry I frightened you! Were you worried? Oh pancakes, why am I asking? Of course you were worried!"

"M-Maggy? I-it's- oh Maggy!" He returned the hug with force. "Of course we were worried! Your mother hardly got any sleep, and Gregory went looking for you an-and-" He pulled free of the hug, the better to look her over. "Bless my seasons Maggy look at the state of you! What happened? Was it brigands? I thought it might be brigands- oh no you must be so tired. Please, forgive me, just come on in. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Shall I make-"

Margaret shook her head. "No it's fine. Please, it's late I don't want to keep you up, but there's something I need to tell-"

"I is hungry!" Kew-Kew announced, from inside the house and behind Margaret's father. The elder mouse's ears perked up, and slowly he turned to face the grinning wearet.

He screamed a high-pitched scream that was the envy of every opera singer everywhere, and stumbled backwards and tripped at the doorway. Margaret caught him as he fell, and glared. "I told you to wait outside."

"Window was open," said Kew-Kew with a shrug. "And I is still around where Marr-garr-ett asked Kew-Kew to be."

Margaret opened her mouth to scold the wearet further, but was interrupted by the stuttering of her frightened father.

"W-what? M-Margaret d-d-do you know this beast?"

"After a fashion. This is Kew-Kew. He's a er- well I don't know what he is-"

"I is eagle." Kew-Kew offered, helpfully.

"But he er- he helped me get back here." The mousemaid finished, neglecting to mention that Kew-Kew was also the reason she'd been gone for so long.

"O-oh. Well f-forgive me er- Kew-Kew, was it? Y-y-you just... took me by surprise is all." The mouse hoisted himself back into a standing position, and adjusted his nightrobe. "P-please c-come i-, w-well you're already inside. Goodness Maggy, you must be tired."

"Oh you have no idea." The mousemaid stifled a yawn.

"W-well then it's off to bed with you, isn't it? I'll leave my pestering for the morrow, and you mister Kew-Kew er- I don't suppose you have a place to stay, do you? Might be too late for the inns. I could... I suppose I could offer you the spare bedroom?"

"Bed-room?"

"It's well, I suppose it's where beasts sleep."

"Oh yes, Kew-Kew is big tired from walking all day with mousey-thing. Need lotsa sleepy-time." To underline this point the wearet yawned.

The elder mouse chuckled. "You and me both. Well then sleep well Maggy, all your favourites are for breakfast. Kew-Kew if you could please follow me. I-it's nothing much but I daresay it'll be comfortable."

This was written, again, as an alternative version of Margaret and Kew-Kew's arrival in Thornhill. I remember this scene was set at night, and the idea I had while writing it was that Margaret would be trying to keep Kew-Kew's existence a bit hush-hush from the rest of Thornhill. Obviously things turned out a little bit differently :P I also didn't like the characterization of Margaret's father in this.

"Promise me you won't do anything rash father." Margaret begged, racing besides her father to keep up with his furious feetpaw.

The blacksmith snorted. "Course I won't Maggy. I'll just give 'im a bit of a talking-to is all. The way he treated you is entirely unacceptable-"

"I-I know that. B-but he didn't I mean, it could have been worse-"

"That's no excuse. Nobeast lays a paw on me an' my own."

The mousemaid looked towards the rest of her family for help, but found nothing but consoling glances and shrugs.

"Marr-garr-ett!" Came the voice of Kew-Kew. The family of mice turned their heads towards the noise, and found Kew-Kew atop the flowershop. "And family!" The wearet waved and scrambled down to meet them.

"Hello Kew-Kew," said Margaret, the only beast in the area who hadn't suddenly lost control of her jaw muscles. Her eyes darted towards the soot on his face, the crumbs in his whiskers and the dreamcatcher hanging from his head, but she made no comment on them.

Her father managed to wrestle his mouth closed, and stood there sizing the wearet up. No doubt he'd been expecting to dish out his 'talking to' to somebeast his size rather than double it.

Her mother, being as mild-mannered as old ladies came, instinctively tried to hammer out a 'good day'.

Barth brother blinked rapidly. Violet instinctively stepped between her husband and the hairless beast. Behind them both, the dibbuns stared wide-eyed with wonder.

Margaret cleared her throat awkwardly and watched as the owner of the flowershop (a kindly mole that went by Fluwr) stared up at their roof in horror, as if expecting a murder of Kew-Kews to emerge from it at any moment.

"S-so you're Kew-Kew?" Elizabeth managed to stammer out.

"I is," said the wearet, stifling a belch and shooting the scowling Margaret a look of pure innocence.

"Pleased to... make your acquaintance..."

"Ack-wait-uns?" Kew-Kew cocked his head to the side.

"It means nice to meet you." Margaret whispered, uncomfortably aware that more and more creatures were stopping to stare at them.

"Oh! Ackwaituns!" The wearet stepped forwards. Elizabeth, expecting a pawshake, stretched her arm forwards only for the wearet to wrap his own arms around her.

"H-hey-" Thomas was still determined to scold the wearet in some way, shape or form, but had yet to come up with a plan of attack. Before any strategy could come to mind, Kew-Kew had him in a hug.

"Ackwaituns!"

Several ackwaitunses later Kew-Kew stepped away from the family of flustered mice and made his way over to Margaret's side. "Mousie family is very scaredy," he whispered. Everybeast heard him of course.

Kew-Kew's first meeting with Margaret's family happened off-screen in the final version- that was deliberate. I was mostly struggling with what I wanted Margaret's family to be like. Were they mild-mannered rich and fancy folk? Were they farmers? And again, the characterization of her father was not my favourite :P

"That blasted bird did what!?" Margaret flinched away from her father's question and repeated her answer.

"He hung me from a tree to use as bait."

"And you brought him here!?" Barth looked thunderstruck.

"Well... yes. But he's not bad. Really!" For some reason her family looked skeptical. "He's just... incredibly confused... and besides I-I couldn't have found the way back by myself."

"So you lead an eagle to us!?" exclaimed one of Margaret's least favourite nephews.

"How could you Maggy?" demanded another of her sibling's offspring.

"Eagles eat mice." said the third, as if it wasn't common knowledge.

"H-he's not an eagle, he just thinks he is one." Margaret raised a paw to her forehead, the better to rub at it. "I think one might have adopted him and then died an- and he's just been in the woods for so long with nobeast to talk to that... well., he just doesn't know any better."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Barth! No, he's not- well not really I mean... he's mostly harmless."

"I'll decide for myself how harmless he is." Margaret's father crossed his paws over his chest. "Where is this... Kew-Kew?"

And again, another scene that got cut. Now, I did rework some of this dialogue into the final version of Kew-Kew's tale but again, I didn't like the characterization of Margaret's father or the way I introduced her family. It felt too heavy-handed and forced. I also think this scene paired up with the one above where Margaret's father is rushing to 'teach Kew-Kew a lesson' but I can't remember at the moment :P

Naturally, the first thing Margaret's father had done was comment on how awful she looked. The second thing he did was swing her onto his broad shoulders and carry her the rest of the way home.

"We were worried sick Maggy!" The aforementioned mousemaid's mother, Elizabeth, sobbed. "You've never been gone this long!"

"My daughter's home!" her father announced, for all the neighborhood to hear.

Margaret's brutish-looking brother Barth muscled his way towards her, took her paw in his own and shook it ecstatically. "So glad you're back! Of course we managed the business without you but it wasn't easy. I do hope you're fit for work so-"

"Poppy seeds about work! You must be exhausted!" Their mother shoved Barth roughly away, the better to see how exhausted her daughter was.

"Somebeast fetch her something to eat!" roared her father, the muscled and grizzled village blacksmith.

"I'll bring back a feast!" Without another word Hammond, Margaret's littlest (and fattest) brother, rushed off towards the nearest bakery. Margaret had no doubt that he's have a snack or two on the way.

"It's Maggy-Nanny!" A swarm of miniature mice seemed to pop out from the floorboards and at once they surrounded and pounced upon their aunt.

"So tell us Maggy." The mousemaid's sister-in-law, Violet, an inquistive beast who fancied herself an explorer, squeezed through the crowd of dibbuns and provided Margaret a much needed seat. "What adventures have you been on?"

Margaret cleared her throat, and sat down, more than a little flustered by all the staring that was being done. She was not normally the center of attention. "W-well-" she started, pulling her whiskers out of a dibbun's grip. "I suppose it all began when I saw this lovely blue rose..."

I remember being quite satisfied with this version of the introduction of Margaret's family, but also feeling that it messed up the pacing a little bit too much and dragged the rest of the chapter down. I also feel like the descriptors of Margaret's family were a little bit ham-fisted here, clunky, heavy, not neat. I much prefered introducing them in the chapter afterwards from Kew-Kew's perspective (which would allow for some exposition) and then adding Rolf to the family tree as a bonus afterwards :)

A few minutes later, armed with the wearet's promise, Margaret walked down the hill towards her home with a newfound spring in her step.

She had long taken Thornhill and it's residents for granted. The local flowershop that always seemed to be on the verge of collapse suddenly seemed a lot more stable. The bread of the bakery had never smelled so good. The library and it's stone gargoyles had never seemed more welcoming.

Next to the comforting familiarity of her home, Kew-Kew, the ordeal with the eagles, the big, dead bird... It all felt like a dream, as if it were a book she had just turned the last page on.

All it took was a quick glance at the state of her clothes, however, to know that none of it had been a dream.

Just round the gargoyle now...

Margaret turned a corner, and came crashing into the poor beast around it.

"Oi! Watch where yer goin' young whipper- well bless me." Her father's jaw dropped. "M-Maggy?"

I don't think this story will get updated often- I have a lot of deleted scenes mind, but they're usually scrapped because I can't stand the sight of them :P I also thought that this was worth sharing because well, they were all mostly trials and errors of the same scene. An uncommon occurence with me since I usually don't go beyond a second draft.

