The older woman had spoken at her for a while, before deciding, much to Rat's relief, that she wasn't worth bothering with.

She reminded Rat of a badger, or what she imagined a badger would be like if you were writing one into a story. Big and solid and grumpy, but not unkind. Probably.

Rat couldn't really say about the last one, she didn't know any of these people yet, but she seemed nice, on the surface at least. She had bought her some food, at least, and she had left the door open, which was either a sign of trust, or a sign that she wanted Rat out of her house already.

The words had been fuzzy and far away, and she had been doing her best not to listen.

The cool breeze coming in through the open door was calming, bringing with it the scent of spring rain, and she could see the chickens scratching up the yard. She could see Gertrude out there, and the thought that somebody had moved the chicken while she was dozing upset her, that she hadn't woken up or noticed.

She had to do better. Being cold and tired was no excuse.

She kept looking out of the open door, snuggled up in her blankets. The weather was better now, muddy and damp but no longer life-threatening. She could easily make it back to the general store, and she had spare boots there, as well as a spare set of clothes. Her coat was still missing, but she could replace it.

Her eyes darted towards the bowl of stew on the table, lidded with a slice of bread, and then to the kitchen door. Was the food a trap? What would she lose, if she accepted this gift?

Her human brain was gradually reasserting control, and it told her that the food wasn't a trap. It told her that they wanted to feed her because she was a guest, and that was what you did with guests, or because she was a child, and that was what you did with children. You didn't poison guests or children.

The animal side of her said it was likely to be a bowl of pure poison, with some extra sprinkled on the bread, just in case, and she shouldn't touch it. She hadn't seen it prepared she had no idea of the provenance. If it wasn't poisoned purposefully, then it might be old, or expired. Leave it, find something else, something safe.

If it somehow wasn't poisoned and past it's dates, then they were luring her in, it said, so that they could... They could...

The logic broke down a little at that point. All the things that it would normally accuse them of wanting to do impossible in this new world. That was all that was allowing the human part to reassert itself at all.

These people; they couldn't make her go home, as home no longer existed, and they couldn't put her into foster care, because that didn't exist either. Her 'support team' was gone, there were no local authorities. There were no institutional homes for troubled youths and no young men with soft voices and understanding eyes, writing letters she would never respond to.

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If she wanted to leave, she could do so at any time. All she had to do was walk away.

She told herself this as she uncoiled from the blankets and reached for the food, fully ready to bolt should the knot slip and the box come down atop her.

As she moved, one of the chickens stuck its, her? head through the doorway. She was a tiny thing, with bright eyes and feathers out of a children's colouring book, each one a vibrant orange, outlined in thick black.

The chicken spotted the soup, and took a careful step into the room, looking around as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be there.

Another careful step, towards the coffee table.

Rat drew back, returning to her previous position, as the bird traversed the room more boldly now.

A few steps more, and then she darted towards the slice of bread, grabbed it in her beak and rushed back outside, feet sliding on the waxed floor.

Rat watched her go, bemused. She could hear a scuffle from outside, and she watched as a fight broke out over the bread. It took almost a minute for things to calm down again, the prize torn into pieces.

Rat ate the stew slowly, trying to talk her rat brain into allowing her to stay.

There was food here, and shelter. A bedroom, even, all of her own.

And there was people. Social bonds were important, even to rats. But, for all they seemed nice, would they be like the family she had been placed with, shortly after she had run away that first time? That had told her when to come and when to go, that she couldn't go out at night and that she had to attend school each day and obey the rules they set down.

She had left within a week, slipping out after their poorly enforced curfew.

She wondered, sometimes what the fallout had been for them, but she didn't feel too bad about her choice. She hadn't wanted to be there in the first place, and it had been a learning experience all round.

The base of the food was the same as her earlier meal, but there were spices in it now, and she savoured each bite. She had missed hot food deeply.

She could always test the water, she told Rat. Go out during the day, come back at night, see how they reacted. If it worked out, then she could stay on her own terms, and if it didn't, she had leeway to find herself a new den without dying of exposure or starvation. They could show her where they were getting supplies, maybe she could move in there.

Rats are social creatures, she said again, trying to drive the point home. That's why you enjoyed sitting in the crowds, it's why you lived in the library and tried to do the schooling stuff on your own, even if you couldn't face going to the building.

That's why you miss your dad so bad.

She bit her lip so hard that she was afraid it might bleed.

Deep breaths.

The sun had moved in the sky by the time the attack passed, and the chickens were long gone, the bowl cool in her hands, all residual heat gone.

With an inward sigh, she placed it on the table, and went to check out the forest.

-

Outside it was almost like late spring, if not early summer. If she hadn't almost died the night before, she never would have believed it could change so fast.

The ground was cool and soft beneath her, as her toes sank into the forest mud, and she enjoyed the sensation of it. Even when she was a kid in the woods with her dad, they had always had to look out for bits of broken glass and other, worse things amongst the leaves. The idea of being able to walk around barefoot was a novelty, and she decided to make the most of it.

She would explore, find a potential place to sleep, and then come back at nightfall. If they wouldn't let her back in, then at least she'd have options, and maybe she'd find something cool, out there in the woods.

Smiling to herself, trying not to think too hard about her still half-empty stomach, or how close she had come to death only hours before, Rat set off into the forest.