Hunger.

  There hadn't been anything to eat for days. Not since the battle between walking-rats and dead-walkers.

  She did find eating from the site. Rats covered in foul ash. Tasted like fire. Burned when chewed, made stomach churn, and she threw up in the long tunnels.

  That was always bad. Foul food, ruining last food. She needed that to move, survive. She couldn't just waste food like that.

  She licked the vomit back up, but did not try to eat the corpses again. They were left to rot.

  In the shadows, she saw alive walking-rats arrive. Searching in the hall, in the tunnels. Hauling the dead away, spreading around.

  They were strange for walking-rats. Wearing tunics and hats made from the minerals of stone. Like long-legs and wide-stouts usually do.

  Slow ones did anyway. The ones who liked shadows— like her— wore dead skin. Curved wood users too. Firing their sharp-sticks from afar.

  Truly powerful ones didn't use anything. Just cloth. They died so easily. If they were encased in minerals, they would be invincible. She shuddered of the thought facing twinkle-fingers in minerals.

  Thankful there weren't any.

  Focusing on the walking-rats. Observing the ones in the corners. Near shadows. Ready to run or kill. Whichever came first.

  Hopefully the kill.

  Many more than usual. Too many to jump and eat. They stayed close, near friends and comrades.

  There wasn't a easy meal here. Disappointed, she left the hall for rats.

  She wasn't hungry then. Now she was. First rat she saw would be eaten. Minerals, bones, and all. No matter how many were watching. No matter how many she had to kill.

  She tried to find more. Nothing to eat. All rats were far away.

  A foul pile of forgotten meat. She gnawed the bones, snapped them for insides.

  Not enough.

  Old-skin bags were torn open. Unwashed roots eaten. Disgusting. Burning.

  Still hungry.

  Like they were.

  The little ones.

  Memory returned. Of home-cave.

  Returning from hunt. Direwolf bleeding on grass, dragged. Warm sun on her fur. Rich smells of the moist forest. Birds singing in the trees. Cold wind.

  Her home was soiled. Only blood. And bone. And meat.

  Blades turned skin to meat. Material for old-skin.

  One fewer. One taken.

  All too big. It was Runt that was taken.

  She smelled the blood leading away. Her children's hides dripping a trail to follow. Running from shadow to shadow. Hunting. Prowling.

  A group of long-legs. Smelling of sweat, piss, and blood. Laughing.

  Her kin's blood on their hands and tools. Litter blood. Her blood.

  Squirming bag, low whining. Runt.

  Long fangs were bared as she snarled. One of them heard it. A hand was raised and faces turned to her hiding spot. Knife-ear.

  Slipping in to the Grey-Scape, she ran to their shadows and raised up.

  The biggest died first. In a shade of great oaken tree, his face was torn off. His screams disoriented and terrified his group. The least hairy one reeked of piss.

  In the screams and fear, she moved low. All six feet moving in unison. Faster than they could see, slashing tendons, injuring knees.

  Her jaws snapped bones, punctured lungs and tasted rich coppery blood of men.

  They walked too close. Too easy to disrupt. The lanky one with curved wood didn't even fire single sharp-stick. That one died holding intestines together, trying to pull them back in.

  Useless.

  Just couple moments of fear and screaming. Now they all smelled of it. Death too.

  So did Runt.

  A dagger in bag. Slowly spreading red spot. No whining. No movement.

  She cried for her children. Loud scream that scared all the birds away. A cloud of them marked the site of her sorrow.

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  Many more two-legged prowlers. They were hunting now. For her.

  After smelling her cub for the last time, the mother ran away. To home.

  But it had changed. It was longer, smelled wrong— of yellow stone and stench of something dangerous. Old air, rot.

  They all followed to the yellow-cave. She couldn't understand why. One by one, they all died in the shadows of long tunnels.

  Trying to find her way out, she followed a trail of meat. Corpses stampeded by a large group. She could smell death marching in front of her.

  Behind her, something else. Three smells. Steadily coming closer.

  She backtracked, wanted to see what kind of walkers they were. Dangerous. Made new walls with light, encased in light.

  Back at following corpses, the tunnels ended. Stone halls emerged and she was lost. In so many ways.

  Back in yellow-cave, she shuddered. Just for a moment. Thoughts of past made dull. Slower. Weaker.

  Like hunger. No time for both.

  Shrugging the sleep out of her eyes, she listened and smelled.

  Something was close. Walking below in the large stone room.

  Her yellow eyes focused to the direction of sound.

  A walking-rat. Alone.

  She emerged from the shadow and bit deep into its neck.

  Bones snapped.

  But blood didn't spurt.

  She felt the foul taste of dead-walker on her tongue.

  Disgusting.

  With a shake of her head, the thing was thrown away in a heap of broken bones.

  But it wasn't dead. Head lulling to a side, the walking-rat dead-walker tried to rise up and yelled.

  Before it could take a step forward, she was there. Paw cleaving the head off.

  Something hit her side. A mass of shadows. It bounced off into the dungeon wall.

  Unharmed, she looked where the mass of shadows came from.

  A man. Dead-walker. Holding his arm up and firing another spell.

  She didn't need to dodge. There had been couple like him over the years. Twinkle-fingers using shadows.

  Amused rumble shook her chest. Her hide was shadow. You can't break shadows with shadow.

  Hopefully, the man only had shadows to use. Fire was the worst. Covered shadows. Broke her jumps.

