Standing on the edge of the table, I hop down onto the chair, my little body thudding against the wood as I drop downward. Then again a second time as I spring down to the floor. Blood splashes around all throughout the air, coating my already gross fur as I land. My feet feel sticky and wet, which is fine since I’m used to it; having lived in a sewer all of my life and all.

Scampering across the room, I scurry-scurry as I hurry-hurry to the other side of it, running beneath the brazier and over towards the wooden counter. I don’t think she, the elemental, notices me as she is too busy uh… grieving. Which is fair enough, but I am pretty big. Not the biggest ratty-rat. But a big ratty-rat, you know? So she must be really out of it.

There is an opening on the left where the entrance to behind the bar is and I go through it, stepping over the single dead body behind the construction. Looking around myself, I see that this little niche is filled with a variety of bottles. All are of different colors, sizes and shapes. All are filled with a variety of liquids. I even recognize one in particular. Stopping, I look at it.

It is the same kind of bottle like the one the dungeon-master gave me that one time. But this one still has a label depicting several uh… hmm. Plants? Fruits? Berries? Somethings like that adorn the label, along with a whole bunch of text that I am unable to read. I shudder as I see it, the disgust welling up in my body as if an instinctive reaction to the sweetly pungent drink that had tasted like sweet feet arises; even if it has been so long ago. Even if it wasn’t this body. It is as if the memory of my soul was enough to disgust me even in this new form.

Ugh. I won’t lie though, I have a strong urge to knock the bottle over and have a drink anyways. But I resist because the memory of the nausea is just too strong.

Walking past them all instead, I see the small pile of wood there in the dusty corner and climb up to the top with relative ease and set to work. Gnawing into one of the small logs on top, which is about the size of a large rat brother, I set to work shifting it loose. They are all still covered in bark and the wood is light and porous, smelling strongly of the forest. The smell brings back fresh memories of the beautiful area and my short time there. Pressing my body between the wall and the light log, I push with all the strength that my tiny body can muster.

The piece of wood budges with a rough scraping sound, bits of bark flake off and fall to the ground around myself as I press it against the wall. There is a sharp call from the center of the room, but I don’t understand it. I guess she’s heard me?

The piece of wood slides loose from the top of the pile, falling down to the stone floor with an echoing clamber, as it settles after the impact, rolling a few feet further. Scamper-scampering I realize this is going to be the hard part.

Pressing my body against the fallen log, I begin to turn it sideways and then push it forward to roll it along. It takes a minute, but I roll it past the body of the cultist, through the puddle of his blood and out past the counter with a final strong push, before stopping to catch my tiny rat breath. All the while, I hear the elemental talking and calling nervously. I guess she can’t see me from the center of the room, all she can do is hear the rolling wood - Assuming she can hear which uh, I do, since she can talk. How a creature made purely of magical fire is capable of having such senses is outside of my domain, friend. Maybe instead of asking how a creature made out of fire can hear, ask how there is a creature made out of fire to begin with, you know? Keep your feet on the ground, guy. Come on.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Pressing forward past the counter, I push the log around to the left and continue rolling onward. Oof. This is a real workout. I take a second to stretch, feeling a crack in my tiny back. Looking up at the elemental standing in the brazier, our eyes meet. She is looking at me, curiously, and I’m just standing here like, ‘hey, what’s up’? I push the log forward. It’s hard being me, friend. It’s hard being the hero. But it’s what I do, you know?

The log ‘thunks’ out as I reach the metal brazier. She has been talking to me this whole time, but I can’t really understand her so… I’ll spare you the details I guess. I’m sparing myself the details too, so it’s only fair you know?

Looking upward, I see her bent over the edge of the metal bowl, her hands clasping the side as she looks down to me, her expression bewildered and confused, which I can understand. I assume for her this is quite the day honestly. For me it’s just… I dunno. A day.

Normal, maybe? Looking up to her I nod. Flames from her fingers snake down and reach towards the log that is leaned against the metal bowl, touching the surface, licking and singing it. I step back, not wanting to be part of her meal. I’m just glad she’s so stretchy, I was worried I was going to have to get the log up there to her somehow. That would have been hard.

As the fires consume the log and I find that my consciousness has been satiated, I turn and walk away towards the door that the hero-party had come through before. There is nowhere else to go in this room apart from that and the secret stairs back downward, so it seems like the obvious way to go.

As I approach the door and look at it, I wonder. How am I going to get past this? I sink my teeth into the edge and begin to gnaw on the wood. But I quickly realize, this is going to take forever. The wood of the door is heavy and dense, even with my little razor teeth, it will be hard work. Oh well, nothing else to it, but to do it!

A voice calls out from behind myself and I look at the elemental who is standing there waving at me with both arms in the air. What? She points to me and then to herself. I’m flattered but honestly she’s not my type, you know? Too hot-headed.

I squeak.

She points up behind myself to the door. Oh. Ooooooh. Hmm. Hmm. Yeah? Yeah! I think that could work. But how am I going to get you here? I wonder to the creature silently. But then I see her body jump down out of the brazier and for a moment I tense up, wondering what she’s doing. But then she lands in the log. Her flame dies down to a tiny smolder, her size shrinking to that of a candle-light just my own size and I understand. Walking back towards her I nod. She nods back.

Nobody asks any questions any further than that. We’re just a rat and a fire-elemental, coming to an unspoken agreement in a room full of dead cultists. This is prime dungeon-life friend. The real deal.

Sinking my teeth into the non-burning end of the log I pull it out and then begin to roll it forward towards the door. As the log rolls, the flame always stays upright on the other side of the piece of wood, as she looks over my way curiously. Once or twice I catch her eying the dead people around us as we go past them, but she returns her focus to the task at hand, pushing down whatever emotions she is feeling in the name of survival. I can appreciate that, friend. I like someone who is goal oriented.

Sure all of your friends and family are dead around you, but there’s work to be done, so let’s get on with life. It’s a healthy way to live, tell you what. Maybe not emotionally healthy, but you know? Sometimes you have to make compromises, that’s just how it is.

As we reach the door, she presses out of the log like a genie leaving a bottle and touches a hand against the construction, which immediately begins to crackle and smolder underneath the touch of the magical flame burning a hole into it. I look on in awe, as she burns through the material in seconds and then as the flames expand, enlarging the gap significantly. More than enough material burns away for us to press on through. Once the work is complete she nods to me. I nod back.

Team work makes the dream work, friend.