Cloudy blue eyes traveled to the tops of the looming tree trunks. Although; these trees were massive, yes, but they bore no leaves. Only a thick planking atop it.
Humans prowled the area. Dangerous, setting traps a hapless rodent could easily become entangled in.
Worse even, food that would cause your gut to shrivel with unquenchable thirst until you were found three days later stiff as an uprooted floorboard.
The mice had learned to traverse this human territory carefully. Scrounging what delectable scraps they could.
They lived in more danger, but ate much better than their forest kin.
It was a sweet and crisp morning when it happened. The event that would change all House Mice's perspective on such a life as the one they lived.
The humans sent for one of their kin a large brutish man by the name of Steve. He came with long pointed knives to hack away at poor mouseling homes.
They stood no chance. The mice fled, into the open, as they never dared to before. Young ones were huddled in the corners as the devastating gasses flooded their first and only home.
The humans killed all but a handful that fateful day. The great massacre it was referred to in the
history books. The mice however, with their minds focused intently on the condition of their stomachs, did not give up on that type of life. They simply moved to another home. Eyes keener, and hearing sharper.
Keeping out of sight of the humans, until again they would notice the presence of little thieving hands.

As the great scholar Nostridamouse once said,
"History has a knack for repeating itself."