Help!

[Brooga Delfan]

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won't you please, please help me?

Brooga had never concerned herself with things such as odds, and neither with betting or gambling of any sort. If a beast wanted to, it was their money. She would rather use her own hard-earned and somewhat meager wages for important things, such as food and shelter.

As such, the dreadful thought of poor odds never crossed the gentle creature's mind. She was trembling quite enough without it.

She remained fixed in her spot far too long once the tentacles came. Long, dripping, slimy! The stench of the dead rose with them, practically visible, even through the darkness of the cave. The mole didn't make a sound. Eyes wide in horror, she lifted her digging claws in a pitiful attempt to shield herself from the onslaught.

But Cricket was closer, and Cricket was loud, and Cricket was moving. The beast ignored the mole, and she could only watch as the horrible thing pursued the ratmaid. And then she moved. Sore and stubby legs beat against the rocky cave floor. She breathed hard, shook even as she ran.

The rocks and stalagmites couldn't be close enough. Even mere feet as they were, the tentacles reached them before she did.

Slam! Slam!

Brooga gasped and scrambled to the side, only barely escaping one of the long appendages as it passed, rushing forward and beating against one of the towering stalagmites. Foul water rolled from the scaly limb, showering whatever was near, soaking deep into Brooga's fur.

She cowered. Crouching, rolling into a frightened ball, lifting her broad digging claws above her head.

SLAM!

The stalagmite shattered, and Brooga looked up, comforted by some small relief that none of the beast's tentacles were wrapped around Cricket's slight body. A screeching roar filled the cavern. Echoing from wall to wall and back again. The beast was angry, hungry, cheated of its prey.

It saw her.

She stumbled backwards, tumbling over some small rock or piece of pathetic debris. Two of the tentacles fell towards her. Horrific lengths of scaled, slimy flesh, decorated with dozens of round suction cups. Brooga scrabbled backwards, scuttled behind a rock just as the beast's tentacles hit the cave floor madly, inches from her tail.

And then they followed her. The mole swiped at them valiantly, but missed them. They came again, she struck out ounce more and broad digging claws  collided, breaking through a sad pawful of the scales.

The kraken screeched angrily, more tentacles burst from the water and clutched and grabbed the rock the mole had taken refuge behind. She was gone. Not to the cold jaws of the monster, but farther into the barren forest of cave stones.

And there was Cricket! Brooga felt fresh tears springing to her eyes, despite the circumstances, despite who the beast was that she saw, despite everything. Cricket wouldn't lift her from the floor, wouldn't drop her into a great, toothy maw. Cricket hadn't destroyed Tassle's life!

?Mizz Cricket! Watch 'ee out!?

Brooga's battered form once more rested in relative safety, her brief respite bought by the sacrifice of Cricket's own freedom from the monster's knowledge. The tentacles swarmed towards the ratmaid, only to be repelled by a violent defense, both from the ratmaid's dirk and Brooga's digging claws and bit of staff.

The tentacles swung forward again, and Brooga was tossed aside, slammed against a towering stalagmite. There was a crack, a pain rushed through her side, her breath was forced from her lungs. Her digging claws throbbed numb, then feeling returned.

And somehow she stood again.

?Mizz Cricket! Get 'ee back from ee water! 'Ee woan't survoive otherwoise! Mizz Cricket!?

The tentacles descended towards the pair again, grasping indiscriminately at both woodlander and vermin. Brooga and Cricket scrambled away from the hungry kraken, dignity entirely forgotten, if either had ever cared for it.

And Cricket fell. Her footpaw caught for an instant on some shadowed obstacle, her chin crashed against the sandy ground. She let out a flurry of angry, squeaked curses, propelling herself forward and away just as quickly as she could. But the monster pursued faster. Slimy, black-green tentacles flashed forward, reaching for Cricket in her moment of defenselessness.

Brooga's staff met the nearest one midair, crashing against it with a dull, wet thunk. Her eyes turned upwards even as her knees knocked wildly together. She wasn't a beast meant to fight! Certainly not to fight such a horror as this!

The kraken paused for a split second, then the tentacles came again.

Brooga was absolutely terrified, and completely aware of the fact that there was nothing she could do about that.