“Oh fuck,” I pant. “You sounded a lot scarier coming from the black abyss,” I say, looking down at it while I try to calm my racing heart.
I shake my head at myself and watch as the ginger rust-colored fur ball with its white face skitters past me. It heads in the direction I just came from, and I scoop it up in a flash. “Whoop, I don’t think you want to go that way, Rusty. I’ve seen some shit that way,” I say as I hold it up to my face.
There’s a distinct look of intelligence in its black eyes, and I take a deep sniff, just to make sure I’m not manhandling a shifter. Smells like a mouse to me. It sits up on its hind legs in the middle of my palm and starts cleaning its front paws. One of them is white, and I watch as it carefully washes itself to keep it as snowy as ever.
“I bet that’s a bitch to keep clean in this place,” I observe as the little mouse just goes about its bath, while I watch like some creeper.
I give it a little pet in between its ears and then set it down on the ground. Rusty looks at me for a beat and then starts moving in the direction that I just came from again.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I call after it.
I swear on my tail feathers that the mouse stops, looks back at me, and then motions with its head and tail, like, are you coming or what, bitch?
Uhh...
I give the little guy the side-eye, because there is no way that just happened. It’s official. I’ve lost my fucking mind. The mouse sighs at me. It fucking sighs! Like it’s over people always having this kind of reaction to it.
Then, once again, it motions with its head for me to follow it. I debate for exactly three milliseconds and then do exactly that. Fuck Lassie. Rusty’s going to lead the way home.
I hope.
Either that, or my delusional ass is walking right into the mouth of a fucking carnivorous swamp monster or something. It’ll be asleep, and I’ll just walk right into its mouth and be like, breakfast is served! All because I followed a mouse with an imaginary head nod to my death.
“No swamp monsters, okay, Rusty?” I tell him, cringing at how my quiet voice seems to echo for ages down the hallways and make it even creepier down here.
The little nugget of orange fur just trots along, taking every corridor like a pro as it veers left, right, and straight down the maze of hallways. I follow behind, taking so many turns that I can’t even keep track. Every time it squeaks, I’m convinced it’s trying to talk to me. I’ve never wanted to know what a mouse is saying so badly in my whole life. Occasionally, Rusty’s little pink nose scrunches up, and it stands up on its haunches, like it’s counting or something before it deems the coast is clear and starts walking again.
Please, don’t let this end with me in Swamp Thing’s mouth!
I try to keep my breathing even and ignore all the sore muscles in my body that are screaming at me. This wandering life is not for me. I’m more of a five-minute trot around the backyard and then veg out on the couch for the rest of the day kinda girl.
I’m hungry too. So hungry that the little mouse is looking better and better to my cockatrice with every passing minute, but I flick my beast on the nose until it skulks back to the corners of my consciousness. You’d think I’ve been lost down here for a damn week with the way my body is whining.
A few more squeaks fill the empty hallway we’re traveling down, and I have to stop myself from asking, what is it, Rusty? I’m so focused on the mouse chatter as we turn a corner, that when I walk into something hard, dark, and warm, it totally takes me off guard, and I yelp as I go flying backward.
Son of a bitch, it’s the swamp monster, I just know it!
Two distinct hands clamp down on my shoulders, yanking me up before I can fall, and then I open my eyes and realize I’m staring into the face of a very relieved looking Rook.
“Oh, thank fuck!” I squeal, wrapping my arms around his waist