RP Sequel to "The Secret of NIMH"!

Hello,

If anybody's interested in a "Secret of NIMH" RP scenario, just say so, 'cause I'm interested in starting a RP scenario that begins right AFTER the events of "The Secret of NIMH", so that those who can't deal with the sequel can sort of "re-write" it, as it were!

li SPOILER ALERT FOR "THE SECRET OF NIMN"! (As if you didn't know, right?) ':wink:'

I'm going to be Mrs. Brisby (Elizabeth), but the following roles are available (You're probably familiar with the characters that I'm going to name, but, in case you're not familiar with them, here they are, listed by name):

li Teresa Brisby: She's Elizabeth Brisby's oldest daughter, and she's about 10 or so human years old.
li Martin Brisby: He's Elizabeth Brisby's oldest son, and he's about 8 or 9 (?) human years old.
li Timothy Brisby: He's the younger Brisby son, and he's about 7 (?) human years old.
li Cynthia Brisby: She's the baby of the Brisby family, and she's more than likely 4 or 5 human years old.
li Auntie Shrew: She's the practical neighbor of the Brisbys.
li Mr. Ages: He's an elderly mouse, and he's the local doctor.
li Jeremy: He's Mrs. Brisby's crow friend, and he is obsessed with "the sparkly"!
li Tiffany (?): Jeremy's giggly, flirtatious mate!
li Justin: He's the new leader of the rats, and he and Mrs. Brisby may have a future together.
li The Ghost of Johnathan Brisby: Johnathan was Elizabeth's husband.
li The Ghost of Nicodemus: Nicodemus was the elderly leader of the rats. He was killed by Jenner.
li The Ghost of Jenner: Jenner was a rat who wanted to remain in the rosebush, living by way of stealing from Farmer Fitzgibbons and his wife Beth.
li The Ghost of Sullivan: Sullivan was a rat who allowed himself to be mortally wounded by Jenner in order to stand for what he believed in. He died as a result of Jenner's attack on him, but he lived long enough to kill Jenner.
li Dragon: He's the extra large cat who lives with the Fitzgibbons family. He loves to hunt mice and rats.
li Farmer Fitzgibbons: He's more than likely 35-40, and he sports brown hair, and a brown mustache. He sees nothing wrong with destroying nature.
li Mrs. Fitzgibbons (Beth): She is probably about 35, and she has brown hair, too. She doesn't like rats or mice, especially if she thinks that they're diseased.
li Billy Fitzgibbons: He's more than likely 10, and he's red-haired, and freckle-faced. He delights in capturing outdoor critters for his very own.

You can search Google Images for photos of the aforementioned characters (With regards to ghosts, just search for the late characters by their names, in order to see what they looked like when they were alive)

lilili Your character profile should look something like this:

NAME: Mrs. Elizabeth Brisby
AGE (IN HUMAN YEARS): 35 (?)
"RACE": Field mouse
FAMILY: My children: Teresa, Martin, Timothy, and Cynthia
FRIENDS: Auntie Shrew, Jeremy, Mr. Ages, Justin
ENEMIES: Dragon, Farmer Fitzgibbons
CRUSH: Justin
MOTIVATION(S): Keeping my family safe, putting some romance back into my life, and healing myself (after having used the stone to save my family)
PERSONALITY: I am still fairly modest, sweet, and innocent, but I now realize that I have an inner strength that can amaze even me! I am soft-spoken, but I also tend to use my fluttery eyelashes, and my sweetness, in order to get my way. I enjoy being helpful to others, and I am fairly comfortable with my role as a mother, although I sometimes feel frazzled, with regards to my sometimes hectic life, especially when one of my children is in danger! I am devoted to the memory of Johnathan, although I feel a fond desire for Justin. I am glad that Jeremy has found a mate with whom to share a nest, although I am strangely hopeful that he will visit me every so often.

Well, feel free to request a character, and thank you in advance for becoming a part of the RP scenario.
8)

Do you have any scenarios in mind? It feels kinda redundant to create a character if it's not going to be used in any meaningful way. Can we make our own characters instead of picking from the ones listed?

I'm curious as to what you plan to do with the ghost characters. Without knowing your scenario, I don't know what kind of role they would play. If you want to do a Justin + Mrs. Brisby relationship, then having the ghost of Jonathan around would be pretty awkward. Though it would be funny if we could somehow make it work.

Sullivan is a rat, BTW.

(Reposted from the original thread)

If anyone had their heart set on either Mr. Ages or Auntie Shrew I can happily slip into whatever canon characters need playing, but haven't any players... so long as I get a bit of notice. When I play canon characters I tend to get very self-critical and like to watch the source material a few times to study their word-choice and cadence in speaking. Important stuff if you're going to be playing a canon character.

NAME: Mr. Ages
AGE (IN HUMAN YEARS): 63
"RACE": NIMH-modified Mouse
FAMILY: None
FRIENDS: Previously Nicodemus
ENEMIES: None
CRUSH: Too old for such things!
MOTIVATION(S): Being left alone to work on his experiments in the privacy and quiet of his home.
PERSONALITY: Outwardly Mr. Ages is quite cantankerous, though beneath that prickly facade beats a kind heart. He has great intelligence thanks to the experiments at NIMH and a strong knowledge of chemistry and herbalism. He's most often a loner, preferring to spend his days in the depths of the humans' machine he's come to call his home, surrounded only by his experiments and trained insects.



NAME: Auntie Shrew
AGE (IN HUMAN YEARS): Gracious! How rude! In my day we did not ask a lady such questions!
"RACE": Shrew
FAMILY: None
FRIENDS: The Brisby family, many other neighbors who enjoy her gossip and tolerate her eccentricities
ENEMIES: Rats, Crows, other suspicious folk!
CRUSH: None
MOTIVATION(S): Protecting the garden from hoodlums, ruffians and scoundrels
PERSONALITY: 'Auntie' Shrew is a prim and proper lady, albeit one from a slightly simpler time. She sees herself of a matriarch over much of the farm, and most aren't prone to argue thanks to her firey temper. As Mrs. Brisby put it, "She means well" though, and generally acts in the best interests of the community offering her wisdom and protection. She is prone to drama at times as well, but don't let her catch you saying that.


