She doesn't know how long she remained by the puddle. It is still dark and still raining. Clearly not too many hours had passed, but it wasn't a short respite either. Her resting spot is just a little too close to the entrance to the village, and while none of the denizens dared leave in this weather, it was likely best that she not be here once they do. Similarly, it is very much out in the open, where she would be easy prey for a dark lord. Much like the mice, they too rarely wandered outside in such uncomfortable conditions, but those that did would be particularly hungry and desperate.

In the end she is driven on by a sensation closer to boredom than a desire for shelter and security. There is nothing to be gained from remaining here, and while dying doesn't sound so bad, it doesn't sound any better than the alternative. At least marginally worse, in fact, so all she can do is rise to her feet and keep moving, casting one last look at her former home before walking away.

Such a parting should have been devastating, but despite knowing the names of every mouse in the village, she had little connection to the place, at least little positive connection. Others paid her little attention, seeing her as unlucky. Not the sort of unlucky which was necessarily deserving of much sympathy, but more the sort of unlucky which would potentially rub off on anyone close to her. This wasn't enough to make her shunned, of course, as bad luck can transmit through the curses of the bitter even more effectively than it does through general contact. As a result, her neighbors knew better than to treat her poorly. What resulted was instead a sort of quiet awkwardness. Such beliefs in luck, at least from their perspective, even hers in a way, we not so irrational. Life is hard enough, living in conditions like these, and it doesn't take much weight added to one end of the scale to turn survival from difficult into impossible.

If anything, these recent events helped to verify that fact. Three seasoned adventurers had met their bloody end on the one mission that they took along a novice. Duties were cycled through among the community, and eventually her turn came up. She has no doubt that some of her neighbors expressed their concerns to the elder, but he clearly dismissed them. He must feel like quite the fool now. No, nevermind, that's not right, she thinks to herself. He and the others don't remember who I am, and therefore must not remember any conversations about me. From their perspective, the selection process and debate following it must never have happened. I wonder how their minds will explain the missing healing potions?

The soaked mouse stops, looking down at her belt. It was borrowed, a shoddy cloth design with crude loops set in it designed to hold assorted vials, and the vials themselves were very much assorted. Some were round, some were long, some glass, some plastic some clay. Past tense for all of these, of course. The remnants of all of them lay shattered amongst the remains of her former comrades. She pulls the belt off over her head, tossing it aside, having no more need for such a thing. She continues to walk.

Even as she travels, she doesn't even consider her destination. She doesn't plan on a place to hide and rest, a secure location from which she can go out to scavenge food and resources, or a place to shield her from both the elements and hostile eyes. Instead she simply walks directly towards the green tower of light up ahead. The other two beckon to her as strongly, but she chooses the green purely because, well, it seemed as good as any other. It's not some overwhelming urge that drives her towards it, either, just a minor push, but that's all it takes for a mouse who has nowhere to go and little desire to stand still.

It still hurts to look at directly, so she keeps her eyes downcast to avoid the glare. Even when she can't really see it, however, she knows exactly where it is, and even if she were to never raise her head again, getting lost on the way is virtually impossible. Running into a wall or another obstacle is a very real possibility, but not so much losing track of the position of the light. Much like when she was sitting, time seemingly slips away. She has no idea how long she wanders, avoiding looking up at her surroundings, taking in no significant landmarks as a result. In the distance, and sometimes the not-so-distant distance, she can hear the heavy footfalls of the Makers, but none seem to notice the presence of the comparatively tiny creature as the rain gradually slows to a light drizzle.

All the while, her thoughts remain largely blank, simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other until eventually, for whatever reasons, that is no longer an option. Her fatigue has been steadily growing since the ill-fated battle, but she hardly notices until it hits a breaking point. The healer nearly collapses mid-stride, but with the last remaining bit of her strength, manages to step over to a nearby wall where she finds a discarded metal can, the label of which having been long since torn away. It isn't much, but keeps her out of clear view and offers a small measure of shelter, which is really all she can hope for.

She stumbles into it, falling into a wet, shivering heap, sleep finding her immediately. The sleep is restful on her body but not so much on her mind, her dreams plagued with images of severed limbs and blood, of hideous huge eyes looking right into her soul. Terrible nightmares which one would normally wake up from in a cold sweat, but her exhausted body would allow no such respite so instead the twisted visions simply transition from one to the next through the many hours of the night. She finally does awaken with a start from a particularly gruesome dream, only now her body having recovered enough to allow her to regain consciousness. She groans, rubbing her eyes, her fur still wet and head aching from the bright light... both the sunlight which reflected into the side of the metal container, and the two pillars of colored energy ahead. She rises to her feet.

