The mouse pondered her escape when she awoke. Freya was truly alone in this cold world. Her tribe, her clan wasn’t even reachable from here without magic. Magic that she possessed, though she knew that it was a precious small amount left. To them, she was a pup out in the wilderness.
River had led her here.
No, she had led herself here.
She wanted to help in the war efforts, and Rivers need to bring her into the fold of the druid circle. There was a twinge of the remainder of the fear of losing her family, and it was overshadowed by the amount of good she felt that she could do. She could have it all with the druids, she mused as she stretched her aching limbs. Her mouse form felt foreign after a few days as a bluejay and then a brief stint as a cat.
She imagined her life in the circle. Sela had talked about the valley of red mist with awe, and she’d listened during their quiet times. River of course was trying to sell her a cart full of cheese. Sela just told her about the stinky camembert in the back of the cart.
A mouse could deal with a fair bit of stinky cheese if it meant that at least a part of the cheese was tasty.
Freya liked camembert, though she was far from the majority with this opinion.
Perhaps she would be able to trod her own path as a druid, as some did. If the circle would agree to that, she could agree to a few of their rules. At least in this way, she would be able to grow her clan.
Freya jostled her pack around to see if any food was left. She now felt the extent of her untapped magic well. It felt like a happy friend, ready to be pulled into any weave she could make. The precious few weaves that she had felt ready to go, and Freya sighed before stepping out from the rocks, looking for a landmark.
The light of day in the burrows, a sharp contrast to the night she’d seen before showed the terrain in stark blacks and browns. It wasn’t far different from what she expected, but she was glad to see a certain area of the hill where she knew she’d be able to make her move.
Rivers' admonishment to only use the burrows when necessary rang in her head. She felt nothing around her, and the quiet was far from calming. It wasn’t the worst feeling she’d ever experienced by far, but it was a special kind of feeling.
One that she finally felt capable of addressing.
Freya adjusted everything for her new, warmer mouse body and set off for her next move. Boots wouldn’t just fix their size on their own, after all, and traveling cloaks worked best when they allowed the exploitation of the economy of movement, to say nothing of pockets.
It wasn’t long until she found the spot she was searching for.
Freya breathed a sigh of relief. Then she looked around. The familiar place where she'd turned into a cat was here. A few tufts of fur indicated where they had wild shaped. Whether mouse or cat, she wasn’t certain, but she used it to judge the direction of their travel.
At once the path they had taken in the dark looked obvious. Freya looked down the hill towards the way she had come from. The slight change in the grade as well as the light played tricks on her eyes.
She looked backward.
Burrows, according to several accounts, didn't map directly one-to-one with the world. Rather, Sela had told her that in most places, a burrow was a shortened path. But if one wanted to return to a specific spot, one could try to map it out.
A few druids had an interest in cartography over the years, and some half-complete maps were available in the circle proper, but Freya had never seen any. She’d take the time to make her own if she had half a chance.
Freya looked back and judged the distance to where they'd crossed over. Then she turned and judged the distance to Marwei. There wasn't a stream, river, or even a dry river bed. Freya found a point and fixed it in her mind.
Then, once again she set off determined to make it back to somewhere with rations. Even a dive bar, one of those disreputable beaver places would be fine so long as they had food. Tavern fare would be a welcome sight to the hungry mouse.
Before long, Freya found herself looking back up the hill. This was where she would judge Marwei to be.
Freya sighed.
"A food cart would be nice right about now."
She began the weave to leave the burrows.
Chicken Freya, the waterlogged hero of the ages, was lost. The bond was giving her conflicting information. When she reached the front lines, it immediately pulsed behind her.
So, as one does, she banked and turned back.
The mouse on her companion was yelling something incomprehensible.
She didn't care.
Freya was alive, and she could feel her. What did it matter that the mouse was far behind them? It made no sense, but chickens didn't have much to do with sense.
The fast spicy creature was still calmly cutting through the cats with lethal precision. She wanted to get away, but he had been good to her so far. She initially hadn't trusted him, but she reluctantly turned back in his direction.
The mouse rider behind her whooped and hollered. Arrows flew behind her, missing her by a mere talon length. She would have to talk to Freya about these working conditions.