NAME: Rowan
AGE (IN HUMAN YEARS): 27
"RACE": Raccoon (Use Secret of NIMH 2 for scale. Not enormous)
FAMILY: Parents missing, Sister Addie lives in a city nearby
FRIENDS: Previously Johnathan, The Brisby family
ENEMIES: Dragon
CRUSH: Mrs. Brisby
MOTIVATION(S): Seeing to the safety of Mrs. Brisby and the children, as Johnathan would've wanted, perhaps being noticed by the widow Brisby some day.
PERSONALITY/HISTORY: Rowan had a very harsh childhood, having to raise his younger sister from a young age. It left him somewhat dour and stern most often, and rather pessimistic. In spite the more negative aspects of his personality, he is fiercely loyal to his friends and quite kind towards them. He met Johnathan a short time before his marriage to Elizabeth and his curiosity about Johnathan's strange inventions and stories made the two fast friends. He found himself rather taken with Mrs. Brisby long before propriety would allow for the admission of such things. The Mouse-maiden's far brighter and more optimistic take on life was contrary to Rowan's own and very heart-warming to him. Just the same he kept his feelings to himself, not wishing to injure his relationship with Johnathan, or his wife for that matter. After Mr. Brisby's death, Rowan began helping out the now single mother where he could, offering whatever food he could spare, but his distance from the cinderblock kept him from visiting very often, scarcely more than every month or so. He feels intense guilt for missing Mrs. Brisby's adventure with the rats of NIMH and has vowed to be more attentive in case the family should fall under such hard times again.
(Pics of Rowan on request for visual reference, but I intend to do a very complete desc of him in my first post.)


Alrighty, there's the bios for who I'd like to play. I figure I'll take on those most scene-appropriate when they come. Hopefully the pace of forum RP won't catch up with me! I'm more an IM/MU person, myself.

I look forward to the RP. Hopefully this take on a sequel won't include lishudderli Mouse credit cards and a mad scientist Martin voiced by Eric Idle...

Hello,

I didn't really have a specific scenario in mind. I thought that we'd just see which sort of a storyline appeared as we went along.

Shivermetimbers, you may make up your own character(s).

Then again, mouse credit cards and an evil Martin certainly sound like fun! Muahaha! :idea: :lol: Just kidding!
----------------------------
The following is a list, which will contain the names of the characters, and which will also contain the names of the "actors":

CHARACTERS

MRS. BRISBY: Mrs. Brisby
AUNTIE SHREW: SentinelMoonfang
MR. AGES: SentinelMoonfang
ROWAN: SentinelMoonfang

------------------------------------------
Well, without further ado, here's the beginning of the Role Play scenario:
----------------------------

Mrs. Brisby awoke to the sound of a yawn. Rolling over in bed, she saw Timmy staring up at the ceiling. The little mouse looked healthier than he had looked in weeks.

Climbing out of her bed slowly, Elizabeth Brisby pulled her familiar red cape about her shoulders. She tiptoed towards Timothy's bed, seating herself upon the thick quilt that covered her hitherto seriously ill son.

"How is my favorite patient doing this morning?", she asked. "Does he STILL insist that he's completely well?"

Timmy's eyes widened.

"Can I finally go outside TODAY?", he inquired, sitting suddenly, and fairly throwing the covers aside.

"Well..." Brisby's tone was teasing as she pretended to survey her son with measured thoughtfulness.

"WELL?", asked Timmy, scowling.

"WELL?" The new trio of demanding voices caused Mrs. Brisby to turn around.

"Why, children, I didn't hear you come in," she sighed. "How are YOU three doing this morning?"

Cynthia immediately began tugging at her mother's cape.

"We want Timmy to play with us, Mother! We wanna take him outside! Oh, can we, can we, CAN we?" Her big, brown eyes widened pleadingly.

"Is...is Timmy COMPLETELY well, Mother?", inquired Teresa, scrunching her face in thought. "Are you absolutely certain that he's not still the slightest bit contagious?"

"Now, Teresa, I'm sure that everything will be alright," said the mother mouse. "Remember how you sat right there, at the foot of this bed, when I'd finally brought that medicine home? You and Teresa and Martin never got sick back THEN, did you?" She gave Teresa a slightly admonishing look.

"Oh, yes, we DID see Timmy then, DIDN'T we?" Teresa rolled her eyes at herself. "I had...forgotten...sorry."

"Oh, BOTHER, Teresa!" bossed Martin, shoving past his sister. "Cynthia and I want to know if Timmy can finally go outside with us!" He put his arm around his baby sister's shoulder, and the two of them smiled imploringly, impishly.

Elizabeth Brisby gave her children a forced, thoughtful look, but as she thought back on all of the stress that her entire family had just gone through, she smiled, and then she laughed, motioning for Cynthia, Martin, and Teresa to come closer. Gathering the three approaching children in one of her arms, and placing her other arm about Timmy's shoulders, she hugged her wonderful, strong family, smiling.

"Very well, children, very well!", she laughed, pretending to be exhasperated, but smiling sincerely. "Timmy can go outside to play with the rest of you today."

"Thank goodness!" shouted Timmy, leaping out of bed, boxing at Martin playfully. "Thank goodness, because I couldn't have stood one more day indoors!"

His brother and sisters were dancing around the room, shouting for joy, and after he had hugged his mother, thanking her for allowing some new adventures for him, he raced Martin and Teresa to the door, as Cynthia shouted "Wait for me!"
------------------------------------

Okay. It's your turn.
8)

As the four pile out the door to play a warm, pleasant and idyllic day greets them.

With Moving Day, the Winter had passed and the weather outside was warm and sunny, giving way to Spring and the growing season. It was like a whole new world outside for the mice for more reason than one. In the morning hours there was still a faint chill in the air, which the sun on their fur seemed to instantly banish. The slightly dryer spell of the previous few days and warm, pleasant sun had hardened the mud, muck and mire that had existed about the lee of the stone weeks before that had almost swallowed up the poor Widow Brisby's children and home.