It takes some time to stretch out her aching body. She's not injured, but the endless barrage of the heavy rain-drops tenderizes the muscles after a while, and her sleep wasn't the most comfortable. Still, she recovers as much as can be expected and goes to step back outside to resume her journey.

Why?

She thinks to herself. With so much of the previous night essentially lost time, she feels a moment of mental clarity for the first time in a while. Why should I bother going to it? Why not just stay here, or find a better shelter? Get some food in my belly, maybe find some sort of weapon, just in case? Her club remained back where it was dropped, not really a proper armament, really little more than a crude piece of wood which could best be described as better than nothing in a pinch. Why keep moving forward?

Why not?

Such is the response in her mind. She has no real desire to stay here, and certainly can't go home. She can't imagine her former neighbours being any more open to reason in the light of day than they were the past night, especially not once they find the remains of their hunters. There is nothing for her anywhere, so there is as good as here, right? Potentially much better. There must be something at that pillar of light, and although she has no real worldly desires at present which she could imagine it fulfilling, she still slightly wishes to know. That might not sound so impressive, but a slight desire outranks a non-desire every single time, and all things are relative. In a world without purpose, that one mysterious light is a beacon of hope, pulling her forward when she has little else to drive her. And so she continues.

The world is a much different place in the light of day. Less frightening in some ways, moreso than others. You become so much more aware of how vast, how open it is, whereas at night one can easily convince themselves that it's no different from a small burrow or nest, with dark walls in all directions. There is the strong sense of life everywhere, no shortage of it being hostile, all the moreso since she reached the outskirts of the Maker's city. She's still within it, of course, as such cities tend to lack a clear boundary which is meaningful to a creature such as herself of where they begin and end, but the structures have grown less tall, more sparse. The environments were previously only streets and alleyways which turned and twisted, framed at either side by colossal stone structures. A series of winding passageways which, while large, didn't feel nearly as endless as the vistas all around her. The sky, for instance, is always visible but a viewed through a sort of window up between the tall buildings, feeling more like an object of finite size in the distance. Out here, it was downright oppressive, everywhere, pushing in from every direction. It isn't simply a thing, it is everything, an endless blue barrier within which whisps of white cloud occasionally drift through, from which there is no escape.

Buildings still remain, but no where near as large or as static as those before. They are painted a variety of colors, their structures a variety of styles, surrounded by fields of green, the likes of which one only has to travel a few hours deeper into the city for it to become rare and then virtually non-existent. The roads are still here, but less packed with stopped vehicles, and although of fewer lanes than those she'd been familiar with, they appear much more vast when not enclosed at either side. They represent a flat, black dangerous desert with nowhere to hide. At first the mouse simply walks along the sidewalk, taking some time to realize just how open and exposed she has become, instead moving to the tall grass which offered not so much perfect shelter but enough to make her presence significantly less obvious. Overhead, birds regularly flew by, and she lacked the knowledge to determine whether they were of the variety that preferred to feed on seeds or flesh, having no choice but to consider each one of them a potential threat. Even from their aerial view, however, if any happen to spot her, none show any signs of it, continuing on their glided paths, letting out their chirps and songs and cries to whoever would listen, caught up in their own lives and problems. Beyond the birds in the sky, insects and other strange creatures scuttled endlessly within the grass. The roars of the Maker's engines, and, even some of their speech, can be heard in the distance. Sound is everywhere, and while the denser city was by no means a silent place, quite the contrary, with the endless sirens, vehicles, the buzzing of street lamps and the cries of lonely and hungry beasts, the sealed alleyways always made such noises feel far more distant. More like a part of the background, like someone elses problem. Here, they are everywhere, and even when quieted by distance, they never feel very far away, whereas in the deeper city, even the close by noises sounded like foreign and distant echoes.

Then there is the bright green light. She had hoped that it only seemed to be blinding and oppressive relative to the dark of night, and while this isn't entirely untrue, it still pains her eyes and mind to face it. Even relative to the sun, something she had little chance to see in her old home (the alleys were shaded for most of the day, and it was safest to scavenge at night), it is still unpleasantly bright, and appears no closer than it had before. It is, however. She can feel it. In a way it is a relief, as she can only imagine just how bright it would feel were it a true light-source, which grew stronger and stronger the closer you approached. Still, the strange, unchanging beacon is unsettling to say the least.