Chicken Freya flew up to the triumphant mouse.
He reeked, his aura ablaze in front of her.
He stopped, sheathing his blade just in time to grab onto an offered wing and climb up.
She appreciated his speed and his professionalism was to be commended.
She would oblige him, crowing as she flew back towards the wall.
Her companions followed, crowing the chicken song of victory. Behind them, the large beast swiped ineffectively before the rider mouse fired something.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The small explosion behind her, no longer startled the chicken, and soon they were standing tall on the wall.
The creatures made a fuss about her and gestured for her to drop down and she began jumping from house to house, following the path. Then the battle was met and cats with ladders rushed the walls.
Muk fired another arrow over the wall. It didn’t matter what he hit, as anything would be an inconvenience to the cats. Far behind the cats, fire dotted the wintry landscape, and the quartermaster began to think that instead of charging the regiment, perhaps the cats were running away from something.
Just as soon as the chickens returned, they beat their talons along the ground, racing away from the fire. Muk felt like he should have been scared of the chickens, but his time with Freya had shown him that he didn’t need to fear all beasts. Just the giant ones that it took several explosions to take down.
The large beast’s expression changed from one of a hunter on a trail to that of surprise when its front leg broke apart. The arrows covered the beast as it collapsed.
The fear that had gripped his heart died. He’d hoped to be able to win this fight. It would be a struggle if nothing else, but seeing such a spectacle left him breathless.
Around him, Soldiers rallied, fighting back the line of cats and their ladders, letting them think that they were mounting a counter-offensive.
They knew that the wall wasn’t meant for this kind of siege, and the cats had apparently thought that their demons would be able to lower the gates. The regiment, in raising the alarm, had stopped that.
Now they needed the cats to believe that they really wanted to hold their position.
The token resistance folded as the regiment melded back into well-trodden paths. Muk quickly backed up to the top of the hill before the mass of cats started moving over the wall.
Then the second round of arrows punished cats going in any direction but the narrow road they had set up expressly to bottleneck the cats. So they moved up the hill, block by block as trap after trap sprang.
Crenshaw breathed a sigh of relief when his party arrived at the bridges. A familiar mouse greeted them.
"I don't suppose that you have any food on you?"
The chickens piled onto Freya as they all hugged.
“Freya?” Crenshaw gaped.
Woda and Crenshaw dismounted and waited for the chickens. One didn’t rush large feathered beasts, even when a battle raged.
“Uh, we might want to move on. The regiment is fighting.”
The central bridge was a sight that left his heart happy. The poor mice had been pushing for so hard and so long that he nearly collapsed.
Woda slapped his back.
“Ready for another go?”
“I think I’m ready for retirement.”
“Let’s get back over the bridges first, eh? We can have a tearful reunion on the opposite side.”
It was at that time that the regiment began retreating to the bridges in earnest.
Perhaps it was the ground, or perhaps it was the still dark night, but once more, all three of them felt fear. Freya stared out beyond the bridges to the other shore. The large river never sounded quieter than it was at that moment.
Several dozen Soldiers marched with a purpose over the hill. It quickly became an errand of a beaver to count them, so Freya didn’t even attempt.
“We’re going to need some more of those explosives,” Crenshaw said.
All eyes, both chicken and mouse turned to them.
“All of these Soldiers, we need to cut off the cat's advances,” Crenshaw yelled.
“But how?” Freya yelled back to him over the mass of Soldiers, each of whom was giving her strange looks.
Crenshaw tossed her a pack he’d left secured to his saddle.
“With this. You prime it, I’ll plant it.”
Freya looked in amazement at the satchel. Her spine tingled when she opened the pack with the remainder of their explosives.
“It should be enough, we’re going to have to clear the bridges,” Crenshaw said, “With me, druid.”
“And I’ll buy you both enough time,” Woda said, once again drawing his weapon.
Freya gasped.
“Let him go.”
Freya reluctantly let grandpaw leave, even as a few of the rabbits lead a familiar mouse officer down the path.
Someone that Freya realized she knew all too well. She tried to slip under her cloak, but a swift wind pushed it back. The torches that the Soldiers carried clearly illuminated her face and she hoped that he wouldn’t look at the cloaked mouse on the chicken in the middle of a war zone, who was currently doing her best to pull together nodes of red mist and explosives.