Unable to come up with a reason to refuse the rat, and more than a little curious about what Ralph had told his grandfather about him, Rolf found himself being lead out of Plomplemoof and into the surrounding forests. Any second thoughts he had were rendered mute by the vice-like grip Ralph's tail had on his wrist. The fat rat had a spring in his step and walked at a pace that forced Rolf to jog or else get dragged behind.

"So, one thing you ought ter know about my family is that they don't really know that yew... ye know..." Ralph scanned the surrounding trees as if hoping they would give him the right word.

"Lose?" offered Rolf, stumbling over a stray root and hitting the ground besides the rat.

"Aye. So they think yer a real fighter. An' they think I'm a real fighter." Ralph explained as Rolf got to his feet.

The grinding of mice teeth was audible. "And you expect me to play along?"

Ralph must have noticed the bitterness in his tone for he turned to face him. "C'mooon, just for one afternoon."

"Fine," Rolf relented, unable to refuse the big stinking rat's pleading eyes. It's not like I was honest with my family either.

"Knew I could rely on yew buddy!" Ralph declared, slapping him across the back the way he was oh-so-fond of doing. Rolf hit the ground in a cloud of dust.

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If Ralph was excited, Carrabas was over the moon. He lead Kew-Kew through the underground streets of Plomplemoof to a door marked 'The Hat and Dashberry', where he stopped and knocked twice.

"What do yew want?" the door opened up an inch, to reveal a pair of narrowed eyes hidden beneath a thicket of quills.

"This, Kew-Kew, is my personal dresser. Madeline Madquill- but don't let her name frighten you! She's brilliant at what she does- there's nobeast better, in fact! Acupuncture, haberdashery, hats! You name it, she does it!"

"Flattery don't pay the landlord Carrabas," the hedgehog grunted, eyeing Kew-Kew suspiciously. "I hope ye've got somethin' good for me this time."

"Oh Madeline! Always so straight to the point," Carrabas laughed heartily. The hedgehog flared up with rage, her quills bristling, and the stoat turned his laugh into a cough. "I promise I'll pay you back this time- by the end of the day in fact!"

Madeline raised an eyebrow, and opened the door a few inches more, fixing her scowl on Kew-Kew. "This that miracle you were talking about earlier?"

"No, I is eagle," Kew-Kew corrected, stretching a paw out in greeting the way he had seen Margaret do countless times.

"Well you had better be a miracle..."Madeline sniffed, giving his twisted claws one look and deciding that pawshakes were an unnecessary courtesy.

"What is mirkle?"

"He will be! Carrabas insisted. "He can't not be- one way or another, today I repay my debts to you. All seven undue payments-"

"Nine."

"Nine undue payments will be returned to you in full, with interest." Carrabas smiled. "I just need one more smaaaall favour from you my dear, sweet Madeline and here he is. Work your magic and make this beast look like a champion!"

The hedgehog chewed her lip, before finally shrugging and throwing the door open completely. "'Eagle' eh? I'll see what I can do."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Home sweet home!" Ralph declared, gesturing at an old, partially-collapsed hovel with a roof that looked like it leaked. A signpost older than time, which hung haphazardly off of one bent nail, welcomed them to 'Rodrick's Roost'. "Soooo," he glanced inquisitively in Rolf's direction. "What do ye think?"

The hovel had two broken windows and an empty frame. The door was covered in moss and creaked eerily in a nonexistent breeze. Grafitti covered the front of the house with horrendous and crude imagery. "It's... not bad?" Rolf offered, wondering briefly how anybeast bought into his acting.

Nevertheless Ralph seemed to buy it and with a newfound spring in his step, skipped down the dirt path towards the moss-coated door, leaving Rolf no choice but to follow. The rat gestured excitedly at the grafitti. "I drew all that by the way, when I was younger. T'make the place look more homey, ye know? Ooh hang on!" he stopped suddenly, his eyes darting across the old wall. "There!" he pointed up at a vague line of squiggles near the top of it. "I drew you!"

"I'm flattered." Rolf did not bother hiding his sarcasm. Ralph would never catch it anyways.

Ralph chewed his lip. "Ye don't think it's weird d'yew? That I put yer face on my house I mean."

Well, it's not really my face. "Not... really."

"Great!" Ralph resisted the urge to hit Rolf on the back this time. "Wait till ye see inside!"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Hold still! I need to take your measurements," standing atop a pair of stacked stools, Madeline stretched her paw to the top of Kew-Kew's head and let her measuring tape fall to the ground.

"Quite a tall fellow..." she muttered, as if this were not obvious at first glance.

Clambering down from her precarious perch she drew the tape round his middle and made a mental note of the measurements as Kew-Kew watched on, fascinated.

Once more Madeline climbed her ladder of stools. "Now stretch your arms like so," she said demonstrating the motion. Kew-Kew hastened to obey, knocking her over in the process.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The moss-eaten door opened up to a single large room that Rolf guessed was the hovel's kitchen, dining room, living room, bedroom, bathroom and toilet. Although he hoped he was wrong about the latter. There was a dusty, ash-covered fire place in one corner, a haphazard bunk-bed that seemed likely to collapse in the other and a couch in the center that was well-worn from overuse. The floor was carpeted with old clothes and dishes, spare pants and tunics lay here and there in untidy heaps. Rolf grimaced visibly at the large pile of empty bottles.

"This is my room." Ralph explained. "I gets the top bunk. An' me cousin Derrick gets the bottom one. Grandad sleeps on the couch coz he sold his bed. But it don't get too cold round these parts and Plomplemoof ain't far. So it's not too bad."

It made Rolf feel very lucky to have his own room. Even if he had to share with Kew-Kew.

"Derrick and Grandad probably went te see a few matches- at the free arenas that is, so we'll wait for them before gettin' started on lunch."

"Alright."

"But there's something I wanted te show yew first anyways." Ralph pointed at a pair of curtains- made entirely out of old, stitched-together clothing. Rolf crept forwards cautiously, not daring to imagine what kind of thing would need such a crude covering.

The mouse hesitated.

"C'moooooon," Ralph encouraged, the tips of his muzzle spreading into a smile.

Rolf pulled aside the curtains, promising to wash his paws very thoroughly afterwards, and gasped.

No less than two dozen trophies stared back at him. They were old, carpeted in dust and dirt and yet still gleaming as if freshly polished. 'RODRICK' was written on all of them, though some of the larger ones added 'THE RUMBLER'. Shiny jewels and glittering pearls stuck out like a hundred sore thumbs.

"My grandad was once the best fighter in Plomplemoof." Ralph pulled a large poster from behind one of the more impressive trophies and unfurled it in Rolf's face.

The mouse blinked. "That's... a baby picture... of you..."

Ralph frowned and turned the poster towards himself. His face went red. "Oh! Sorry, heh, wrong one." Removing another poster, he thrust it into Rolf's face.

The mouse's jaw nearly dropped off it's hinges. An incredibly thickly-built rat grinned down at him from behind muscles of pure steel. An arm as thick as a tree trunk made Rolf feel like an ant in comparison. The rat in the poster wore nothing but a pair of incredibly short pants and a tiny earring. One footpaw crushed an opponent into the dirt, while his tail raised a trophy high above his head. The figure was so majestic in his victory that not even his impressive belly, or the paw scratching his butt, made him look any less like a champion.

"OI! Whozzit?" A mean-faced rat thrust the door open, nearly tearing it off it's rusted hinges. In one paw they brandished a half-filled bottle of cheap alcohol, the other dealt with an itchy posterior. He lowered his guard. "Oh Ralph, it's yew." Then raised it again and brought his paw up to jab in Rolf's direction. "Who's this runt?"

"Grandad, this is Rolf. The friend I was tellin' yew about." Ralph explained, replacing the poster.

"Oh, the fighter, eh?" Ralph's grandfather took a deep swig from his bottle. "He don't look like much of a fighter." Nevertheless the rat limped forwards to meet the mouse and did a drunken mockery of a sweeping bow. "Welcome te our humble home."

"It's er- quite nice." Rolf scratched awkwardly at his chest. From the way the older rat scowled, however, he knew he hadn't bought it.

"The name's Rodrick. I be yer mate's grandad." He raised the bottle to his eye, swirled it's contents around, shrugged, and downed the whole thing in one go. Tossing the empty bottle aside, he stretched out a weatherbeaten paw as gnarled as Kew-Kew's footclaws.

"Nice to... meet you," said Rolf, taking the paw more out of habit than anything else. The old rat reeked of alcohol (and Rolf was sure that had not been his first bottle of the day) and stunk of garbage. He wore nothing but a pair of pants (likely the same one as in his fighter days) and a single earring, the better to accentuate his massive paunch. In other words Rolf was unsurprised that he was a relation of Ralph's.

His thoughts must have shown rather clearly on his face, for Rodrick suddenly guffawed and squeezed the mouse's paw tightly. "A lil' posh one, eh?" He thrust his gut into Rolf's face and ruffled the mouse's fur without mercy. "Never heard of a fighter what was a nob!"

"Grandad!" Ralph hurried to get between them, but was swept aside by the old rat's tail.

"Oh hush it Ralph I'm only jokin' with the lil' one." He released the disgruntled mouse and grinned. "Go an' see if Derrick's back yet."

Ralph hesitated a moment, before scurrying through the moss-covered door. Rodrick turned back to his guest, and leaned down so that they were nose to nose. He promptly belched.

Rolf batted away the foul air, an act that was becoming increasingly and irritatingly commonplace in his life.

"Don't take it personally, mouse, it's just me special way of sayin' hello." He winked as he straightened up, and threw his arm around Rolf's shoulders, it was no longer as thick as a tree trunk, but still far more muscular than the rest of the mouse. "I've heard a lot a' good things about yew, an' believe me it's a true pleasure to finally make yer- hmmm, how do the nobs say it again? Ackwaitense?"