For a while she sits and nibbles at some grass stalks. Her fatigue might be quelled, but it's still been quite a while since she's eaten, and like everyone in her community, even at best she hasn't been eating all that well. Meals had to be cut back to start storing for the winter, after all, and even that might not be enough. Well, they do have four fewer mouths to feed now, which should help somewhat. The plants, of course, cannot be considered proper food and offer little in the way of nutritional value, but the dew wets her throat (it wasn't long ago where the very idea of feeling dry seemed like a fantasy), and the bits of green filled her stomach somewhat. It would provide little energy, but at least trick her body into thinking that it had a proper meal. For a little while, anyways. This could become a problem before long. Earlier she had idly hoped that she would find food sources as she went, but had she stopped to consider the idea even for a moment, she would have realized that it wasn't realistic. Safe food sources aren't easy to come by, and the odds of stumbling upon them by pure chance is extremely unlikely.

All she can do for now is keep walking while she still can. Still, she isn't feeling very encouraged by her efforts. Tall green stalks everywhere, soft soil underfoot, the buildings in the distance all look lonely, unkempt, and isolated. Even in the bright sunlight and open air, things feel dark, enclosed, empty. Is she feeling lonely? The idea seems absurd. She has little interest in people these days, and the feeling is very much mutual. Other mice wouldn't threaten or harm her, at least not in overt ways, but it still felt like every encounter she had with another left her just a little bit worse for wear, and that she would have just been a little bit better off had it never happened. Still, even when one doesn't wish to deal with other mice, there's some comfort in knowing they are there. That even when you're suffering or scared or hungry, that someone else nearby is feeling the same thing. Even if you aren't in the same room with them, or never speak to them, a certain kinship remains, and you're never completely alone. Maybe mostly, but never completely.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Until now. The mouse feels a small, short-lived ache in her heart before giving into nostalgia, an activity she always regrets. It only takes a few moments of reminiscing before she's pulled back to reality. No, she thinks to herself. I don't need anyone. Things really are better this way. Still, she can't deny that a proper meal would be nice. That's certainly one good reason for her to miss her old home.

Early on, the grass had been cut unnaturally short, offering minimal shelter, but as she continued it grew much longer and more unkempt. How long has she been walking? It must have been hours, but she's not feeling tired at all. Quite the contrary, she's never felt stronger, at least in body. Mind was another matter entirely. She can't look foreward, backwards or to the present without some manner of discomfort following, giving her nothing to think about beyond her immediate surroundings, which aren't much less bleak. Proper exploration relies on the sense that you're moving towards something, but she could only feel that she was moving away. The further she walks, the further away the tall alleys of the city, the more sparse the buildings, the vehicles, the signs of people. They are still here, of course, but each step makes the gaps between the property lines a little longer, with more and more of them looking withered and abandoned. Just less of everything, not even proper wilderness ahead, just that damnable green light which, so far as she can tell, could just as easily be leading her off of the edge of the world.

That's when she stops in her tracks. Tiny creatures slithered between her furless toes, and clung to thick green stalks which swayed in the clean and gentle breeze. Such creatures are harmless, however, and while largely new to her, do nothing to draw her focus. What catches her attention is the scent of mice, and quite a few of them. It is faded, of course, and none are in the immediate vicinity, but there is no mistaking it: this is a place where many mice regularly travel. Very many. More than her entire village combined, she can guess from the menagerie of assorted scents. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? she wonders. Even as she does, her steps resume, no longer following the green glow, but the newfound foot-path. Forgetting her last encounter with her former neighbours isn't really an option, and she can't count on strangers treating her any better. Still, where there are mice, there is food. And supplies. And weapons. And a safe place to sleep. And a non-trivial risk that they will attack on sight, and in great numbers.

Even as she internally debates whether or not it is worth the risk, her feet continue on their own as the scents grow stronger. The one footpath merged into many until it is no longer a single road she steps upon, but a heavily explored region by countless feet going in all directions. This does make tracking the original source, where they all came from a little more difficult however. All this while she has been moving ahead on four feet, namely to stay low and out of sight of any predators, but she needs a better view. Bracing herself, she rises up, taking in all her surroundings. She isn't sure what she expects to see, but somehow it isn't this. What she sees is nothing.