After a short time of peace and revelry in the mild, mid-Spring day, the four children spot a familiar figure making her way through the long and dew-covered grass. Wrapped up tightly in her over-sized shawl, the elderly shrew works her way through the tall grass and budding flowers by sweeping them aside unceremoniously with her small wooden cane.

When she spots the children she hurries over, first naturally to Teresa, the girl most receptive to her more often than not.

"Teresa," she begins in her cultured voice, "I must speak to your mother at once. It is a matter of great urgency!" She exclaims further, waving her cane to the sky expressively as she speaks.

Of course with the shrew everything was a matter of great urgency... but this time it might be really important!

Mrs. Brisby hears Teresa's voice, and then that of Auntie Shrew, and she is almost relieved to have her larger neighbor as a visitor, after all of the madness that she was forced to deal with before her home was moved to safety.

"Tea!", she exclaims, leaving her bedroom in a great hurry. "I must offer her some tea!" As she prepares the tea, she busies herself with thoughts.

Auntie Shrew must have been just as distressed as I was, says Brisby, internally, and, besides, she was thrown about quite a great deal during that horrible disaster with the block!

Just as Mrs. Brisby puts the kettle on to boil, Auntie Shrew knocks once, and then comes into the house, throwing one end of her shawl over her shoulder, so as not to allow it to snag upon anything, as it did before Moving Day.
8)

"Brisby?! Brisby?!" Comes that oh so familiar call from the stairs up to the entrance. The older shrew enters, padding down along the stairs, indeed quite careful not to snag her shawl upon those treacherous stairs!

"Oh there you are, my dear. I have the most horrible news from the field."

She moves her way over to fireplace and the mouse settling the kettle over the flames. "It's such a dreadfully long walk here after the rats moved your home." She complains, "But I am pleased to see young Timothy is doing well." she comments, next sweeping over to the table to take a seat at one of the stools, lifting her chin a bit. She drums her long, clawed fingers at the handle of her cane as she waits for the tea to steep expectantly.

"I've just come here from mister and missus Connors' home in the wood-pile. They say they've seen a raccoon skulking about nearby. Up to no good and I'm certain of it. Those wretched rapscallions like nothing more than to pilfer the belongings of good, honest, hard working beasts." Auntie Shrew cautions, rolling every R, "You would do well to keep your children in doors today until that stripe-tailed cretin has gone for good!" she warns further, pointing the end of her cane to the mother-mouse.

Mrs. Brisby's soft ghasp leaves Auntie Shrew bewildered.

"A...raccoon, you say?"

"Yes, Brisby! A RACCOON!" Auntie Shrew's eyes zero in on the field mouse, as if to declare her insane.

As the shrew continues her fire and brimstone speech about raccoons, Mrs. Brisby places her hand upon her shawl, deep in thought.

Might he be THAT raccoon?, she wonders, sadness flooding her entire being. She hasn't seen him in awhile, and she really doesn't know WHAT to think of him, because she doesn't know exactly why he seemed to dessert her some time ago.

"Might he be...ROWAN?" The words escape her mouth before she realizes that she's whispered them, and the shrew's jaw drops.

"You CANNOT mean to tell me that you actually KNOW one of those brazen, indecent creatures, Brisby!" Thumping her cane upon the floor with much emphasis, Auntie Shrew takes it upon herself to answer the whistle of the tea kettle.

The mouse's sudden blush tells her neighbor that she did, indeed, keep one of her friendships a secret. If Brisby were forced to tell the truth, she would have to admit that both she AND Johnathan did not usually brag to other mice about their friendship with the kindly raccoon.

"You must ANSWER me, Brisby! I DEMAND to know the TRUTH!" Auntie Shrew places two saucers, and two cups, onto the table, and then she leans right across the entire table, so that she and her hostess are nose to nose.

"I...I was...lost in thought..." The mother mouse sighs, staring into her empty teacup. "But the thought wasn't important...and I never should have whispered it aloud."

"But you DID," intones Auntie Shrew, "so out with it, now, only more LOUDLY this time, and accompanied by a full explanation!"

"Please, Auntie Shrew, don't make me recall that aspect of my past. Please don't..."

"These creatures are troublesome, and they might be DANGEROUS, and here you are, admitting to having CONSORTED with one of them!"

Mrs. Brisby's face is in her hands at once.

"He's NOT dangerous! He was my FRIEND!" Her own angry voice surprises her, and as soon as she looks at her neighbor, she looks away again, flooding with so many conflicting emotions.

"I...I'm so sorry, Auntie Shrew," she says, approaching the shrew, attempting to hug her, even as she backs her chair away imperiously.

"Please," she begins again, returning to her own chair, and pouring the tea. "Oh, please listen to the truth about Rowan. Let me tell you WHY he was so dear to me...and...to Johnathan, too!" Her eyes convey a sort of power, and she looks right at Auntie Shrew, suddenly unafraid about being honest.
8)

Rowan had never been a constant companion to the family, but it didn't make him any less close or caring. He had met Johnathan when the raccoon was only grown a bit past being a boy, and in the following years he'd grown into quite the young man. He'd always been polite and helpful, especially to Mrs. Brisby herself and served as an oft-needed anchor for Johnathan's more lofty aspirations. Fond memories return too of he and the children, letting them ride on his back. He would never harm a mouse, never steal from another beast. Surely the shrew's suspicions were ill-founded.

His presence had been less common after Johnathan's death, but he remained devoted, visiting with offerings of food and company now and again when he could make the dangerous trip through Dragon's favored hunting grounds in the tall grass of the field from his home nearer the river.

As Auntie shrew listens, her hard expression softens lightly, her claws drumming upon her upper arm, "Well. Friend or no we must still be cautious." She murmurs, "Nefarious creatures that bunch of bandits are, and more likely than not that one is some ravening beast from the forest, bent on who knows what sort of mischief." She lifts herself from her stool as she drains the last sip of her tea, "Even if you think this one is trustworthy, there are many other families I must visit that would like to know there might be a brigand in their midst. I bid you good day, and I hope, for all our sakes that that... creature... is in fact the one you spoke of."

