Fleas - Songs of the Gnolls I

WHEN FLEAS BITE THE DOG 7.6

It had eluded him long enough, it was time for it to fulfill its destiny. He leapt with catlike speed. The prey fled in the opposite direction, but not fast enough, and Fleas' hand caught it by the tail. With one bite, he tore off the rat's head. Its body twitched a little before it realized it was dead. Fleas preferred it that way because he didn't like to see it suffer. He ate the rest quietly, tasting every drop of blood that danced on his tongue.

He turned and walked back. Several times Pli suggested that he not go alone, but he was guided by scent, so he always knew the path he had taken and where the others were. When he entered the hall, he noticed that Pli and the others had returned from their food search. Pli approached him with a strange smile.

"Come, follow me."

Fleas did so, curious. His son and mate opened a wooden box and handed it to him. He looked inside. He was moved and on the verge of tears. He hugged Pli tightly.

"I can't believe it, I can't believe it!"

"After you saved me twice, it's the least I can do. I hope you paint something nice."

"But, how?"

"We're low class, little one," explained a human slave in his early twenties, "no more than fleas in this dog society. We know, for example, how to steal the key from the bag of a careless hyaenid."

"What about the castle?"

"We distracted the guards with a fire," replied Pli's son. "Of course, we got all the food we could first. Besides, we rescued more people and slaves on this expedition."

"Tell us," said Pli's partner, "what are you going to paint?"

Fleas thought for a moment.

"Although my master and I don't agree on many things, I still think he has a noble soul. I imagine that painting him will bring out that nobility."

Some laughed, while others continued their activities. Even though they were imprisoned and always on the verge of death, doing things was a good way to distract themselves. Some cooked, others foraged, cleaned, exercised. One of the priests even taught the younger ones prayers and mythical stories. And before going to sleep, everyone told stories. Underground, between four walls, a roof and a floor, there was no slavery, freedom, nobility, peasantry or even species. What would happen when the sun bathed them again and the walls diluted? Fleas was anxious to find out. In the meantime, painting would brighten the wait.