Another human yard. In the distance there are signs of a ruined stone foundation where a building once stood, but clearly hasn't for some time. The grass is extra long and wild, more like a field of weeds than a proper lawn. From around the stone ruins is a faded and weather-ravaged wooden fence, which might have once been painted white but is now a sickly grey, and next to it sits a long abandoned Maker vehicle, almost entirely rusted through. It sits on bent rims, the tires long since rotted away. She again wonders what she had expected... some massive mouse fortress? A grand city with ornate gates, eager to open and welcome any visitors? No, any mice around here likely lived underground in small dug burrows, the entrances to which were certain to be well hidden. Still, there is something strange she can't quite put her finger on. It is the vehicle. Sure, she'd seen such ruined machines before, even if not quite so sorry a state. City property is a little too valuable to just leave such things to rot on it, after all. The strange thing us that the frame of it seemed to go all the way to the ground. Sure, the wheels could have simply sunken into the earth, but they were clearly unburied. As she looks, she can see why: From the fender to ground, walls have been constructed. Not by the hands of the Makers, of course. These are crude and ugly, thrown together from any materials which could be scavenged and then crudely stacked, bound or nailed to one another as best that tiny, not-so-dexterous hands could. It's not the sort of thing most creatures would notice, as looking from above it appeared to be an ordinary vehicle, and only looking from below were such modifications truly apparent.

This must be the mouse city, and from the looks of it, not a tiny one. Even her old home which seemed packed to the brim with people had them living in the cracks and spaces between walls. Just how many could fit in a place like this? Her concerns aren't forgotten, and while she had little active desire to see or speak to other mice, she sprints on all fours towards it, perhaps guided by nothing but the growing hunger in her stomach. As she grows closer, the details of the mouse construction are unmistakable. While incredibly ugly, even by the standards of the rusted heap overtop, the walls are quite impressive. Solid, multiple overlapping layers, nary a gap to fit even so much as a tail through. Clearly constructed with great care. So, now what? How does she get inside? For obvious reasons, mice tend to keep the entrances to their dens well hidden, and this one was sure to be no exception. She feels around for any sort of loose panel or anything, but unsurprisingly finds none. It is a long wall, after all. It could be anywhere. All she can do is try to walk around it.

She is surprised to see the wall stretches beyond the bumper of the vehicle. From here, it's quite high but lacks any natural roof, of course, clearly offering some reduced security, but is still far too steep for her to safely climb over. As she slowly navigates around it, looking for any signs of an opening, she arrives at the other side of the vehicle. It is naturally guarded from this side by the wooden fence, but even with that more-or-less natural defense, the wall still continues along the underside of the abandoned machine. She regularly feels along the wall, looking for any sort of passage or hidden door, when she hears a dull, rhythmic hammering.

"Um... hello?" she asks, with great hesitation. "Is someone there?"

"Aye?" a somewhat aged and very much muffled voice says from the other side of the wall. "Yep, someone's here. Quite a few someones, depending on where one defines as 'here', I suppose."

"So... this is, in fact, a mouse city?" she leans her round ear against the wall and speaks in a clear voice, just to make sure the sound goes through.

"Nay, it's not a mouse city..." he says, and before she has a chance to be either relieved or disappointed, she's uncertain which, he continues. "It's THE mouse city! Finest in all the lands!"

"Okay. So, how do I get inside?"

There's a brief pause. "What, you mean you didn't come from inside? We don't get so many travelers in these parts, especially few unfamiliar with this place. Well, just follow along the wall to the gate. You can't miss it." there's another pause. "Uh, you are a mouse, right? Not some dark lord or other beastie in disguise? Might as well be honest now, we'll find out soon enough!"

"I'm a mouse." she says, although her voice betrays her inner uncertainty. The voice on the other side of the wall doesn't seem to notice this, however, or at the very least chooses to not acknowledge it.

"Good enough f'r me." he says, as he resumes his steady hammering, signalling that the conversation has come to an end.

Can't miss it. Right along the wall, she thinks to herself. She's already been along most of the length of the wall and found no sign of it, and didn't think to ask which direction he meant. She'd better not have somehow passed it. These worries prove to be unfounded, however. Directly at the front of the abandoned vehicle, not far from where she first arrived at the outside of the city, had she thought to search in the opposite direction in the first place, is indeed a gate othat ne couldn't possibly miss. It is a little surprising just how obvious it is, as she is sure it would be more carefully hidden with at least some effort to look like a naturally occurring buildup of objects or refuse. Instead it is indeed a heavily barred metal gate, of similarly haphazard materials to the walls but considerably more strongly engineered. Even from the outside, she can tell it is quite thick, reaching up to the rusted half-falling off front bumper of the ancient truck. One problem solved, there still remains the issue of getting inside.

