Oct 10 2018, 01:14 AM
The rats came and went. It was dark; it was damp; the mist drifted outside, limiting visibility. But within the colony's nest--hidden away among the stony Crags of Cetus--it was warm, and relatively dry.
A scraggly young male, damp and smelling of mud, scrambled in. He had a tiny drop of amethyst on one side of his head, and as he sat up and set about cleaning his whiskers, his claws clicked over it. A female, no gem visible on her body, pushed past him to sniff at the exit. To one side, a pair of smaller, younger rats tussled, one with a cluster of topaz along his back and flank--making him stiff in turning--and the other with a spike of some sort of silver-white, translucent gem sticking pointedly from his right foreleg.
An older rat stuck her head from the nest, whiskers quivering as she sniffed at the night air; she drew back, after a moment, satisfied that all was well. The much larger, black rats of Cetus--the ones with red eyes and long, wicked fangs--drove out the smaller brown rats wherever possible, and there were always predators lurking: Greater Gembound (though the rats were unaware of this) who hunted them and killed them. There was always danger; the rats were always on alert.
A very young rat--a male, with a small cluster of jagged, muddy brown gem at his left haunch--crept up along the tunnels. He had the wide-eyed, hesitant manner of the newly-hatched--he had only just fallen from his chrysalis, and the other rats, the nest, and the world at large were all new to him. He froze, one forepaw in the air and his head quickly tilting back, as the two older juveniles came to sniff him.
"No bite," the baby rat said, fearful but insistent. One of the juveniles leapt back; the other sniffed at him, blinking more intently. "No bite," the baby rat repeated, and now several of the rats were sniffing his way.
None of them responded, only skittering about in the nest.
The baby rat moved away, afraid, unsure of the others' intentions--they didn't seem hostile, exactly, but they also seemed to ignore him somewhat strangely. For a time he fidgeted, alone in the corner, so that the rats--their instincts suggesting that the loner must be ill--left him alone. He did grow lonely, but the first rat he approached, the older female, at once bit him and drove him back, for she had her own young one to care for and he was a stranger to her. He cried for mercy--"Stop! Why?! No! Please!"--but she drove him on, ignoring his pleading.
He hid, again, and he only emerged hours later, driven by the sharp pangs of hunger that had been gradually growing in his belly. He could find nothing, and he began to ask the others, with what few words he innately knew. "Food? Hungry. Please?"
But not one of them answered him.
The rat in the nest lay miserably alone, hungry, thirsty, and--despite the dozens all around him--entirely alone.