  A pain.

  She looked at her side. The spot where she was hit was discolored. Her deep purple hair with black stripes looked normal.

  But under her skin, blood was rotting. Slow trickle of decay inside her. It didn't feel much. Yet.

  Poison?

  Another rat was charging in. A bigger one. Deep brown, black on snout and hands. Sharp knives on them.

  Slipping through shadow.

  She was behind them. Nobody was looking. Their necks were there, vulnerable.

  The man turned, looked at her in her shadow. His eyes were tired.

  And he fired another shadow at her.

  Eyes wide she snarled at the man. She was one with the shadow! Hidden!

  How did he know?

  The hits throbbed. Foreign magic coursed in her.

  Did he see the Grey-Scape? He wasn't clothed. He had armor, a sharp mineral curve on a stick. Not a wooden weapon.

  She jumped again. Away from the room. Through a tunnel and shadow, safe to the new stone room.

  She lifted her paw. Last magic had hit it. She inspected the area. Nothing, but a slight throb. Like a splinter.

  She licked the area. Didn't help.

  Mewing loudly, she swatted the paw on the ground and scratched the stone. Annoyed.

  The man must be dealt. But first, she needed to feed. Gain strength.

  Returning to the ashen hall, she watched the walking-rats sweeping the area. Always on groups. Always armed and ready.

  They came from the glimmering cave. A new cave for her. Looked more like home. Smelled fresh. Air and sunlight far above.

  They didn't know about her. She could wait, and watch.

  More and more wood and rats. Bigger rats with whip-like tails. Whip-tails. Two heads above others. Carrying oil and fresh mineral smelling items.

  They pointed and spoke. Smaller rats moved and obeyed.

  She wouldn't find food here.

  A group walked away. Lighter ones. Old-skin covering them. Curved wood. Fast and agile, slow for her.

  She jumped and was waiting them in the next hall. And in the next. And the next.

  They made camp. Hidden in a dead end. Watchers far away, four sleeping.

  She snapped bone and made meat bleed. She had to take a bite before slicing the watchers. Gulped the delicious blood and savored the fresh meat.

  Dragging them back, she would feast. More meat than she could eat. Food for days.

  Green eye stared at her. Snarling, she stared back and swatted the thing away. Her food!

  Wounding-Shadow hit her again. Filthy man was back! food!

  They twitched.

  She saw how her meal stared at her, dead eyes. They didn't even stand up. Ran four legged and attacked with their claws. More wounding-shadow.

  She ripped two apart again before she was hit. Warm wound on right side. The bigger rat was there again.

  Did it jump like she did?

  The rat clung to her, making jumping away impossible. Others were coming, the man too.

  She crushed the rat on the wall. Pain subsided, bleeding arrived.

  The man attacked. Hit her left legs with his iron.

  Bad attack. Not much damage. She did better and swiped at him with all three of her left legs.

  Man tried to dodge. Bloodless wounds appeared on his arms. A yell echoed.

  A yell?

  Dead-walkers were silent. Dead. They made sounds in pain.

  He yelled?

  She saw his face. His eyes. No joy, hatred, anger or usual human emotions. Only determination and will.

  His face washed away with green fire. White-blue fire colored his white skull.

  He cackled. She blinked.

  A mind-image. Glimpse of unreality. It washed away and the man was normal. As normal he could be.

  Biting into the big-rat, she threw it at the man. They slammed together and rolled together in a heap. Man made curses and fired bolts of magic to the walls.

  She started to run. There was one corpse. A small mouthful of food. A white wall rose and she slammed into it.

  Hissing and clawing at the wall, she felt two more hits from magic. Her back ached with poison.

  Through a shadow to the Grey-Scape, she ran away, to the distant tunnel mouth.

  Metal clattered there. She was couple feet away from rats. They stared at her eyes wide behind their face covering hats.

  Smile rose to her face.

  All it took was a quick yelp and running away, back to the strange dead man. Rats were slow, but started to follow her. Sharp-sticks ricocheted from walls and floor. Poor aim and she was too fast for them.

  He was surprised to see her again and the group of rats following her. She had a smile all the way to him, right before she vanished into the shadows. Dead man met angry walking-rats in battle.

  Hiding in the hidden tunnel behind the dead end, she listened the fight behind the wall. Clattering, screaming, thunks and gurgling. Smell of blood and magic.

  Wounds aching, she sat down to lick them clean. Magic was poisonous, why not minerals too?

  Molding herself to the darkness she vanished between worlds of color and Grey-Scape. She waited.

  Battle stopped. She could hear muffled words of the man.

  "...armored...time limit...line of sight...dagger in it...do it again Fang... smart one..."

  Curious.

  Talking dead. He smelled like death up close. Felt the same. Bloodless wounds.

  But speech was for the living.

  She snorted.

  For two-legged living.

  New and dangerous. Need to stay away.

  She needed to leave this place. Yellow-cave wasn't her home. She didn't like it in here.

  Listening scathing and grunting from the other side, her eyes started to droop. She was weak. Her wounds ached.

  Eyes closed, she allowed herself to dream of green grass and blue skies. Her litter. The Outside.

  Thank you for reading, pilgrim.

  If the words stirred anything in you, a thought, a feeling, a fleeting spark. I’d love to hear about it.

  Leave a comment below, I always enjoy hearing how the journey felt from the other side.