The lone mouse gives the metal gate a hesitant knock. A small sound reverberates from it, but likely not enough to attract much attention.

"Hello?" she asks, having already engaged in more conversation today than she would have liked. "Is someone there?"

Technically, so far, it's largely the same conversation twice, but that doesn't make things any easier.

"What's your business in the city?" a gruff voice asks, sounding much younger than the first she'd heard.

I'm here to steal some food. I would trade, but of course I have absolutely nothing to offer in exchange. You see, I've been hallucinating these bright colored lights, and now I'm feeling the strange urge to go visit them. Oh, my eyes? Don't mind them. Sure, they might look monstrous, but don't worry, I'm harmless. As a weird stranger none of you have ever seen before, you can trust me!

She goes through her explanations in her head as she struggles to come up with one that won't raise any alarms. Should she just lie? She's never been a very good liar. It comes with not being much of a talker. Speech is a skill like any other, and it requires practice. When you grow rusty at it, your honest words may sound suspicious, but the reverse virtually never applies. In recent months, she was similarly very much out of practice. Beyond the basic greetings and answering simple questions and commands, as rare as such things were, it had been quite a long while since she'd had a proper conversation, and can't say that she's missed it very much. She wasn't always like this, of course, there was a time when she was quite cheerful, inquisitive and, well, downright gossipy. What changed, she wonders? It's a rhetorical question, as she is very much aware of what had changed.

"Um..." is the only word she manages to get out after several seconds of silence. Not the worst start to a proper explanation, but not the best either. Sadly, she has no idea where to go from there.

"What's wrong with you?" a loud feminine one answers in return. The cream colored mouse stumbles for an answer before realizing this new voice is talking to the other mouse and not her. "You can see she's a mouse. What do you think her business is here? Same as everyone elses!"

The nameless mouse looks up to either side of the gate. Two small slots are open in the wall, where small rodent eyes poke out. No other features are visible from this vantage point.

"I'm just trying to keep guard!" the first voice says, sounding even more gruff but no longer directed towards the naked former healer.

"You're just looking for an excuse to not have to open the gate and do your job proper, but you won't find one here. Now, get to it!" she growls back at him. A little bit of grumbling back and forth ensues, too quiet for the lone mouse to make out when with the creaking of wood, the heavy gate slowly begins to rise up from the dirt. In truth, the repaired gate is considerably more efficient than it was in the past, requiring no where near the level of back-breaking effort to open, but as any mathematician will tell you, some work is more than none. Technically, infinitely more, and when one thinks of it in those terms, you can see why the gatekeeper would be reluctant.

The mouse woman has no clear view of the mechanisms and devices which work to open the heavy gate, just the mechanical sound of wood and metal grinding and clattering against one another as it very slowly creeps upwards, finally making an opening as tall as she is, leading into the gloom ahead.

"Well? Don't just stand there all day, holding this open takes a lot of work!" the male voice says, to which she replies by quickly stepping inside, looking back over her shoulder as the pathway slams shut behind her.

"Oh, don't mind him." the rather rotund lady guard replies. As the cream-furred nameless mouse looks up over her shoulder, she can see the pair sitting on rickety wooden balconies, upon which set an assortment of levers, ropes and pulleys. "Welcome home."

The nameless mouse feels no obligation to point out that this isn't her home. She can't imagine much good coming from that. The inside of the city looks dark at first, but that's natural relative to the bright sun and minimal shade outside. It takes very little time for her eyes to adjust, and what she sees shocks her. Mice everywhere! Walking, chatting, arguing, dressed in assorted ways. Most of them armed, some carrying tools, some instruments. While dank compared to the outside, the sun streams in from above at regular intervals, making the place not quite bright but not dark by any stretch, certainly a far cry from the heavily shadowed environment that made up her former residence. A wide road stretches up ahead, buildings reaching nearly up to the undercarriage (or what's left of it) of the truck, each made of dozens of smaller compartments, often of very different materials, jammed together, stacked atop one another, all covered in doors, windows, ladders, stairways, with no clear rhyme or reason.

She can't help wondering whether this will be easier or harder than she had anticipated. On one hand, it's clearly a prosperous and heavily populated city, compared to her tiny isolated village. On the other hand, she has no idea of where to even begin looking.