Auntie shrew moves to the stairs next, heedless to any protest the mouse might offer as she ascends with her somewhat hobbled gait. Upon reaching the pan serving as a door, she takes her first step into the light, colliding instantly with what she first sees as a wall of dense, grey fur. Falling back onto her backside, she hollers at ear-splitting volume, "RACCOON!"

Standing above her is Rowan, a rather rugged looking beast about seven to eight years the younger of Mrs. Brisby. He's tall, both Auntie Shrew or Mrs. Brisby standing at about belly level. His features are youthful without being devoid of character, his expression, while most often stern is now one of wide-eyed surprise as he peers down to the Shrew now waving her cane at him in wide, menacing sweeps while she regains her footing. Rowan wears a hunter green vest, in slightly better condition than the mouse's cape, but not without an odd patch here or there keeping it together. Over his back he wears a large pack. Utterly un-threatened, but utterly taken aback by the shrew's actions, the raccoon retreats a pace or two, holding up his paws disarmingly to try to put a stop to the shrew's wild flailings and loudly intoned threats!

Elizabeth's own scream ends as she leaps back, feeling the sting of hot tea upon her feet.

"Oh, drat!", she fusses, before coming to her senses and racing forth to help Auntie Shrew, who is attempting to reach poor Rowan's eyes with the cane!

"Auntie Shrew, what IS it?"

"Mrs. Johnathan Brisby? Mrs. Johnathan Brisby, are you in there?"

"Ro...ROWAN?" Trying to hold back the struggling shrew, the field mouse glances upward, into the face of an old friend.

"Why, Rowan, it WAS you that she was talking about! I'd recognize that voice, and those EYES, ANYWHERE!" Mrs. Brisby's youthful laughter takes her back to a simpler, fresher time.

"Now, THAT'S no way to greet an old friend, Mrs. Brisby!", scolds the raccoon playfully. "You know that I never did fit inside of that house, so why don't you..."

"Come outside and greet you, Rowan! I know, I know." Squeezing past a frozen Auntie Shrew, Brisby buries her face in that inviting fur, which now reminds her of fond memories, and of a better life.

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth!" The joy in Rowan's voice lessens, and his paw tightens protectively about the back of her waist.

As she looks up into his eyes, she can see their sorrow.

"Oh, Rowan," she breathes, feeling her own sorrow in her eyes, "there was so much that I didn't know about Johnathan that I hardly think that you should feel guilty, although..."

"Say it, Elizabeth. I SHOULD have been there for you." He holds her at arms' length, frowning in his guilt.

"Johnathan would never have faulted you...", she whispers, more to herself than to anybody else.

The shrew backs away, and then she dashes past the large creature, panting desperately.

"Wait, Auntie Shrew!", calls Mrs. Brisby. "I'd like for you to meet..." It is too late. Auntie Shrew is gone!

The silence that settles between the two old friends seems to echo, and suddenly, Rowan looks down at his feet, and a strange look comes over his face, a look that Mrs. Brisby can't quite read. Is he ashamed? Sad? Too fond of someone for his own good?

"I...I WOULD invite you to share some tea with me out here, but the commotion with Auntie Shrew...caused me to..."

He takes the blushing mouse's hands in his, and, gazing into her blue eyes, he sighs.

"No offense taken about THAT, my dear Mrs. Brisby."

His voice is so gentle that she ghasps slightly, wondering exactly why she has done so.
8)

For the raccoon the embrace of old friends feels somewhat awkward, too many conflicting emotions... but it doesn't stop him from enjoying the friendly hug, the larger creature taking a knee to better return the brief embrace.

He turns his head as the shrew turns tail, blinking as he watches her flee, "Do you think she'll be alright?" He murmurs, voice not exactly deep, but decidedly masculine, gentle but with a bit of gravel behind that smoothness and confidence.

He always took a more gentle, caring tone around the mouse, whether he was aware of it or not... He offers a soft stroke of his thumbs over the mouse's knuckles before he releases her paws to rise back to sit upon his haunches once more.

"I brought something... for you and the children. I know it's not much." He offers. His guilt for not being there to help her one her adventure or at least guard the children in her stead weighing heavily on him still.

The raccoon moves to unsling his pack from his shoulders and let it drop gently between the two. Whatever was inside smelled delicious. The younger raccoon pulls free the upper flap to reveal the bounty he's brought... some fish cured with smoke, the way Johnathan had taught him, an assortment of dried berries and nuts, even a generously sized bit of a cookie, pilfered from the Fitzgibbon family when they enjoyed a picnic by the stream.

The raccoon offers a warm smile as he waits expectantly for the mouse's reaction.

Slightly dazed by the look in Rowan's eyes, Mrs. Brisby takes in a deep breath.

"My, but look at that feast, Rowan!", she exclaims, in an effort to distract herself from the thought of those eyes; she forces herself to gaze upon the food, becoming instantly amazed at how much really IS there before her.

The raccoon merely closes his eyes, bowing his head towards her.

"This is all...for ME?" The young mother mouse cannot help but blush slightly. "I MUST share this bounty with my CHILDREN, though...ESPECIALLY Timmy."

Gazing up at Rowan, she suddenly becomes sad, realizing that she may have just elicited his guilt again.

"I'm sorry, Rowan," she says timidly, turning away suddenly.

When she feels a paw upon her hand, she turns back, sighing, and when she hears Rowan say, "It's been too long since I've seen you!", she has to force other images to come to her mind, in order to resist the desire to hug him again. The scent of earth fills her nose, and she wants so much to snuggle against the abdomen of the raccoon once more, so she forces herself to bring Johnathan and the children to mind.

"I...I'd like to invite you to SHARE this meal...with me and the children."

The larger creature's eyebrows rise hopefully, and his eyes become larger, more happy.

"Why, Mrs. Brisby! I'd be honored to join you and the children, and I'm honored that you thought of me."

"I could NEVER forget an old FRIEND," she says, glancing playfully over her shoulder as she starts towards her house for plates.
8)

Rowan's look might be a bit perplexing, it was one she'd caught him giving now and again even while Johnathan was still alive, though he was always very shy about it.