"Acquaintance. And I'm not a... nob."

Rodrick chuckled. "If yew can say that word, then yew are." He gestured at the trophy cupboard. "A fan, eh?"

"I-it's an impressive collection." Rolf stammered. "But you were before my time."

"A shame! Old leg injury, had te retire early. Still always up for a bit of friendly sparrin'." The rat winked. "I kept some old ropes from me arena days, ye know. I can make this room inter a ring in a jiffy!"

"I-I-I'll pass." Rolf swallowed, remembering the opponent crushed into the dirt.

"Maybe another time." Rodrick shrugged.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Do you ever wash?" Madeline snapped, stuffing scented cloths up her nostrils in an attempt at keeping the stench of wearet out. Every inch of Kew-Kew, from his yellow teeth to his gnarled footclaws contributed to the abominable odour that wafted from him like a rose. Or rather, nothing at all like a rose.

"Wash?" Kew-Kew asked, cocking his head to the side. Margaret had not yet taught him the meaning of the word, though he heard it often.

"I thought so..." Madeline muttered under her breath. The hedgehog lay stooped over her desk, a feathery quill in paw. Designs, sketches, ideas, abstract doodles, Madeline's paperwork was like magic.

Kew-Kew watched in awe, nibbling occasionally on the snacks she had thoughtfully left out for him.

"What do you think about having a beak?"

Kew-Kew swallowed his mouthful. "But I has beak." He tapped his muzzle for emphasis.

"I was thinking something more avian," Madeline growled irritably. "Keeps that mouth of yours shut, that breath of yours away from anybeast with a nose and it stops you biting off your opponent's head."

"Hmmmm," Kew-Kew chomped down on his snack and chewed thoughtfully.

Madeline turned to face him, brandishing her design. "So what do y- is that my notebook!?"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The door swung open again to reveal a pair of bickering rats. One was Ralph, and the other Rolf could only assume to be Derrick.

"I knew it! Rolf is a mouse!"

After Rodrick, Rolf had expected any and all relatives of Ralph's to be of the same make as him. In other words fat, stupid, and stinky. The rat currently talking was only one of those things. Built like a reed with a toothy face full of easy smiles, his light brown fur was elegantly combed and perfumed until it lay smooth as silk. Thickly-embroidered and expensive-looking clothes fought a pearl necklace and pair of shiny earrings for attention. His teeth, the envy of every dentist, stretched into a sneer as he cackled.

"Yer number one opponent is a mouse! Oh Ralph! An' here I thought yew was makin' up all that fighter rubbish!"

Ralph's face went as red as his boxing gloves. "I told ye Derrick-"

"Derrick!" Rodrick waggled a warning claw at the slimmer rat. "Don't be rude te our guest."

"I wasn't being rude," the rat snorted contemptuously.

"Yes yew were!" Ralph grumbled, stomping towards the fire place.

Rodrick shook his head, lifted Rolf by the scruff and set him down on the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable, if a little bit too warm. "I apologize for Derrick- 's got a lot of his father in 'im an' I keep sayin' it'll get him inter trouble. Just today! Jus' today he came back an' had te change his pants! Pissed off the wrong feller, eh?" The old rat winked, elbowed Rolf hard in the ribs, and laughed madly. "Pissed off, eh?"

"As a matter of fact," Rolf rubbed his smarting chest, and frowned in recognition. "My roommate was responsible for that incident."

Derrick balked for a moment, his sneer vanishing at the memory of the wearet. He was saved from further embarrassment by the timely interruption of his cousin.

"Lunch's ready!" Ralph declared, carefully balancing four bowls of something hot, steaming and sludge-like on his person. He handed them out like a skilled waiter before taking his own and sitting down opposite his grandfather on a stool that creaked beneath him.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"STOP!" Madeline barked, her face screwed up in concentration as she sifted through her silken fabrics.

Sheepishly, Kew-Kew drew his paw away from her quills. His mother had taught him all about spikey-hogs back when he was little more than an eggchick. She had explained that they were inedible and hard to catch. They were covered in sharp thorns and when hunted, curled up into balls to form an impenetrable defense. Madeline had surprisingly few thorns, though they were sharp.

He was unable to resist the temptation of poking some more.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Rolf forced himself to finish his bowl out of politeness. Whatever it was, it was barely edible but he had survived Kew-Kew's pancakes. Ralph's cooking was marginally better.

"Very tasty, ain't it?" Rodrick belched. "My Ralph's one of the best cooks in Plomplemoof."

Derrick made a noise of disagreement, but Rolf found himself forced to agree. Both because Plomplemoof had next to no good cooks and because he did not want to earn The Rumbler's ire.

"It's pretty good."

Ralph beamed with pride.

"So, mouse," Derrick shoved his half-eaten bowl aside, and fixed his narrowed eyes upon Rolf's bruised ones. "Ralph says yer from Thornhill. What's it like over there?"

"Oh it's... pretty peaceful." Rolf scratched at an ear. "T-too peaceful really."

"Lotsa posh houses I heard. An' rich folk."

"I suppose." Rolf had never really considered his family rich, but then next to Ralph's...

"What's yer fightin' name?"

"Er- it... depends. I er- sometimes go by the... the..."

"Oh leave 'im be Derrick!" Rodrick interrupted. "Ye know it be the Babyface!"

Rolf shot Ralph an imperceptible glare before gritting his teeth. "Yes, I am the Babyface."

Ralph frowned apologetically before changing the subject. "So, big day today... can't believe Gila beat Rudolf."

"Course Gila won!" Derrick balked. "That monitor has never lost a match in his career- not gonna start with Rudolf an' his red-nose."

"Derrick, Derrick, Derrick," Rodrick shook his head from side to side and tossed his empty bowl aside. "Every fighter loses once in a while. No matter how good they are they can't beat everybeast." He pointed at his leg. "Case. In. Point."

"Aye!" Ralph agreed wholeheartedly. "Alphonso never lost a match either but then Kew-Kew came along an' stomped him!"

"That don't mean Gila's goin' down anytime soon. The Crowpit was never that serious an arener anyways an' Alphonso's a bird. Gila's gotten inter Hanzaman's what- eight seasons in a row now? I tells ye he's gettin' in this time as well an' he's winning this time as well."

"Oh ho!" Ralph shook his head from side to side, his nosering bouncing as he did so. "I wouldn't be too sure about that cousin- after tonight I'm sure te get inter the Hut too! An' yew can be sure I'll end Gila's lil' reign when I do."

Derrick snorted. "Don't ye need te be a renown fighter te get in?"

"I do a lot of matches though!" Ralph protested. "An' I win most of 'em!"

"Ah yeah, yer 'trophies'." Derrick yawned and stretched. "Yer supposed te have, what, ten by now?"

"Eighteen," Rolf answered without thinking. He immediately regretted it when all eyes turned to him. He hoped dearly that his sudden panic wasn't showing on his face. ""Er- c-c-coz that's the amount of times Ralph has er- b-b-beaten me in our final matches. R-r-right?"

Ralph grinned. "There ye go cousin, now ye can't deny I'm a real fighter."

"I can if yer only opponent's a mouse," Derrick sneered. He turned towards Rolf and spat out a rather ungenuine 'no offense'.

"He's not my only opponent!" the noseringed rat protested hotly, the grin on his snout growing ever stronger. "In fact! Tonight I'm fightin' Kew-Kew, an' ye know what? I'm goin' te win!"

"Yer buddy's roommate?" the thin rat snorted. "Course yer gonna win- he's gonna let ye win, just like the mouse does."

"Rolf does not let me win! Tell him Rolf."

Deeply regretting his decision to accompany Ralph, Rolf did what he did best and lied through the gap in his buckteeth. "Unfortunately I do not get payed enough to throw matches." Well, technically, it wasn't a lie.

"Well square up then, champ!" Derrick snarled, rounding on Rolf. "I'd like te see what yew can do without yer stupid roommate helpin'!"

"Derrick!" Rodrick, who had been silent for the duration of the argument, finally snapped, an edge of iron in his voice. "Rolf is a guest an' ye'll treat him as such- do not make me take off this belt!"

Silently, Rolf breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to imagine how little restraint a beast like Derrick would show in a ring

"But grandad!" Ye can't keep encouragin' him!" Derrick pointed despairingly at Ralph. "He's got te get a real job some day an' stop fantasizin' about bein' a champion just coz his mouse buddy lets him win a few barfights. Maybe then we'd stop livin' in a dirtbag."

"Maybe if ye didn't spend all yer wages on clothes-" Ralph shot back.

"That's enough now!" Rodrick roared, and all present flattened their ears. "Shame on yew for makin' us look bad in fron' of the posh mouse!" Derrick remained silent. Satisfied the fat old rat leaned forwards- both because it made scratching his butt easier and to better address his fuming grandchildren. "Now Ralph, ye've got a big fight tonight- don't let him get ye down just coz he's too scared te qualify for any a' the pits, alright?"

Ralph nodded, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm gonna win grandad." He shot Derrick a glare. "An' then we can all move outta this dirtbag."

"That's my boy! Now go get yer tunic from the washin' line- I was a fighter long enough te know image is everythin'." He winked broadly, before thrusting the empty bowls of lunch in Derrick's direction. "Yew can get started on the dishes."

As the two rats scurried off to do as they were told (one bounding in excitement, the other muttering under his breath) Rodrick released a heavy sigh. He turned to Rolf, looking thirty seasons older. "Tell me mouse, is me grandson really a fighter?"

Rolf nodded apprehensively.

"An' are yew?"

Rolf hesitated, but nevertheless nodded.

