The world is sleeping.
The plants stay firmly in place as I brush past, making as little noise as possible. Above me, the stars do not twinkle, do not move; only I am moving. Only I am mobile.
I, though, am on a mission, a mission that the immobile plants cannot possibly comprehend, one that must not be found out, especially by the traitorous stars in the sky. This time I am entirely on my own.
Everything is alive. I tread softly on the mounds of soft dirt, careful not to wake the sleeping creatures beneath, and strategically avoid the haphazardly placed stems of grass. This is a world beyond even my imagination, a world of delusion where rarely anything is what it seems to be. This is a word where even I, with my wit and sharp reflexes, can be easily food.
The moon is my only witness, but I assume it must be good, since it has not yet said a word. A root, a hideous root, proves to be my downfall (quite literally), because my foot hits it and I plunge face first into the dirt. My cries are muffled by the heinous dirt seeping into my face, but I kick and punch until I am, finally, mercifully, thankfully, freed from my prison, able to raise myself back up to my former glory while retaining all of my pride. The root seems to be cackling softly, but I refuse to let it win, so I stubbornly push forward.
Near the end of the forest, I inevitably come to my place of meeting. My elder, my boss, as one might say, is perched formidably on the fencepost, one leg dangling, eyes sharp as ever, clearly conveying the question that seems to be constantly on his mind. I toss my head in response; any verbal communication could compromise our mission, and we just can’t have that, considering how hard we have worked.
I know, though, what I am looking for. He, or at least we refer to the completely uncivilized being as a he (no one can be entirely certain of what it is), is tucked away somewhere in the woods, dark, soulless eyes probably watching me from a distance as he sits safely behind an all-concealing tree. I shudder even at the thought, but I must stand my ground, especially at such a consequential time as this. The fate of this world, my world, my society, is entirely up to me.
A pungent stench enters my nose. I spin on my heels, quick reflexes kicking in, baring my teeth already, as if the danger is right in front of me, already in my area of vision. I can practically picture the shaggy hair and sharp teeth of the enemy, of this person who is threatening my pack, my way of life. Determined scowl on my face, I twist through the trees, pounce over the grass, and weave my way to where the source of the scent is. He can hardly be far off now.
There. In front of me, I see a pair of dark eyes, depthless eyes, and my lips curl back over my teeth. This is the monster that has been terrorizing my people; this is the source of our pain, the proprietor of everything bad that has happened to us. The thing, to his credit, does not even mood. I suspect he is scared of me, and I would not blame him.
I begin, slowly, to pad across the ground, my feet creating a rhythm as I step towards it, hoping that he will not attack before I do, though by the look on his face, I suspect he will not inch toward me at all. It is tiny, smaller than I am in fact, and I wonder how such a small thing could be so overconfident that he should torture my group. Does he believe himself to be better than us? Is he really so brainless?
Apparently so. Out of nowhere, a projectile comes flying through the air, nearly making me jump out of my skin. The projectile proves to be something of the color red, a ball, I believe, but it distracts the thing from my presence enough for him to go chase the stupid ball. I sneer, wondering how it is so easily distracted. I could easily pounce now and catch him off guard. Vengeance, I think with a small smile, is mine.
Then, though, I am disrupted from my plan, thwarted from my attempts at revenge, by two small, pale hands. I snarl and hiss and claw, but this giant will not release me from their clutches, and so I relent and allow myself to be held.
“That’s where you got off to, Fluffy,” the voice chirps, and I scowl. Fluffy. Such an infantile name. Something like Killer would be more fitting for someone as terrifying as me. Unfortunately, the human child does not seem to understand my futile attempts at communication, and thus I shall never be able to express my opinions on my name. Perhaps that is why it is not afraid of me, because my name implies that I am a lovable animal rather than a killer extreme.
Then the human child notices it, the horrible ball clutched between its dangerously sharp teeth, its beady eyes focused on me. I let out a low growl, hoping it will ward the human child away from this horrible creature. Unfortunately, once again, my efforts prove to be futile.
“Aw, look at the cute puppy,” the human coos, setting me down on the ground. Unfortunately it seems that I have developed some protective instincts, for I seem to be unable to leave as the human pets – pets, yes, like this is some innocent toy instead of a terrifying monster – the thing. I tense back, my claws digging into the soil, my eyes focused solely on this thing that is currently barking and wagging its tail, acting like it is innocent. But it is all an act, I am sure. Any moment he will spring and attempt to murder the human child.
Any moment now.
The human child scans the thing’s nametag (at least, I assume that’s what it is), and calls, “Well, see you later, Cutie. Come on, Fluffy.” Cutie. I nearly guffaw at the immaturity of this name, and then remember that my own is not much better. Looking back, I see the same indecisive pain reflected in its eyes, and for a moment I think that we are really not so different after all.
But then I remember his vicious eyes and stance, and I realize that this war is not over yet.