Rat

Grass

The grass is long. I am wary. There are things here that are not as friendly as I am--and I am known for being less friendly than my little face and paws suggest.

I can be vicious, with sharp claws and sharper teeth and a sense of cunning that is unmatched. This is the law out here: kill or be killed.

Eat, or be food. I do not wish to be food.

So I am cautious and I am fast. My path is never a straight line. I zig and zag in a random fashion. The length of my stride changes with each step. At times I am fast, at others I am even faster. If anything is watching me--and they are always watching--they will think I do not know where I am going, that I do not have a plan at all.

They are wrong.

I am heading back to my burrow. It is not far. It is hidden underneath an exposed tree root and is in soft ground. It is big enough for something the size of me, and not any bigger. Few predators can see it, and those that can see the hole cannot fit inside.

When I reach my burrow, I will be safe. But first, I have to cross through the field of grass.

This is the most dangerous part of my danger. Just because the predators cannot see me does not mean they don't know I am there. They know. They can smell me, they can see signs of my passage. They know I am there. They know I am food. It is luck, nothing more, that has kept me alive. Others might be foolish enough to think they are skillful, and that is why they still live. They would be dangerous to think that. Skill is another word for arrogance.

I am anything but arrogant.

So across the grass I run, always at an angle, never revealing my true destination. Above me I hear a bird. I do not pause but change course instantly. I can see a shadow above me, but I relax. It is a sparrow--not big enough to kill me; if anything, I would kill it. I am safe.

There is my burrow. The hole is dark. It is warm, inviting. I can already feel the safety blanket wrapping around me. I tense and curse myself--this is the most dangerous time. This is when I am most exposed. Arrogance will get me killed.

There are no shadows above me, but I scan the trees all the same. I can see nothing. It is safe. I dart across the patch of dirt that separates my burrow from the grass I am hidden in. It is not far, a few body lengths. I cross it easily.

There is my hole. It is dark.

Too dark.

I see something inside. Something shimmering. It catches the light, and even though it is black it shines: scales. A snake.

A snake is in my burrow.

It is too late for me to do anything. Too late for me to turn and run, too late for me to squirm. Too late to even give a squeak. The snake launches right at me, mouth open wide, ready to swallow me hole.

All is dark.