Rodrick laughed again, but there was no twinkle in his eye. He placed a thick arm around the mouse's shoulders and drew Rolf in close. "I like honesty, so I'm gonna ask yew again." He lowered his voice and tensed, leaving the mouse with no doubt about how much of Rodrick the Rumbler was still muscle. "Are yew a fighter, or not?"

"I-I-I'm... not," Rolf admitted, his self-preservation instincts kicking in and his ears drooping in misery. "I'm just the losing stooge."

"Knew ye were." Rodrick grinned, and the twinkle returned. "Ye've got that look about ye. Still wouldn't say no te a few rounds in the rings, eh?" he winked and Rolf got the feeling that he would one day have no choice in the matter. "Might even teach yew some things. But first I want yew te promise me somethin'. Fightin's a bloody sport. Very messy, very dangerous an' I don't want my grandson in over his head. I want him te succeed, don't get me wrong. But I don't want him cocky, I don't want him overconfident an' I don't want him hurt. Yer gonna look after 'im for me."

Rolf nodded. "I-I'll try."

"Yew had better." Rodrick the Rumbler grinned, and relaxed. "Excellent! One more thing then an' we can ditch the serious talk- me an' Derrick'll be attendin' Ralph's lil' match tonight. So yew best make sure yer roommate does 'is job properly an' gives a nice clean fight. Coz if he don't..." Despite the massive smile on his face, Rodrick's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm gonna hold yew personally responsible."

Rolf swallowed.

"Ta-daaa!" Ralph burst back into the hovel, now wearing a plain red tunic the wrong way round.

"Magnificent!" Rodrick praised. "Yer gonna make yer grandpappy so proud!"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

A short while later they left the hovel behind and set off for Plomplemoof. Rodrick; armed with a short, stout cane to help him walk, and Ralph; a spring in his step and a grin on his face, his head no doubt filled with thoughts of his glorious future, were in high spirits. The same could not be said for Derrick, who trailed far behind, scowling and muttering and looking as if he'd rather be doing anything else, or Rolf who was torn between apprehension (for something could always go wrong where Kew-Kew was involved), envy (for Ralph was about to succeed where Rolf had failed), fear (for if something did go wrong Rodrick would blame him for it and the Rumbler was not a beast to be trifled with) and self-pity. After tonight Ralph would no longer need a losing stooge and the last straws of a stupid dream Rolf had clung onto for so long would be swept away from him...

Plomplemoof was abuzz as it was on most evenings. Traders traded, bards sung and fighters fought.

"I love this city," Rodrick took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of blood, sweat and broken dreams that was so prevalent it could have been bottled up and sold by the gallon.

Rodrick liked the city a lot less once they reached their destination. A line of beasts circled The Black Eye twice, buzzing and chattering about their expectations for the match and standing between the old Rumbler and his seat in the stands.

"We'll never get in," Rodrick growled, glowering at everybeast between him and the entrance. Which was most of Plomplemoof really.

"What a bloomin' shame," Derrick spun on his heel, as if to leave, but was grabbed by the scruff and held in place by his less-than-amused grandfather.

"Hang on grandad, maybe I can sort something out." Ralph scratched his nose. "They have te let me in for my match and Carrabas said somethin' about meetin-"

"There you are! Just the beast I was looking for!"

Ralph brightened up as Carrabas glided through the crowd with enviable ease. His face fell ever-so-slightly when the stoat brushed past him and bent down to Rolf's level.

"If anyone asks," he hissed into the mouse's ear. "You're Kew-Kew's manager, okay? They've been giving me hellgates all afternoon and it's simpler this way, understood?"

"So now you need me," Rolf scowled as the stoat straightened up. If Carrabas heard him, he did not act like it.

"I see you've found my champion! I do hope you're not trying to convince him to throw the match! Hahahaha! What a thought."

As Carrabas wiped nonexistent tears of laughter from his eyes, Ralph raised a paw in greeting. "Hey boss."

"This yer manager?" Derrick sniffed in Carrabas's direction and matched Rolf's scowl. "What kinda jill wears that much perfume?"

"And you are?" Carrabas demanded, turning his nose up at the comparatively unfashionable rat.

"This is me cousin Derrick," Ralph explained. "Ignore him, he's stupid. An' this is my grandfather-"

The stoat's eyeballs bulged wildly before Ralph could even finish his introduction. "Rodrick the Rumbler!"

The fat rat clapped Ralph heartily on the back and grinned up at the stoat. "Aye, that be me."

"W-why! I-it is an honor to meet you! A-and- Ralph! Why didn't you tell me? D-do you have any idea how easy it would have been to m-market you as the second coming of the Rumbler?" Carrabas clamped down on Rodrick's tail and shook it heartily. "Pleasure to meet you! I am so sorry, but tonight is a very busy night and I simply cannot stay any longer. Perhaps we could talk more... another time?"

Rodrick shrugged, and Carrabas beamed.

"Excellent! Well I must be off now, Ralph please follow me- oh and you too Rolf. Never wise to keep those judges- wai!"

"Hang on stoat," Rodrick interrupted, before Carrabas could whisk the pair away. "Any chance yew could get us inside?"

Carrabas blinked a few times before he understood. "Oh- for the match you mean? Why of course!"

Seated on the front row a short while later, Derrick turned to his grandfather, his arms crossed over his chest. "F-for the record, I still think Ralph's a fake."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Ralph, Rolf, this is Seraphine, the representative of Hanzaman's Hut. She's here to see how well you and your champion perform and hopefully put one of us through this season!"

The pure white ferret, clad in magenta robes laced with silver, offered them a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Or go very far past her lips really.

"Nice feather you got there," she jabbed her pretty pink nose at Ralph.

"Thanks!" The rat beamed."I-it's a lucky charm."

Wordlessly Seraphine scratched something down on a piece of spare parchment.

Carrabas hastily snatched away the feather and stuffed it out of sight. The stoat went on as if there had been no plumage.

"And this is Oswald! He's the beast that makes this all possible- he runs the Black Eye. Old friend of mine."

"Oh please Carrabas! You know I didn't do any of this for friendship!" Oswald guffawed. Short even if for a hamster, his smile had no trouble going beyond his face, let alone his lips. Indeed he seemed determined to make up for the ferret's iciness with a warmth Rolf had only come to expect from his mother. "But I'm selling seats like hotcakes and it's all your fault! Oh that Kew-Kew! My brother was right there when he ended Alphonso's reign of terror over the Crowpit! He does the announcements, you see, and there was all this excitement- you know my brother never gets excited!- and I just had to see it for myself."

"Alas I cannot take credit for the wearet," Carrabas sighed dramatically, pushing Rolf forwards. "Rolf here deserves all of it."

Rolf's paw was immediately captured by the hamster's and shaken wildly. "You must let us know how you found him!" Oswald insisted. "A fighter like this! Those don't come around very often, you know!"

"Yes indeed." Seraphine agreed, with considerably less enthusiasm. "We would all like to hear very much."

"Oh er- well I er..." Rolf shot Carrabas a nervous glance.

"Well do go on!" the stoat insisted, his own muzzle stretched into a grin. "I don't think you've told me either!"

"Oh right, well I woke up one morning... and he was... in my bed." That certainly got everybeast's attention. Rolf scratched the back of his head. "And I suppose the moral of that story is to erm- never drink strawberry fizz after midnight. A-at first I thought he was a hallucination, b-but er- he first thought I was breakfast in bed."

Oswald snorted, Ralph chuckled and Carrabas shot Rolf a pair of discreet thumbclaws-up.

"I'm happy to say both our first impressions were very wrong." Rolf went on, gaining some measure of confidence in his story. "But then I fell down the stairs-"

"Fascinating." Seraphine interrupted, scratching more things onto her parchment of notes. "You should try out for the Jesters of Plomplemoof, mouse. You'd fit right in. However I'm afraid Hanzaman's Hut has not earned it's reputation as the greatest arena in the world with cheap gags and poor attempts at humour. I certainly hope your champion fights better than you joke."

Rolf's confidence died in his throat.

The ferret went on. "You must both understand that winning the match does not guarantee your champion's entrance. They must earn it with a demonstration of their skill as a combatant. We take only the best." The ferret turned away. "Good luck."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Feeling decidedly worse for wear than he had several hours ago, Rolf made his way towards 'his' champion. The mouse could already hear the eager buzz of the crowd pouring into the Black Eye, Plomplemoof's largest arena. Alphonso's Bane, had drawn in quite an audience.

"I hope your afternoon was better than mine." Rolf slumped against the wall outside of the wearet's dressing room- noting with a pang of jealousy that Carrabas had never given him a dressing room.

"Kraw! What did Rolfie do today?" came the familiar voice of the wearet.

"Went to have lunch with Ralph and his family. The food was bad, Ralph started arguing with his cousin and then his grandad asked me to look out for him. Or well, threatened me into it." Rolf sighed, his ears drooping with familiar misery. "And I had better do a good job of it because he used to be a heavyweight champion and I really don't want to get on his bad side."

"That sounds horrible!" Madeline Madquill slammed the dressing room door open, and stormed towards the mouse. "You had lunch, you poor thing! I had to put up with that monstrosity-" she pointed back the way she had come, presumably at Kew-Kew- "tearing at my quills like he's never seen them before! He ate three of my notebooks, snapped my favourite pencil and put all my best quills on his skirt! It doesn't help that I have to make the most complicated costume of my career on such short notice! So," she placed her paws on her hips and glowered down at the unphased mouse.

"A fat old rat belched in my face twice and I was challenged to a duel. I think I had it worse."

The costume designer bristled, turned red and flared up. "Do you really? Well I never! I-"

Rolf cut her off, his voice completely deadpan. "Did Kew-Kew give you a pancake?"

The wearet himself answered. "Kraw! Not yet Rolfie, Kew-Kew didn't have time to make them but Kew-Kew will! Biiiiig pancake for angry spike-ball!"