“Get across the bridge,” Muk said to the last pair of rabbits on the shore, “We can’t hold them off indefinitely.” Spears raised the two rearguard rabbits backed up, trying to stop the advancing line through sheer force of will. Behind them, the Denoue river rushed past, as waves crashed on both sides.
The line of woodland Soldiers stood firm against the onslaught of the war band as they walked with their backs to the bridges, backing in and pausing here and there to let a maiden of the bow loose a volley at the approaching horde of cats.
Then the bridges started collapsing. One at a time, the two outermost bridges lost two supports, leaving a chunk of engineering to collapse into the depths of the river.
Muk looked up to see the welcome sight of his cousin and another familiar chicken-riding figure.
This figure had all of the grace of Private Kay, and if conditions were different, what with the Marquis breathing down on him, he’d probably go talk to her and thank her.
The front line of the cats arrived, many of them frothing at the mouth as two more of the bridges blew. Muk stepped up to the shore, unsheathing his sword, and joining the rearguard rabbits.
It was then that he noticed the lone figure who knelt before the horde.
That had to be -no- his swordmaster.
Muk cried out, but his voice didn’t carry over the roar of the river and the cats. Only when the last of the rabbits got to the bridge and stepped on did he allow himself to yell back to Woda.
“You’re making a mistake!”
Muk hadn’t expected a response but the sound that came back was the only thing he could head.
“I chose this mistake,” Woda said, his voice loud enough just to make it to Muk.
“No!” Muk cried.
“Nooooo!” The female voice behind him yelled, loud enough to make him regret waiting. Who would that…
Muk turned to see none other than a brown-furred, blue-eyed angel reaching out a hand to him.
In his shock, he didn’t even notice when she pulled him up to the chicken saddle and pushed him to hold onto her. He didn’t notice her initiates headband or for that matter, feel her rucksack, but by the Raven, he noticed her smell, and it was something that he never wanted to forget. All he saw was that she was taking him away, and then rabbits were closing the ranks behind them. Above them, sparra tried again to launch a volley of rocks ineffectively at the cats.
Behind them, the large beast that Freya had turned to their cause was still tearing through their ranks. Those in the front, however, were ready to kill.
She reached out, trying to steer it towards the war band line assembling at the docks, but in the battle of wills, it was a kitten, and she the yarn. It wasn’t the bear… her stark realization that it was steerable caused her to sweat. She had hoped that her brief bond with the wyvern would have stuck around a bit longer, but she’d take what she could get.
Above her, a flash of fire showed her Rivers location as the druid landed.
Freya willed her mount to follow, holding the reins with one paw and Muk with the other. He felt warm and familiar at that moment, something she hadn’t even known that she needed. She felt strong with him around, and he was not going to live down her reducing him from himself. Grandpaw could and would take care of himself as he carved a path, but the bridge, well that needed work.
River was going to help her get to work.
“I don’t know if it is going to hold with so many,” she said to the druid, “I just don’t…”
“Freya, you’ve got to trust in the power within you,” River said, “because we just need to get these last few rabbits over enough for me to shape the effect we need. The other bridges were small enough that you were able to take care of them, but this one? This one is on me.”
The druid was pouring magic into the water, shaping it as little rock pellets slammed into the war band's front line. The sparra had figured out a way to if not stop, distract them and Freya needed every single second.
She watched, eyes agape as River weaved something that caused half the largest bridge to melt, starting from the Furrows' side towards them
Freya heard Muks voice over her pained body as she reached for the last drop of sustenance she had.
“Biscuit?” She heard herself asking him.
“What? And no tea?” He replied, “I thought you were a lady?”
“I’m no lady. I am a druid.”
He gripped her harder as Freya pulled a bit of weave out of the air, spontaneously creating a bow of fire and then a flaming arrow.
She launched the arrow from her position in the water, seeing it illuminate an otters head and smiled. Sela would be there to back them up if one of the cats started swimming.
There. Whatever she had, she had spent it, and the last bridge was down as Freya collapsed into Muk.
“Is that it?” Freya could hear Muks' voice directed at the druid.
“No,” she could hear the raven's voice falter.
Then she heard the splashing.