Falling (Brooga Delfan)

[Substitute Author]

Through the corridors of sleep
Past the shadows dark and deep
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.
I don't know what is real,
I can't touch what I feel
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.

Brooga and the big eared mouse vanished quickly back into the shadowed tunnels, and it was not long before light of any sort, save that of their weakly flickering torch, abandoned them altogether. It wasn't so bad for the mole. True, it was easier for her to go about above ground in the light, simply because that had been where she had spent the vast majority of her time before this whole fiasco. But she was a mole, and as a mole, she got along famously with tunnels and caverns of all sorts.

As mole and mouse plodded along through the dark, silence crept along behind them like a subdued Dibbun, always there, always garnering attention of some sort. Brooga would not have minded talking. It would have helped. Despite the fact that she was a mole, the shadows in this place seemed eviler. The strange native rats and their bizarre warnings no doubt had something to do with that. If you're told something a hundred times, even the most stubborn creatures will start to believe it.

The mouse Roger, on the other paw, would have minded talking, and had minded the one or two times his companion had loosed a word or two. He felt the tension in the tunnels as well, or perhaps better than Brooga did, and as far as he was concerned the best way to keep away from Evil (Big or not) was to not let Evil know that you were there.

Snakelike twists and numerous forks appeared before the searchers, and Brooga blindly guessed at which tunnels led back to the cavern they had buried the squirrel in. A soft scowl crossed the mole's face. The poor squirrel. He had fought so bravely, boldly with the others. By the time she met him, though, he was too weak to even tell her his name, and she had not pressed him for it. Now she almost wished she had. Now any family he had left behind would never know what became of him.

She heaved a quiet sigh. And then she smiled. He had died free, after all, and that certainly counted for something.

?Miss Delfan??
Roger's voice whispered through the darkness, surprising her almost as much as the gentle tap on her shoulder.

?Burr, aye??
Brooga paused and turned, squinting towards where she thought the mouse was, though it didn't do her much good.

?What exactly are we looki-?
The mouse broke off in a horrified gasp as the same eerie wail lifted, seeped from the walls and rushed through the tunnels. The velvet fur all up and down Brooga's spine stood up on end, the mole couldn't move. Eyes widened, nostrils flared.
?Oh Fates, what was that? What was that??

Brooga remained silent. Still. Staring strangely into the blackness all around them.
?We carn't stay here,? she said. Her voice was an unnatural, grating whisper. And then she swung one digging paw back, seized the mouse's paw, and they were gone, save for the frantic pattering of footpaws.

They finally stopped after a half dozen wild twists and turns. They gasped, they panted. And silence filled the cave again.

?It... it's gone.?
Roger dropped back against the wall with a light thump. Brooga once more squinted vaguely towards him, out of mere habit more than anything else.

?Bo hurr.? Gasping and panting.

Silence.
?Miss Delfan, though...? Roger trailed off nervously. ?Can we, er... get back??
?Oi think so. Thurr warn't so many turns.? Brooga smiled in the darkness. A simple question, put to a simple beast, with a simple answer. ?But we'm need to foind Mizz Shelby. Are 'ee ready??

Roger took a deep breath, and the two started off once more.

For whatever reason, the tunnel seemed to be getting lighter, even when compared with the weak torchlight. Not very much so, but a beast accustomed to the darkness could tell that instead of blinding blackness, there was some variation in the shadows. An especially large rock jutted out here, there was a sudden dip in the floor there, and over yonder the ceiling dropped sharply.
Brooga's smile vanished the moment she realized that one of these variations looked horribly like a beast and not the cold, hard rock. She stepped forward, stooped, cautiously extended a digging claw.

Fur.

A sick knot ripped at her stomach, and she crouched near the body as Roger drew nearer with the torch.

?What is it??
?It... it bee Mizz Shelby. Pore Mizz Shelby.? The mole squeezed her eyes shut, and then reached down to close the stoat's eyes.

Roger said nothing and stood just behind Brooga, the torch held respectfully in his paws. After a moment, Brooga rose and began to pick up nearby stones, laying them all around Shelby's forever still form.

As she did so, all the aches and soreness she had managed to banish flooded back, accompanied by more pains than ever before. But the worst pain was the uncertainty that suddenly began to gnaw at her poor, gentle heart. Here was a deadbeast, who only a few hours before had been perfectly strong. The squirrel now consigned to the Dark Forest had been weak from the moment Brooga had met him, and while his death did weigh heavily on her, it had not been unexpected. But Shelby was, or had been, strong.
To make it all worse, she could not help but remember that she had been the one who had encouraged the stoatess to join them, to follow them, to dare dream of freedom. And look where it had led her.

The last stone was set on the makeshift grave, and a pair of tears rolled slowly down the mole's cheeks.

?Burr, Oi hope 'ee are restin' in peace, Mizz Shelby.?

With that, mouse and mole once again set off, but with a low torch and lower spirits. Brooga was true to her word, and despite the numerous twists, she did remember the way back. It was not so very long before they both stepped back into the camp, where they were greeted by brave Tassle.
?Brooga! Roger! You're back! Where's Shelby??

One look from the mole confirmed the worst, and the tired smile vanished from the shrew's face.
?She wur stabbed, Mizz Tassle. Roger and Oi buried her. Oi doan't know what is out thurr, but 'tain't gudd. And what's worse, Oi doan't even think that the Big Evil is what kill't her.?

Perhaps, though, that wasn't worse. A glimmer of the mole's old hope fought through to the surface, and she smiled. Not a big smile, not a wide smile, but it was a smile, and despite the circumstances, it seemed almost cheerful. Almost. It was hard, and slowly it faded, though Brooga felt the better for it.
Behind them, in the dimmest shadows of the nearby tunnels, a pair of eyes glinted for a moment before vanishing.