"Think you have it bad?" Rolf shuddered. "I live with the beast."

"You poor thing," Madeline whispered.

The mouse shrugged. "You get used to him. Nothing Kew-Kew does surprises me at this point."

"Rolfie! Rolfie!" As if determined to prove him wrong, the wearet scampered out of the dressing room, hopping from footpaw to footpaw in excitement, and spread his arms to the side, his tail wagging madly behind him. "I has wings!"

Rolf blinked and brought his paw to his face. "On second thought, forget I said that."

Every square inch of Kew-Kew was covered in autumn fabric. Fox-fur red, sunset-orange and lemon-yellow cloths made a mockery of plumage. They hung off of his limbs and his tail like the chain of a comet. A magnificent crest added a foot to the wearet's already impressive height and trailed all the way down his back. Easily the most imposing part of the costume, and undoubtedly the part Kew-Kew was most proud of, were the long strips of firm cloth that transformed his arms into the wings he had always wanted.

"Well Rolfie?" the wearet grinned down at the mouse, turning on the spot to better show off the flamboyance he wore.

"You look... great, Kew-Kew." The mouse admitted, pulling his paw away from his face yet finding himself unable to meet the wearet's eyes. "Like a... real... champion." He turned away, his tail dragging along the floor behind him. "Good luck in your... match..."

"Rolfie is not happy," the wearet noted, his ears drooping in misery. All of a sudden the costume did not feel as impressive.

Madeline snorted. "Well never mind, I don't get paid until you're on and you're on in ten- so let's get a move on!"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"It's not Kew-Kew's fault," Rolf noted, taking his time on the lonely road to the stands. "It's not Kew-Kew's fault everybeast loves him. He's not trying to replace you, Rolf... Stupid big wearet... eagle... That costume probably cost a fortune! And for what? So that Ralph can beat him up and lose 'with style' because suddenly I'm not good enough." He came to a halt at the bottom of a staircase, and found himself face to face with a very flattering depiction of Ralph.

A poster advertising the match that depicted the rat with bulging musculature the real Ralph couldn't even dream of.

Rolf glared at it, wondered briefly how much Carrabas had spent on printing it, and then allowed seasons of pent up anger to pour out. "Nevermind that Ralph is going to lose his first real match in about three seconds flat! And then his grandfather's going to blame me for it, because obviously it's going to be my fault when somebeast tears off his stupid grandson's nosering!" Rolf drew back his fist and struck the printed face hard. He winced, whimpered and clutched at an aching paw. "Stupid nosering!" he sniffled.

"Hey Rolf!" The mouse stiffened suddenly, his eyes bulging in fear as Ralph came bounding towards him. Before Rolf could stammer out an excuse, or an apology, or whatever it was that he would have stammered out the fat rat was squeezing him tightly and beaming wide. "I just wanted te thank yew for gettin' me this far! Couldn't have done it without ye." He released the mouse and punched him roughly on the shoulder. "Haha! Favourite pipsqueak! Yer the best friend ever!"

"Thanks... I guess..." Rolf rubbed at the fresh bruise and turning away from Ralph, began to ascend the staircase. "Good luck in your... match."

Ralph chuckled behind him, and Rolf was sure from his tone that he shot the mouse a 'subtle' wink. "Yew know I won't be needin' any of that."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"There yew are!" Rodrick waved the mouse down to the front row, and with a heavy sigh Rolf allowed himself to trudge over. "Saved yew a seat," the old Rumbler winked, patting an empty seat he was taking up half of. Wordlessly, Rolf sat down besides him. "Yew look a bit down," Rodrick noted, pulling a squashed pastry out from behind him. "Need a snack?"

"I'll pass," Rolf frowned.

"Oh c'mon! Yew don't know what yer missin' out on. This is one of 'em once-in-a-lifetime flavours yew don't get every-"

"I could use one!" And a pitch black wing snatched the pastry right out of the Rumbler's paw and stuffed it into the open mouth of the worst bard in Plomplemoof's history. "I'm shtarvin'."

"Ye'll be a lot more things when I'm done with yew," the Rumbler growled, cracking his knuckles. "I was savin' that for a month already!"

Rolf breathed a sigh of relief at his lucky escape.

"Tuff' luck," Kali snapped, stuffing the rest of the pastry into her mouth. She swallowed and sat down, apparently none the worse for wear. Her face brightened up immediately. "Soooo... exciting match, right?"

"I suppose," muttered Rolf.

"You know I used to really hate arenas- it's a looooong story, haven't composed a song out of it yet- but this city's not bad at all."

"You have no idea..."

"Tell me about it!" boomed the Rumbler. The old rat stretched a paw forwards, the pastry apparently forgotten. "The name's Rodrick, this is me grandson Derrick-" Derrick gave an unenthusiastic wave- "and Rolf here's a friend of the family."

"The Amazing Kali, pleased to meet you all!" the bard replied, snatching the Rumbler's paw in her wings and shaking enthusiastically. "Travelling bard, singer, entertainer and sometimes I bring down tyrannical regimes."

Rolf frowned with tangible skepticism and decided henceforth to take everything the bat said with a bathtub of salt.

"We've got quite the crowd today!" Carrabas squealed in excitement, as he skipped towards the front row, all dignity forgotten.

"And they laughed at me when I said I'd fit the whole town in here!" Oswald guffawed, coins jingling in his pockets as he bounced in the stoat's wake.

Seraphine was the Derrick amongst them, and strode with the cold purpose of crushing dreams left, right and center. She gave Kali a raised eyebrow, ignored Rolf and came to a halt in front of Rodrick. "The Rumbler of the Roost. I must say, I'm a humongous fan." Her tone, the look on her face and the twitching of her nose begged to differ, but Rolf supposed Rodrick had once been influential enough to avoid her ire.

"Yew an' many more," winked the rat.

Derrick smirked up at the ferret. "He'd give ye an autograph, but he don't know how te spell his own name."

"A tragedy." Seraphine turned away and stalked off. Rodrick's tail promptly wiped the smirk off his grandson's face.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts," boomed the impossibly loud voice of the referee, a small, golden-furred hamster with a face made of gravel. Very unhappy gravel. "I am happy to welcome you all to the Black Eye tonight for one of the most anticipated matches of the season."

"He doesn't look very happy," Kali pointed out, her wings pressed firmly against her ears to stop them going deaf.

The hamster went on. "Between a pair of newcomers to Plomplemoof... which says far more about the current season than it should. In this corner we have the current champion of the Crowpit, the mighty eagle Kew-Kew."

There was thunderous applause, so tumultuous that Rolf was forced to take a leaf out of Kali's (undoubtedly very poetic, if hard-to-read) book and press his ears shut, as Kew-Kew flapped into the ring with a cry of 'Ka-Kaw!'

"And there's the hopeful he'll be fighting today. The second coming of the Rumbler himself. Ralph."

There was a smattering of polite applause as Ralph made his way forwards. He caught his grandfather's eye and waved nervously.

"That's my boy!" Rodrick boomed, his meaty fists accounting for perhaps half of the applause.

"They are to fight for a potentially unlimited number of rounds until one is either knocked out or withdraws. We, on behalf of the Black Eye, remind you to refrain from killing one another as such behaviour can lead to unfortunate legal complications. The fighters will now shake appendages, in this case paws."

The fighters did so. Kew-Kew grinned down at Ralph who offered a weak smile in reply.

"And the round will begin. FIGHT!"

"Keeeraw!" Ralph, his paw still clamped in Kew-Kew's own, was promptly hurled into the ropes.

Rolf winced as most of the audience cheered and called for a swift victory. The fat rat disappointed them and stood up, his arms raised high above his head in a show of strength that clashed furiously with his widened eyeballs and shaking legs.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Alphonso, once hailed 'The Eagle', now ridiculed as 'The Crow', was one of the few creatures in Plomplemoof not seated within the Black Eye. Wrapped from beak to talon in a billowing black cloak that did nothing to hide his identity (for Alphonso had once struck a deal to make himself the only bird in the city allowed to don billowing black cloaks) and did everything to keep his frazzled feathers and bloodshot eyes out of public view, the crow strode through the maze of tunnels that made up Plomplemoof's underground streets. Bright white bandages burned where gnarled claws and rotten teeth had torn his flesh asunder, a constant reminder of his newfound status as the unseated champion. And as a reminder of his purpose.

"To kill the wearet," he snarled into the empty corridors, his pace quickening.

Of course, as a public figure Alphonso couldn't afford to kill the wearet himself. No, that was out of the question (and of course it had nothing to do with his fear of the Crowpit's new champion). But as a successful fighter he could afford to have the wearet killed. Cut-throats always had a price and Alphonso was more than rich enough to meet most of them. So his talons guided him to the only place in the world one could hire a killer in.

The local tavern.

Alphonso knocked. A bulging eyeball glared down at him from the peep-hole.

"State yer business!" a screechy voice demanded.

The crow did not miss a beat. "Come to let loose elephantine rage."

The eye narrowed. "Does 'e actually try hard?"

"Always, your eminence."

"...Ye know the code."

"I do."

The door swung open with a creak. Half a dozen faces, scarred and sour-looking, turned to face the crow at the doorway. Some frowned at him, others tried to measure him up, most went back to their drinks.

"Welcome te the Seedy Bar," the bulging eye croaked, appearing behind the bar. They were a short, squat shrew, with one eye eight times larger than the other. Alphonso approached. "What can we do for yew?"

In a low voice, the crow replied. "I need somebeast gotten rid of."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"Big surprising! Ralph-ratty is still getting up!" Kew-Kew exclaimed, his face contorted into an expression of exaggerated shock as the rat struggled to his feet.

"Hehehe, somebeast should remind Kew-Kew that he's not being payed to do the commentary!" Carrabas exclaimed, feigning a chuckle and shooting Rolf an unsubtle glare.