His expression warms as he dips his head in acknowledgement. The meal indeed is for the mouse and her children. He'd brought offerings of food before, but only during his rare visits to the small cinderblock home.

Rowan pats at that pawhand in his gently as he smiles to the mouse, offering an expression to tell her that certainly no harm was done. "Thank you, Mrs. Brisby." He offers as she turns. He was painfully polite at times, it took quite a scolding to get him to call her Elizabeth whether out of respect or forced formality remained to be seen. Perhaps some of each.

Finally, pleased with how it's played out, Rowan settles down on his haunches once more, glancing about the field while Mrs. Brisby returns into the curtain of grass that serves as her front door. He considers for a time how nice it will be to see the children again. And how nice it was to see their mother already. He would have to visit more often.

The younger raccoon squints faintly as he looks over the day-lit field, the bright sunlight a rather unwelcome glare in his eyes more tailored to the dark.

Elizabeth Brisby can barely think clearly as she retrieves the plates from the cupboard. Her mind races with too many thoughts about the past.

Why am I feeling this way?, she half-scolds herself mentally, trying to fight away the desire for a new kind of secure, familial situation with Rowan. I am crazy! I am truly crazy...to feel this way, after Johnathan gave me security, four beautiful children... The very fact that she could consider security before her children disturbs her, and she is forced to set the plates down, in order to give herself a moment of reflective calmness.

Her face in her hands, she cannot help crying about the burdens that rest within her mind right now.

"Oh, what am I to do, when I just recently felt that my life was back in order again? What should I do?"

Her sudden wish to see Auntie Shrew causes her widened eyes to produce even more tears, until she is sobbing into her cape. Her feelings of guilt double as she thinks, over and over again, one thought: I shouldn't keep Rowan waiting out there! He's such a good friend!

As troublesome thoughts about Rowan swirl uncontrollably through her mind, Elizabeth Brisby begins to wonder just what she really wants with the sweet raccoon. Do I want a new husband, and a father for my children, or...or...She barely dares to think the words...do I want a brand new romance with Rowan?
8)

Of course Auntie Shrew's advice would've been to find herself a nice mouse and rid herself of the raccoon menace once and for all. Just the same, she might've offered some good advice. Rarely was she a shoulder to cry on, but more a firm reality check, often what the mouse needed. 'Stop that at once' she'd have scolded.

Outside Rowan waits quietly, still squinting in the sun, holding the pack. His ears lay back briefly as the moments the mouse has been gone turn to minutes. If he'd been small enough he'd have slipped inside to see what was wrong. As it is, however, he waits by the pan that makes up the entrance to the Brisby home.

Once Elizabeth emerges once more, Rowan tips his head at the look of her, dry though her cheekfur was, it was harder to hide the redness in those eyes, and the look about her face. Especially from an old friend, "Elizabeth." he begins, using her first name this time with more ease, "What's wrong?" he asks, reaching out to take the plates she holds to relieve her of them.

Hate to interrupt, but I just wanted to compliment you ladies on what a great job you've done so far. ) Did you two already know each other before you joined the forums? I ask because you seem to be pretty like-minded in the direction of your story. It's looking more like a straight fan-fic instead of an RP, but I'm not much of an RPGer, so what do I know. ? I'm not sure about a raccoon potentially being in love with Mrs. B, but Rowan is a likable character. And I see that you agree with me on the spelling of Johnathan's name, something I haven't seen too often. 8)

((As far as knowing eachother... no, not really. Honestly I'd been poking around the interwebs for some time looking for some Secret of NIMH RP with the canon characters. I saw this forum but it looked dead. I looked at the MU attached to it as well, but it seemed to take place far later than the movie.

When I was lucky enough to find a like-minded player on another forum, she directed me here and that's where we've been doing it. We've been shooting some messages back and forth to work out an overarching plot and by the sound of it plot-wise, things are about to kick off soon! Thanks for the compliment, though.

As for the raccoon bit, I thought it would be interesting to provide a romantic alternative to Justin, someone a little more down-to-earth and less perfect. Besides-which every time I watch that movie I really feel like Mrs. B needs a hug >.<

If you'd like to join us, the proper action of the plot is about to begin shortly! I assure you it's not going to be all sappy romance between these two!))

Hello, David Leemhuis,

Thank you so much for the compliment! I really enjoy writing for RP scenarios/ stories, and I'm glad that I'm able to participate in a "Secret of NIMH"-related RP scenario, because I've been in a "Secret of NIMH" sort of mood lately! Besides, having more of a motivation to write every day is cool, right? I feel very lucky to have found a RP fan like SentinelMoonfang!
8)

Mrs. Brisby holds fast to the plates, gradually allowing the raccoon to take them.

"Oh, nothing," she says, as breezily as she can manage. "Nothing is wrong."

Her downcast eyes belie her forced tone, and, as her tears are wiped away by Rowan, her breathing quickens.

"We should ENJOY this feast!", she declares blushingly, beginning to distribute the food to the plates. "I'll go fetch the children!"

As she prepares the delicious-looking morsels for consumption, her thoughts turn towards the idea of a family. The children!

Touching Rowan's hand briefly, she says, "I'd best be off to call my children."

Walking away, into the field, Elizabeth scans the spaces between the blades of grass for signs of her four children. After only about a minute, she begins to call for them.

"Teresa! Martin! Timothy! Cynthia!" Her voice meets with silence as she walks more quickly.

"Timmy! Cynthia! Martin! Teresa! Where are you, children?" Again, silence answers her, and she quickens her pace still more.

"Oh, where ARE you, children?"

"Mother! Mother? Is that YOU?" Teresa's usually confident voice almost echos with fear, and Mrs. Brisby races towards that voice, running right into her oldest child's tearful embrace!

"Teresa! Oh, Teresa! What's wrong? You look a fright, and...you're CRYING, you poor child!" Cradling Teresa's head in her arms, the weary mother mouse kisses her daughter's cheek.

"Now," she says, holding the child at a distance, "What's the matter, Sweetheart?"

