Out
of the town he goes, past the smouldering embers of burnt out
buildings, following the main road for almost a mile. Behind him
struts King Rat, full of pomp and self-importance, utterly engrossed,
the crest of a wave of skittering rodents.
Down
the road they march, turning onto country lane not far from the
settlement's outskirts. Further still and the lane becomes makeshift
track, culminating on a pebble beach by the river. He doesn't pause
nor stop, marching into the shallow waters, relishing the sensation
of cold liquid lapping at his ankles. One final time, he changes the
tune he plays, picking up the tempo to give the music a sense of
urgency.
Wading
further into the river, he feels its waters swirl around his knees,
almost gentle on the surface yet strong and insistent over his feet.
He stops and turns, continuing to play, in time to see the mischief
leader swagger into the water behind him. The big rat strides
forward, full of purpose, only to let out a panicked squeak as the
unrelenting waters seize its body, dragging it away.