The mouse swallowed audibly, and not daring to make eye contact with a far-from-amused Rumbler, crept over to the ropes.

"Ahem, K-Kew-Kew?"

The wearet spun to face him, and the mouse hastily waved a paw over his throat in the universal gesture of 'cut it out'.

Kew-Kew nodded in understanding, turned back to Ralph and with a bloodcurdling 'Kraw!' slammed the side of his paw into Ralph's throat.

Rolf's ears flattened as the rat hit the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Keeraw! Ralphie can do better!" Kew-Kew scampered towards the ropes, his tail wagging incessantly behind him and went on in a smaller voice. "I is doing good?"

"No!" Rolf whispered furiously. "Not. At. All! You're going to get me killed Kew-Kew!"

"Oh," the wearet's face fell.

Taking a deep breath, Rolf calmed himself. "It's fine. It's fine. We can still do this. Stick to the plan. Just remember-" he caught Kew-Kew's eye and followed it to the ferret standing besides him.

Seraphine smiled innocently. "Don't mind me. I just wanted a better view."

"Right... of course. Erm Kew just... remember to er-" Rolf scratched cluelessly at the back of his head. "Aim a little... lower?" He hoped dearly that Kew-Kew would catch the meaning.

"FIGHT!"

His hopes were dashed in seconds, as Kew-Kew ducked under Ralph's sloppy offensive and brought his thick tail first into the rat's shaking legs and then into his stomach. He shot Rolf a grin. Seraphine returned it with interest. The mouse did not.

"FIGHT!"

Ralph opted for a grapple this time and threw himself at the wearet's unprotected back. Kew-Kew screeched in surprise and fell backwards on top of the rat. Winded on impact, Ralph's grip loosened enough for Kew-Kew to climb free. The wearet spun round and helped the rat to his feetpaws.

"The eagle displays honourable conduct."

"Now sock him in the face!" yelled Kali, easily the most captivated member of the audience..

Rolf felt the sweat begin to trickle down his face as Kew-Kew did just that.

"S-sorry Rolfie," the wearet gasped, perhaps a little too loudly, as once more he scampered towards the ropes. "Is too noisy! Kew-Kew can't think."

"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine," the mouse whimpered in a desperate attempt to tamp down on his rising panic. "Just stop hitting so hard!" he checked for Seraphine, and when he realized the ferret was nowhere nearby, added in a hiss, "And remember you have to lose!"

Kew-Kew took a deep breath, gave Rolf what he thought was a reassuring smile, and turned back to face his battered opponent.

"FIGHT!"

The wearet swung wide, his fist deliberately missing Ralph by a considerable margin. It was not a particularly good miss but it was serviceable. Or rather, it would have been had Kew-Kew not flavoured it with a loud screech of alarm and a cry of 'Keeraw! Kew-Kew missed!"

Rolf brought his paw to his face.

Ralph stepped to the side and swung hard at the wearet's exposed back, and although it felt more like a rough tap than a punch, Kew-Kew fell forwards with a gurgle.

"Pain! Pain!" he whined into the sand in apparent agony. He stretched a paw out towards Rolf and winked. "Saaaave me."

Laughter was beginning to rival the cheering in volume.

Ralph slammed his tail down on the wearet's back. Inexplicably Kew-Kew began clawing at his throat.

Rolf could only wonder whether Carrabas or Rodrick would kill him first.

"I is dying!" the wearet gasped, beginning to suck in air with a gusto.

"The wearet mocks his opponent's puny blows," the referee commented dryly. The Black Eye exploded with fresh gales of laughter.

"No!" Kew-Kew snapped, sitting up abruptly. "I is dying!" He resumed his choking, and although it was a horrendous performance by all accounts, it still managed to convince Kali.

"Don't just stand there!" she exclaimed, barging past the ropes and Rolf and Ralph and the referee and wrapping her wings around the wearet's middle. "Can't you see he's choking!?"

Five minutes of deafening laughter, amateur theatrics and frantic first aide later and Kew-Kew was hoisting Kali into the air. "I is saved! Singing-bad-thing saved Kew-Kew from Ralph-ratty!"

The guffaws and cackles and chuckles were so all-consuming that even the referee's loud voice was barely audible above the din. "Take five!"

Unceremoniously dumping his supposed saviour, Kew-Kew sprinted over to Rolf, his face twisted in concern. "What is I doing wrong?"

"Everything," the mouse whined, tugging at his ears. "But maybe we can still salvage this, okay? Just don't swing to miss, don't swing hard and please Kew-Kew, please don't say anything!"

"Losing is not easy," the wearet frowned apologetically.

"Just treat Ralph like he's a dibbun."

"Strange advice to give your fighter," Seraphine noted, once more appearing behind the mouse, her clipboard poised and at the ready.

Rolf's face fell. "Oh you er- heard that. Well there's an explanation-"

"No needs to explain. Please, continue giving your fighter sound advice. The way you normally do."

"O-of course. Well er- Kew-Kew, you have to-"

"Yes, yes, throw match. Kew-Kew knows!"

"No!" Rolf felt his heartbeat spike up, but forced himself to chuckle. "W-why would y-why-"

"But Rolfie, you said-"

"Yes?" Seraphine interrupted, her paw a blur against the parchment she carried. "What did he say?"

The wearet eyed Seraphine side-long, noting her bulging eyeballs and unnatural cleanliness. "To... treat Ralph-ratty like... eggchick." Kew-Kew nodded. "Kraw! I go sit on Ralphie now."

I'm doomed, Rolf watched, wide-eyed in horror as the wearet proceeded to do just that.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Seraphine smiled down at the mouse through pearly white teeth, crossing out the last of her notes as she made her way over to where Carrabas was seated.

"Bit of advice mouse," Derrick slunk up to the ropes, chuckling sinisterly and looking very much like he was having the time of his life. "I'd write yer last will an' testament down while ye've still got paws." Rolf turned to find Rodrick the Rumbler red in the face and fuming so hard it seemed steam was billowing from his nostrils. Derrick patted him on the back, consolingly. "Still the best fight I've ever seen. Rest in peace."

But the worst was yet to come, and when at last it did it came in the form of a jewelry-clad wolverine armed with plushies barreling towards the ring with all the grace and subtlety of an avalanche.

"Stuffed Kew-Kew's! Get yer stuffed Kew-Kew's right here an' right now! Limited edition! Special price!" She roared with such ferocity that nobeast in the audience dared refuse her. "Oh an' eagle!" she barked in the direction of the ring. "Don't forget te throw the rat!"

"Yeah! Throw that rat!" Kali agreed, brandishing her freshly-purchased stuffed-wearet-eagle.

"Don't yew dare!" Rodrick snarled, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd. "Out the ring! Out the ring! Out the ring! Throw the rat! Throw the rat! Throw the rat!"

Rolf sighed in resignation as Kew-Kew hoisted Ralph above his head, and sent his prone form hurtling towards the black-eyed mouse.

A massive cheer erupted from the stands as Kew-Kew scrambled for the ropes. "No Ralphie, no! I is sorry! I is trying to throw match but-"

The voice of the hamster drowned out the rest of his apology. "And the winner is, Kew-Kew."

"Tonight didn't go well," Carrabas began, his voice level as he paced the limited office space behind his desk. "Now, it's nobeast's fault of course," he continued, giving Kew-Kew a sidelong look that would have incinerated Rolf. "I'm not going to name any names. Or play the blame game." The stoat inhaled deeply as he drew back his chair and sat down.

A long moment passed, made even longer by the complete silence of even Kew-Kew. Suddenly, Carrabas lurched forwards, his claws drawing deep gouges in the desk separating him from his employees. "What were you doing!? Ralph! Do you have no real fighting ability whatsoever!? Kew-Kew! We had a plan! What happened? Rolf! Why didn't you remind him!"

The mouse flinched. "The judge was there! I-it was either ruin the match or ruin-"

"SHUT UP! You had one job, Rolf! One! And because you failed-"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted the furious stoat. Fuming, Carrabas got up, prized his paw free of the table and stomped over to open it. "We are in the middle of a very important disciplinary- oh Madeline! W-what a surpri-"

"Can it, stoat!" the tailor snarled, a needle pressed against his throat. "I want me money. All nine undue payments, in full, now, or I turn yer pretty fur into a coat an' sell it the highest bidder t'morrow!"

Carrabas swallowed audibly. "C-c-can't we talk about this?"

"No!"

"B-but I don't have the m-m-m-" the needle pricked him. "WAIT! W-what if I were to give you m-m-my office instead?" Carrabas put on his most winning smile. "Surely it's worth as much as n-nine costumes?"

"Hmmmm... could turn it inter somethin'," she mused. "Fine, fair's fair. Yer office is mine." She lowered the quill, gave the room a derisive sniff, then turned her glare to those sharing her space. "Get. Out."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"You have no idea how much you idiots cost me," Carrabas whined as with a smile befitting her surname, Madeline Madquill slammed the office door shut behind them. "Next thing I know the artist I commissioned will threaten to hang my skull from a wall and it's all-"

"Your fault." Ralph cut him off, quietly.

Carrabas flared up, as if struck. "Excuse me?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Yer the one who changed the act!" the rat burst out, glaring up at the stoat. "Me an' Rolf have been doin' it for seasons! We know what goes where, an' who goes where, an' we know how te play a crowd! Me an' Kew-Kew didn't even get a rehearsal!"

"And who's fault was that?"

Ralph faltered, and his argument crumbled to dust. "Yer... the manager."

"Must I do everything?" Carrabas jabbed Ralph roughly in the chest. "I got you into the Black Eye. I got the whole of Plomplemoof to watch. I got the judges from Hanzaman's buttered up and ready to put you through! Everything you have ever achieved, Ralph, is because I made you achieve it. And when the time comes for you to put a little bit of effort in, you drop the ball!"