"There's no time to explain, Mother! It's Timmy! Timmy's...Timmy's..." Pointing furiously towards the Fitzgibbons' farmhouse, Teresa ghasps and sobs raggedly.

"Slow down, just for a minute. What's happened to Timmy?" Elizabeth tries to keep her eyes from widening in fear, but she can't seem to conceal her worried expression.

"Timmy wouldn't stop running, Mother!" Teresa's own eyes widen expressively, wildly. "He ran ahead of us, and he said that we'd never, ever catch him, and then..." Her ragged sobs become more plaintive, and more prevalent, as she breaks down entirely.

"And then WHAT, Teresa? You must TELL me! NOW!" Mrs. Brisby shakes Teresa, feeling shocked a moment later by her desperation.

"Mother!"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart! I'm sorry!" Elizabeth pulls Teresa close, kissing her cheek again. "Please tell me what happened to Timmy...so that we can HELP him!"

"Timmy said that he was going to sneak through the Fitzgibbons' farmhouse for some extra crumbs, and when...when MARTIN said that Timmy wouldn't be able to do it without being caught...Timmy told Martin to go chase his tail, and...and then...Timmy did it, ANYWAY, and NOW we're STILL waiting for Timmy to come back...and he HASN'T, and...we're SCARED, Mother...especially ME, because I probably should have been keeping track of Timmy, right? "

"Right," says Mrs. Brisby, half-smiling. "Oh, but you shouldn't feel TOO guilty, Teresa," she notes. "Timmy has just now been allowed to go outside, and I KNOW that his pent-up energy has a great deal to do with his daring behavior."

Suddenly, her eyes widen again.

"You're scared TOO, Mother!", declares Teresa.

"I AM, because we MUST act at ONCE to get Timmy out of that house!" The mother mouse takes her daughter's hand.

"Where are your brother and sister?", she asks, looking about.

"MARTIN! CYNTHIA! I've found our mother!"

Soon, the other two frightened children are at Mrs. Brisby's side, apologizing and whimpering.

"We can't panic, children," says the beautiful mouse, as calmly as she can. "We have to rescue Timmy, and our old friend Rowan is outside of our house right now, so we're going to ask him to help us. We'll get Timmy back!"

Hurrying towards the raccoon, her children at her side, Mrs. Brisby attempts to look extremely confident.
8)

Rowan lingers awkwardly with the plates for a time, working to arrange portions for everyone. Of course his own appetite is far greater than a mouse's, and as such, he heaps a bit more than likely any mouse would eat onto every plate.

He glances up and over his shoulder at the sound of worried voices, his keen ears perking high, the raccoon frowns and moves from the plates, padding towards the mouse and her children on all-fours, scampering quickly off the cinder block and into the grass after Mrs. Brisby.

The raccoon meets up with the four mice just as they've turned to return to the house, a serious frown upon his face, "What's going on?" he asks, tone worried, but trying to remain gentle rather than rushed as he tries to assess the situation, his expression quite worried as he sees the children's tearful eyes and doesn't count Timothy among their number. He lifts himself onto his haunches, glancing about for the missing boy.

"Has something happened to Timmy?" he questions quickly. Perhaps this was his chance to make up for his absence in the adventure with the rats. At the same time he felt eager and nervous, anxiety knotting his stomach a bit.

"Oh, Rowan!" Elizabeth Brisby clasps the raccoon's hands in hers. "We need your help! Timmy...has gone into the Fitzgibbons' farmhouse, and...he hasn't returned, and..." She looks up into Rowan's large eyes.

"I'm so scared!", she whispers, and when Rowan lets her hands go, and he wraps his paws about her, she allows herself to cry, taking comfort in his warm words, and enjoying the scent of his warm fur.

"Please help us, Rowan!", cries Teresa plaintively. "I already feel so guilty about Timothy!"

"I'LL go WITH you to get him back, Rowan!" declares Martin, making fists with both of his hands. "I'll even fight DRAGON to get him back! I SWEAR it!"

"No, Martin!", cautions Mrs. Brisby, holding her hand out in protest. "Don't talk that way!" She sighs, looking at her feet. "You'll do no such THING! I won't have YOU in danger, too! I can't AFFORD to lose..." She buries her face in Rowan's fur again, but then, she backs away; standing before her children, she addresses them with a look of authoritativeness.

"Please, children. LISTEN to me for a moment." She sighs again, trying to calm herself.

"We have an important mission to complete." Pointing towards the farmhouse, the widowed mouse gives her children a serious look.

"Timmy is in there," she says, "We MUST get him back, because if we DON'T, he could very well be captured by the Fitzgibbons' son, Billy!"

"The...same boy who captured YOU, Mother?" Teresa's eyes widen in fear, and she hugs her mother as tightly as she dares.

"Yes, Teresa," answers Mrs. Brisby. "If Timmy IS captured, he'll WANT to escape, but I don't know if he'll think to escape from the cage as I escaped." She closes her eyes, thinking of the time that is passing so quickly.

"I told all of you the story of my own escape, but if Timmy has been captured, he may not remember how I said that I escaped. He might feel that he's going to be with the Fitzgibbons family...for a long, long time!" Shuddering, Mrs. Brisby looks up at Rowan.

"That's why it's up to us to come up with a plan to rescue him from that house, before Farmer Fitzgibbons...calls NIMH again!", she declares.

"Well, I want to be part of the plan, Mom!" Martin's eyes flash with anger.

"We must ALL work TOGETHER, Martin, and we must COOPERATE with each other." The mother mouse gives Martin and Teresa a stern look.

"That means that we must create a plan QUICKLY, and that we must NOT argue with each other!" She looks at each of the three children who stand before her.

"Now, who will volunteer to hold my cape for me while I search the house for Timmy?"

"I'm suddenly wishing that Jeremy was here, Mother!" says Teresa.

"Yeah!", echos Cynthia. "We wanna see the TURKEY!"

Mrs. Brisby's face brightens slightly.

"We MIGHT be able to fetch Jeremy..." Her eyes become downcast again, as she thinks of Jeremy and his mate, Tiffany.