Madeline's spiked and furious face poked out from her new office space. "OI! Take this quarrel somewhere else, or I'll fill ye all with quills in places ye didn't even know ye had!"

"But Madeline-"

"Don't yew 'but Madeline' me!" the hedgehog hollered. Rolf, Ralph and Kew-Kew winced in unison as the hedgehog proceeded to offer Carrabas the greatest verbal beatdown in Plomplemoof's entire history. Very few details or words were discernible from her high-tempo, rage-fueled monologue, but it was in total silence and in great haste that the quartet slunk away.

Not that Madeline seemed to notice.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

"So it's my fault?" Ralph asked a short while later, once they emerged into the crowded streets of upper Plomplemoof and were a safe distance away from the one called Madquill.

"Not entirely," Carrabas allowed with a sigh. The stoat pinched the bridge of his snout, and put an arm around Ralph's shoulders. "Kew-Kew failed us, but he's an unintelligent savage. If Rolf had managed to explain to him- Ow!"

Rolf, who had put most of his body weight and all of his strength into stepping on Carrabas' tail, growled. "What did you want me to do?" he demanded, as Carrabas turned to glare at him. "That judge you 'buttered up' was breathing down my neck the whole time!" Rolf raised his voice, cutting Carrabas off before the stoat could even start. "And don't even start with Kew-Kew when you are the one who hired him! I said it was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea. And you didn't listen!"

Carrabas paused, momentarily dumbstruck by the fact that this was, indeed, entirely his fault. "You can't blame me!" the stoat seethed, flaring up once more like a serpent poised to strike. "N-not when, when... Oh!" A candle was lit in the stoat's fast-working mind, and his eyes narrowed and hardened. "I see what you did! You sly, sneaky little rat!"

"That's offensive boss," Ralph muttered.

"You wanted Ralph to fail!"

Ralph frowned skeptically. "Boss..."

"You need Ralph to fail to keep your damn job! That's why you brought the wearet in!"

"Eagle," Kew-Kew mumbled.

"That's why you staged that fight in the Barfing Bird!"

Rolf blinked, too stunned by the ridiculousness of the accusations to process them, let alone offer any kind of rebuttal. "What?"

"Don't you 'what' me!" Carrabas snarled, sending the mouse sprawling into the dirt with a well-timed shove. "You selfish-"

"Boss! Calm down!" Ralph stepped between them, his nosering bobbing as he shook his head from side to side in disbelief. "I get it yer mad that things didn't work out so well, but it's not Rolf's fault."

"Indeed. Surely you are not going to harm him over the outcome of a match." Seraphine's cold drawl froze the raging fire welling up inside Carrabas.

"N-no, of course not." Carrabas cleared his throat and put on a smile as Kew-Kew and Ralph helped Rolf to his feetpaws. "What a match it wa-"

"Do not insult my intelligence." Seraphine interrupted with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I know the fight was staged."

"W-what?"

"It was very obvious," the ferret went on. "Not just because of the suspicious-sounding advice your mouse was giving him, though that helped. And not just because it's twice I believe I heard the wearet saying he was throwing the match."

Desperately, Carrabas sputtered out an explanation. "Th-that? N-no, you must have misunderstood! Kew-Kew just agreed to give Ralph a um, a fighting chance so that the match didn't end too fast you see."

Unphased, Seraphine went on. "If you're going to have somebeast pose as a champion fighter's manager, do make sure that they're not one of your employees."

The stoat deflated. "B-but if you knew it was staged, why did you let it happen?"

The ferret shrugged. "Because I was the only one that knew, and I wanted to see what you could do. Needless to say, I was disappointed. No needs to look so down though. I was asked to deliver this to you." She handed Carrabas a fancy-looking roll of parchment. "I'm sure it will be the first of many similar offers" With a polite wave she turned away. "Farewell."

Carrabas unrolled the paper, his eyes frantically scanning the contents within. A few short minutes of intense staring and heavy breathing later, the stoat announced. "The Jesters Of Plomplemoof want to hire you for a stand up comedy routine! And you know what?" He turned back to his employees, his eyes bulging madly. "We're doing it!"

"I don't think so," Rolf snapped. "You said it yourself, you don't need me anymore." The mouse steeled himself. "I think it's time I moved on."

"Quitting, eh?" Carrabas chuckled. "Convenient then!" He jabbed at the letter. "This doesn't mention you at all! Goodbye Rolf!" Turning his gaze upwards, Carrabas grinned wide. "Kew-Kew, Ralph, the Jesters await and we have got some money to make!" He threw his paws high into the air, his newfound grin faltering at the lack of visible enthusiasm.

"Come on Kew-Kew," Rolf turned away. "Let's get some rest."

His eyes still trained to his gnarled footclaws, Kew-Kew followed the mouse without another word.

Stunned, Carrabas turned to find Ralph awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. The stoat sighed heavily, and thrust the letter into the rat's arms. "Keep this. I'm going to drink myself sick."

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

The mouse and the wearet were deathly quiet on their way to the Barfing Bird. Not a word passed between them and not a word was spared for anybeast else. The glowering toad, who spat as they entered, was not even given a facial reprimand. Rolf and Kew-Kew took the staircases in similar silence, it's awkwardness punctuated by the creaking of every second step.

Silence only ended once Rolf had shut the door of their room.

"Kew-Kew panicked!" the eagle spluttered out, the unfamiliar feeling of guilt brewing and bubbling within him bursting forth. "I- when Kew-Kew was still eggchick Kew-Kew was alone. I is alone, and having to say 'I is smart', 'I is strong', 'I is big', b-because no-thingy else say it. And now lotsa preything say it! A-and Kew-Kew likes it! I likes it Rolfie! Don't want it e-ending. I- I-I is sorry Rolfie."

"Sorry doesn't cut it Kew-Kew." the mouse sighed. "You know I had everything sorted here until you showed up, right? If you had just stayed home Ralph would be a real champion now and I'd be on my way home with a retirement trophy. Now! I'm probably going to be murdered by Rodrick the Rumbler for what you did to his grandson."

"Sorry," Kew-Kew whined, his ears pressed back against his head, his eyes wide and pleading. "I is sorry."

"For what?" Rolf rounded on him. "Ruining tonight? Or for everything?"

"Everything?" the wearet frowned in confusion.

"You know. Shoving me around, licking my face everytime you fancy, starting that fight with Barrumtum, sleeping on my bed, blackmailing me."

"B-but Kew-Kew does that to every-thingy?"

"Why don't you stop?" Rolf demanded, paws akimbo. "Because I've had it with you and your feathers!"

The eagle shrunk against the mouse's anger. "Is not fault of Kew-Kew-"

But Rolf was not listening. "You big, stupid wearet."

The eagle flared up. "Is not fault of Kew-Kew mousey-thing is liar! Big liar who can't win even one cup-thing! Who steals and lies and then when Kew-Kew do something so mousey doesn't get hurt and only angry at Kew-Kew!"

Rolf scoffed, not even shivering as the wearet towered over him. "Like you did any of this for me. You just wanted a trophy for yourself."

"I did it for Rolfie!" Kew-Kew snarled. "But Rolfie doesn't care! Rolfie only cares about what family will say if he doesn't steal cup-thing of Ralphie!"

"Cup-thing?"

Rolf's eyes widened with horror at the sight of Ralph standing at the doorway. Before he could diffuse the situation, however, Kew-Kew turned and snapped.

"Big. Shiny. Cup-thing!" For emphasis he jabbed at the one he'd won from the Crowpit, still on full display in the bedroom.

"Oh you mean a trophy." Ralph smiled absently. "Anyways, I-" the rat stopped himself, his own eyes widening as realization struck him. Even his painfully slow mind could put two and two together. And when it did he blinked once, his face contorting in anger. He met Rolf's terrified gaze and the fear he saw there only confirmed his own. "I-it was yew?"

Rolf swallowed, backing away as far as the room would allow. "H-hang on Ral-"

The rat blinked, and sagged forwards. "I thought it was yew! I-I knew it was yew! N-never wanted te believe tha-that-" The rat exploded. "Yew lyin' rat!" Ralph threw the letter he was carrying aside, and stormed forwards. Even Ralph, short as he was, cast a shadow over Rolf.

"Yew knew how much those meant te me! Yew knew those didn't belong t'yew a-a-an' all this time ye could look me in the eye and lie te my face!? I thought we were friends!"

"We are not friends Ralph." The mouse squeaked. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to hold back seasons of pent up dislike as the rat stepped backwards, stunned. Then Rolf tugged at his ears and growled. "I'm the beast you beat up for a living. Yours? You didn't earn a single one of those stupid cups. You wouldn't have gotten anywhere without me." He jabbed a finger in Kew-Kew's direction. "Case. In. Point! The second you actually fight somebeast, you lose!"

Rolf took a deep breath, lowered his paws and went on, as anger tightened it's grip on him. "Do you have any idea what it's like to lose for a living? To get thrown around over and over and over again to fill up some stupid rat's overinflated ego? You know what made it bearable sometimes? The thought of one day ripping off your stupid nosering!"

There was a moment where he thought he'd gone too far, where, perhaps, he had said too much. Rolf braced himself for the pain as Ralph took another step backwards.

Yet the blow never came. With a strangled sob, the rat turned on his heel and fled noisily.

Somehow, that was infinitely worse.

Rolf let his anger subside. Let his whiskers fall and his ears droop. Let the guilt begin to brew. His face fell into his paws with a heavy sigh. "Where did it all go wrong?"

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

A short while later, in the nearest inn in Plomplemoof,

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"A-and then he looked me in the eye a-and he said we weren't friends and that he never liked me, a-an' that the only reason he never quit was coz he w-wanted te rip off my nosering!" Blubbering at the top of his voice in the nearest bar he could find was not something Ralph had ever done before. But then, he had many new reasons to blubber. Rolf, at one point his only friend, hated him, his fighting career was in tatters and Derrick would never let him hear the end of it.

"There, there- hic- Ralph. Calm down." Carrabas, already six drinks into his goal of drowning in wine, patted him on the back and offered the rat a kerchief.

"I-I knew it was him," Ralph swallowed. "I-I knew he was taking the trophies b-but I didn't think h-he h-hated me. I-I thought we was friends! He was always nice te me a-an' I was-"

"Rolf hash been cheatin' -hic- ush for sheasons now -hic!" Carrabas interrupted. "I've been thinkin' about it for a while now and I shay it's time we- hic- pull one on HIM!"

Ralph chewed his lip. "W-what do yew mean-"

"Shtealin' yer trophies like yew -hic- said, an' what he -hic- pulled tonight with Kew -hic- Kew! He -hic- ruined us! But we can shtill shalvage this! The Jeeeeesters want you an' they want Kew-Kew too! But! Rolf's the only beasht with Kew-Kew's ear. SHO! We're going to get rid of Rolf, keep Kew-Kew and get hired by those Jeeeeesters." He swallowed down the rest of cup seven. "Then I'll pay all my debts, an' then I'll be debt free a' you me and that stuuupid wea -hic- ret can be fat, happy, rich and die fat, happy and -hic- rich!"

"Okaaaay, but how're we gonna get..." Ralph swallowed, the weight behind the words weighing heavily on his mind. "Rid of Rolf?"

Carrabas gave him a condescending look, made less impressive by the hiccups it came with. "We'll KILL him!"

"What?" Ralph exclaimed, his eyes bulging in horror.

"You heard me -hic-! We'll kill the moushe! Shmother the little rat in his shleep! P-poooison his -hic- shoup!"

Ralph swallowed. "I-I- I don't think that's right boss."

Carrabas deflated."You're right. Shtupid -hic- plan." He perked up. "We'll PAY shomebeast to kill him!"

"But-"

"But what? He's not your -hic- friend Ralph. And he's in our way now. I know -hic- killing is bad. But -hic- if I don't pay up soon I'll -hic- be the one shmothered in my shleeeep!"

The trophies he could have forgiven, he would have forgiven- deep down Ralph had always had a sneaking suspicion- but the sting of betrayal, the way Rolf had looked him in the eye and told him, with no amount of his usual sarcasm, that they were not friends, that hurt. And it was blinded by the pain that Ralph's face hardened. "Fine. We'll do that."

"Attaboy!" Carrabas cheered. "Don't worry -hic- we'll get a GOOD killer. He won't even-" the stoat teetered forwards dangerously, "Feeeeelathiiiing!"

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"How do yew even... know about this place?" Ralph swallowed, following Carrabas into The Seedy Bar. The dark and sinister looking creatures within eyed him like a juicy piece of fried haddock. Shivering, Ralph sucked in his gut and tried to make himself look more intimidating by not crying out loud when he stubbed his toe on the first table he passed.

"I had to -hic- pay off some ashsasshinsh -hic- hired to kill me. It was an -hic- eck-shpeareyence!"

"Welcome te the bar," greeted a shrew with a bulging eye- the same bulging eye that had stared at them from behind the door and spouted gibberish until Carrabas had brought up the code. "What can I get yew folks?"

"We need a -hic- killer!" Carrabas grinned wide. "An asshassh -hic! An assassin! The beeeest money can buy!" He slammed his fist onto the table for emphasis.

"Ye'll want Siler then," the shrew nodded knowingly.

"Is he good?" Ralph asked, a tingle of dread crawling up his spine.

The shrew turned to him, and gave the rat a lopsided smile. "He's the best! Comes in the night an' leaves widows in the morning." The shrew chuckled darkly, and beckoned Ralph closer. The rat swallowed and leaned forwards. In a whisper that emphasized the rasp in their voice the shrew went on. "What he does te them widows before morning... Not good conversation, that. He's in Room Seven at the moment. Be best if yew go I think," the shrew added, giving Carrabas a look of disgust. "He ain't a fan of drunks."

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"Enter."

Somehow the fact that Siler was a mouse only made him all the more terrifying. For so much villainy, and so much cruelty, and such a dark reputation to come in such a small package. His eyes were hard and cold and calculating, and undoubtedly they remained perpetually so.

"What can I do for you?" A simple request, so innocent at first glance, yet carrying the weight of acts dark and unspeakable.

"I-I-I need a-a-a killer." Ralph swallowed. His paws sought each other for comfort. "I-I hear yer p-p-pretty good at that. Th-the best. A-an' if yer as good as they say-"

The woodmouse silenced him with a smirk. "I hope you don't doubt the rumours."

Ralph paused. "A-are yew as good as they say?"

Siler rubbed two empty fingers together. "Wondering's free, certainty has a price."

The rat fished his pockets for a coin, found one and tossed it over. Siler caught it, bit it, and apparently satisfied, pocketed it. "Pick a target."

"Err h-how about that... -"

THUNK!

THUNK!

A pair of bolts whistled over the top of the rat's head, and buried themselves into the wall behind him.

"Y-yer good." Ralph squeaked.

Siler smirked. "I'm glad you agree. Now, the subject of payment."

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Ralph sat down at the bar and gave the bulging eye shrew a weak smile.

"Yer happy?"

"W-well... we er- . We need the best assassin..." he glanced at the now-snoring Carrabas, "...our money can buy. So Siler is a er- a no. Do you have anyone cheaper?"

"Hmmm," the shrew scratched the tip of their nose. "Well Olaf there will do it for half a sack of silvers."

"Er, still too expensive..."

"Gunther will do it for a sack of coppers." Ralph followed the shrew's gaze to a mole near the back who wore a set of skulls round their neck.

"Th-that is er- we are on a very tight budget."

The shrew frowned. "How much we talkin'?"

"I'm... not sure." Ralph scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Ye know what, this is stupid, I don't even know what I'm doin'. H-hirin' a-an assassin." He chuckled nervously. "I think I'll just go ho-"

"Did somebeast say assassin?"

Ralph turned to face the owner of the voice, a vixen clad in violently expensive clothing. "Um-"

"Yes! YES!" Carrabas cried to the heavens, as if in fervent prayer. "An ASSHASSHIN!" He promptly fell forwards against the bar and resumed his snoring.

"Great! Because I have just the beast you need!" The vixen did a dramatic three sixty spin, pointing both thumbclaws at herself. "Me! Robin Merriweather! I'm efficient, reliant and affordable with no refund options whatsoever." She blinked, paused for a moment to contemplate whether or not she should have added the last bit, and went on with applaudable enthusiasm and a wide grin. "Because I'm very good at my job. Obviously."

"Miss Merriweather," the bulging-eyed shrew grumbled. "Yer late with the rent. As per usual."

The vixen's face fell. "Oh. Er- a-am I really?"

"But that works out nicely, don't it? Ye'll do this job an' then yew can pay me back what's due."

"O-of course! Just what I was thinking!" The vixen sat down at the bar and gestured for Ralph to do the same.

Noting his hesitation the bulging-eye shrew shrugged. "As far as yer budget's concerned Robin here's as affordable as they come. Quite skillful too!"

The vixen frowned. "But you said that I-"

The shrew silenced her with a look, simultaneously fixing Ralph with a smile as he settled himself upon a stool. "Exceptional killer instinct. A real deadeye." The shrew winked, the better to show off their own dead eye.

Robin leaned in closer, and continued in a voice brimming with excitement. "So, rat, who's the target? What do they look like? Can they fight or is it one of those 'strangled by their own bedsheets' type?"

"W-what?" Ralph exclaimed.

"You know, the weak ones."

"Well, I suppose his punches never really hurt-"

"Also, would you like to order a vendetta policy?" Robin went on with a calm professionalism that Ralph found unnerving.

"W-what's that?"

"You pay me just a little bit extra to say a specific line before I kill them. You know, things like 'this is for Hamilton', 'Rosalind loves me more', 'my name is Indigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die'."

"This is for being the worst friend ever Rolf! All I ever did was beat you up and you go and steal my trophies and ruin my career!"

Ralph blinked. "I'll pass."

Robin shrugged in a very 'to each their own' kind of way. "Would you like them killed in a specific, perhaps poetic, way or are you not picky?"

"Er-" Rolf, crushed beneath the weight of stolen trophies and broken friendships. Rolf, strangled by his own bandages. Rolf, a blade plunging through the gap in his buckteeth and through the back of his lying mouth. "N-not really. Just... make it quick I guess. I-I don't want him te suffer."

"Aaaw, that's really sweet of you! But it'll cost a bit more."

"A-an' he won't feel a thing?"

Robin nodded. "Yup. Not one thing. Now, payment!"

Ralph swallowed, his heart beginning to hammer at his chest. This was real! He was going to hire a killer. He was hiring a killer. A cold-blooded killer. And setting them on his favourite pipsqueak...

Robin must have noticed his palour, for she gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry! I said I was affordable. Just give me whatever you've got on you upfront and you can pay the rest when I've finished the job."

"R-right." But Rolf had lied to him. And ruined him. And was now standing in the way of a brighter and better future for Ralph and his family. Swallowing down any further misgivings, the rat reached into the back of his pants and withdrew a single copper coin.

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Dinner was a quiet affair. Kew-Kew had snuck a pair of porridge bowls out of the kitchens again, but Rolf had merely scowled and turned his away. Kew-Kew had consumed both, feeling strangely empty despite his meal.

Just as they were turning into bed, Kew-Kew curled up on the floor and Rolf lying on the matress, the wearet spoke. "I is sorry Rolfie."

The mouse did not even look at him. "Goodnight, Kew-Kew."

Kew-Kew will make mousey happy again, the eagle vowed, as Rolf blew out a candle with far more force than necessary.