"We might be able to fetch Jeremy...IF we can FIND him!", she says, near tears, trying desperately to hold herself together.
8)

Rowan takes a deep breath and tries to offer some reassurance, but his grim outlook on most things makes his words a bit unconvincing, "We all need to stay calm. We need our wits about us if we're going to get him back." He offers, placing a pawhand at the mother mouse's back as she presses herself against him, "He's probably fine. The Fitzgibbons' house is very large and Dragon spends most of the day outside." he offers more gently. "We'll get him back." he assures her, giving the mouse's shoulder a squeeze with his large paw.

He pauses then and looks to Martin as he talks about taking on Dragon, "I don't doubt you would... but if you came with us, then who would stay back here to see to your sisters' safety?" He questions.

"It's not too long of a run from here to the house... I couldn't let you put yourself in harm's way, either, Elizabeth. The children need you right now." He coaxes... Of course he already knows like it or not, she'll be coming with him.

"The boards around roof have gaps." he explains, "We could get in the attic. I knew a squirrel who stayed there for a time." He eyes the house in the distance, it's top just slightly peeking over the top of the tall grass field, frowning with worry, his ears laying back briefly.

Mrs. Brisby's entire form warms up with every second that Rowan keeps his paw upon her shoulder, and she finds that the weight of that paw is unusually comforting, rather than being bothersome!

Even so, she cranes her neck to look up at Rowan, bewilderment in her eyes.

"The ATTIC?", she inquires, giving the raccoon a disbelieving stare. "You once knew a SQUIRREL who stayed there? How...how well did you KNOW that SQUIRREL...if you don't mind my asking?" Shaking her head, she sighs heavily.

"Are you SURE about this plan, Rowan?", she asks.

"Mother! ENOUGH of this!" intones Teresa, her hands upon her hips.

"I beg your PARDON, young-"

"Mother, PLEASE! We all know that I am perfectly capable of looking out for the others, so, please, PLEASE just go with Rowan...NOW!"
Her self-serving expression melts to reveal desperate sorrow, and Elizabeth finally hugs her; removing her cape, she places it around Teresa's shoulders.

"You're growing up remarkably...young lady, so I'm COUNTING on you to keep Martin and Cynthia SAFE, RIGHT HERE, until we return!" She touches Teresa's face tenderly, kissing her forehead.

"What if..."

"Now, Martin, if, for some reason, we do NOT return by the time that darkness falls, I want YOU to lead the way back to the house." She looks at each of her children one more time.

"If you must return to the house without us, then, you, Teresa, will be responsible for distributing the majority of what's left of this feast as supper. Do NOT stuff yourselves anymore NOW, children, or you will have to go out looking for Auntie Shrew, and she will NOT be pleased with...with ME, I'm afraid."

Turning away briefly, Mrs. Brisby looks up at Rowan, and a moment later, she blushes through her fur, suddenly feeling 100% naked without her cape.

After she has gathered a few tidbits of food, Rowan takes her hand, and the two prepare to leave, when a sudden noise from behind them startles them both.

"You'll need...THIS!" The voice comes from Teresa, who lays sprawled out from having tripped, one of her family's smaller baskets in her hand.

"Teresa Brisby! You must learn to be more careful, and less panic-stricken!"

"Mother!" The young mouse glares. "You'll need a basket for the FOOD, Mother...Rowan..." Pulling herself to her feet, Teresa ignores the giggles of Cynthia, and the eye-rolling cleverness of her brother, and she begins to fill the basket with the food that Mrs. Brisby has taken, plus a few more small portions of food.

When the basket is loaded, Teresa smiles.

"Here, Mother, Rowan! We wish you luck!" Grinning with an almost fake optimism that tries to belie the seriousness of her eyes, Teresa puts the basket over her mother's outstretched arm.
8)

"Unless you know of a better way..." Rowan offers before he pauses. Well... there was no way to put this without seeming "Not very well. No one's seen him for some time. The last I heard of him he'd holed up there for the Winter" The raccoon offers with a faint grimace, "If there were a safer way..."

He pauses for a time then gives the mouse what confirmation he can, "I'm not entirely sure, but we have to get Timothy back." He adds with determination in his voice. Of course given the danger he wishes Elizabeth would stay behind as well.

Rowan too smiles at the look of Teresa in the cape. Of the lot of them, she had the most look of her mother about her. Especially in the eyes. Timothy on the other hand was the spitting image of a younger Johnathan. Perhaps more skinny and without his black spots. He gives a nod to the girl, affirming her mother's words.

Rowan looks down to Mrs. Brisby next as she looks up to him. Spotting her blush, one of his own soon warms his cheeks. Indeed she did seem a bit nude without that cape, even to the raccoon, of course he does his best to act more casually for her comfort, forcing a quite artificial and awkward smile.

His ears perk then at the crash behind and he turns. He offers a paw to the girl, but she already seems to be standing, "Your mother will be back before you know it." he assures all the children.

As the pair get underway Rowan glances this way and that through the tall grass, ears perked high and nose twitching, always alert as can be. Something about the day always felt more foreign and dangerous to him, and he loathed to be out in it, with Dragon and all those humans on the prowl. His posture beside the mouse is a protective one, his face a faint frown of focus on the surroundings. Though he breaks the seriousness of the expression to crack a faint smile down to the mouse who walks alongside him.

"We'll find him." He assures her.

Elizabeth looks towards the sky, from which the sun is no longer shining so brightly. Shuddering, she looks about her cautiously.

"We'd BETTER find him, and SOON, because the sun will be setting in awhile!"

Elizabeth becomes more and more frustrated, and more fearfully determined as she walks along, until she suddenly stops, breathing in deeply, her eyes closed. Turning back around to face Rowan, she gives him a grin.

"Carry me on your back!" she commands, pointing at him. "REALLY!" Her entire face is bright, and lowers her nose slightly, as though she's about to charm him into giving her her own way, but then she laughs.

"Don't you SEE?", she says. "If you carry me, I won't slow you down, AND I can keep a lookout for...certain setbacks...like DRAGON...and Billy...and..."

The raccoon's outstretched paw, and his look of slight exhasperation stop her from continuing, and, as he lowers himself into a bowing position, she climbs onto his hand, allowing him to help her up onto his shoulder. Even she amazes herself with her careful handling of the basket that dangles from her arm.

Grasping Rowan's thick fur, she closes her eyes for a moment, preparing for one of the rides of her life. When she opens her eyes again, she thanks Rowan for his assistance, and then she whispers, "Whenever you're ready, Rowan."
8)

Rowan had almost made the offer, himself, but worried the mouse might find it insulting or perhaps a bit invasive. Once the mouse is settled in place upon his back, Rowan begins to set out in a proper scamper. As with most beasts of the farm, he moves on all-fours when in a hurry, but there's still plenty of fur and vest to hold onto upon his back as he dashes for the house in the distance.

For his size, Rowan isn't quite as fast as a predator, or as quick as a mouse might be given longer strides with legs like his. His claws dig into the loose earth under-paw as he runs. The raccoon glances back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure the mouse has kept her grip upon him.

With his size it was much like flying with Jeremy, of course the shorter distance to the ground also made it far less harrowing! There was also the luxury of never doing upside-down. Another added benefit.

He seems content to stay quiet through the journey, and all said he seems rather pleased to have the mouse resting atop his back, though his expression stays serious. He's quite focused on the mouse and her son's safety.

From above the pair can hear the heavy, clumbsy flapping of large, feathery wings. Then comes a loud crash in the grass behind them, as a large and familiar crow tries to keep pace through the grass, equal parts dashing, flying and falling his way after, "Miss B! Wait for me! Miss B! Miss Bris! Where you goin'?" He calls out in a most familiar voice a little frantic. Rowan slows his pace gently to a halt so as not to throw his rider.

Still not turning back to Jeremy, Rowan shuts his eyes tightly in a grimace. He was never one who shared Mrs. Brisby's saint-like patience for the crow's antics.

"Jeremy!" cries Mrs. Brisby, completely amazed to see the crow. "What in the world are you DOING here?"

She gives the goofy bird a disbelieving, exhasperated stare, but, a moment later, her face softens. Jeremy IS a FRIEND, after all.

"I'M sorry, Jeremy," she sighs, "but I haven't time for NONSENSE right now! My son Timmy ran into the Fitzgibbons' farmhouse, and he hasn't returned, so Rowan and I are going there to get him back."

"How...interesting!" Nobody seems to have noticed the fluttery female crow who stands behind Jeremy, but now she laughs, gazing good-naturedly at Rowan and Mrs. Brisby.

Elizabeth's eyes narrow at the playful intruder, and she very nearly cries.

"Now, I don't know who you ARE...MISS, but MY SON is in that farmhouse, and I MUST get him back before it gets too dark!" She stares right at the female crow, until the frivolous creature backs away ever so slightly.

"If you and Jeremy would like to HELP us," she sighs, "you're welcome to do so."

I...I...I'm very SORRY, Mrs. B, but, you see, I understand! I want kids very, very much, and I, or, well, WE...believe that we will FINALLY be...WELCOMING some...shortly!" Blushing, the feathery creature buries her beak in Jeremy's chest, giggling like crazy.

"You're EXPECTING?" Elizabeth's hands are on her hips at once; she motions for Rowan to help her down from his back, and once he has done so, she marches right up to the female bird, and she stands toe to toe with the critter.

"What's your first name?", she inquires.

"Tiffany!" The she-crow is suddenly bold, standing proudly, almost threateningly.

Elizabeth Brisby takes a deep breath.

"Tiffany," she says, "you MUST return to your NEST...RIGHT NOW!" Her eyes register too many conflicting emotions, and she falters.

"I, I mean, CONGRATULATIONS, of course, to you...," she manages, glancing at Tiffany, and then at Jeremy.

"Congratulations to YOU, TOO, Jeremy!", she adds, giving him a nod, before redirecting her gaze to Tiffany.

"Oh, but if you are EXPECTING, Tiffany, and you get HURT on this journey..." She puts her hand on Tiffany's slightly scaly leg, looking up at her with concern.

"Wherever HE goes, I go!" is the only reply that Tiffany will give; elbowing her lover, she winks flirtatiously.

"Well..." Mrs. Brisby's exasperation fills her entire form, but, finally, she sighs, laughing.

"Well, THAT'S true devotion for you," she says, looking from Tiffany to Jeremy. Turning to Rowan, she approaches his paw for her alleyoop back onto his shoulder; her eyes suddenly become sorrowful, as her thoughts turn to Johnathan.

"What's...the MATTER, Mrs. B?", asks Tiffany. She and Jeremy exchange sorrowfully bewildered looks with each other.

"Oooh, nothing," manages the widowed mouse, trying to focus her eyes upon her goal. "Let's just get to that farmhouse as quickly as we CAN! Once we're THERE, Rowan and I can find a way for both of you to help us."
8)

"Oh we were just flying overheard and I said to myself, geez that looks like Mrs. Bris down there and it looked like you and uh... Say, what was your name again?" Jeremy asks, pausing in his retelling of the story to look a bit blankly to the raccoon.

"Rowan." He answers, turning as well after the mouse dismounts

"Yeah, Row. So we saw you and Row and I thought to myself, 'they sure look like they're headed somewhere in a hurry and..." The crow pauses as he finds himself talking right over the mouse, "What? Timmy's in trouble?" His face switches to a determined glare and he grins dangerously, clenching a 'fist,' "Well then don't you worry Mrs. B. Ol' Jeremy will help get him back for you!"

The crow then pauses as his wife presses her head to his chest-feathers. "Yeah! Uh... That's right! Me a dad! Pretty incredible, huh?" He grins proudly, lifting his chin, "What can I say?" He adds conspiratorially behind the back of his wing, and snickering a bit "Girls can't resist the athletic type, am I right, Row?"

"Rowan." The raccoon corrects again.

"Right." Jeremy agrees with the name, before he looks to Tiffany, chuckling almost nervously at the elbow and the decision to follow him to help the mouse's children.

Rowan spots that sorrowful look from a mile away, and knows just what thoughts brew in the mouse mother's mind. As she approaches him, he reaches up to place a paw reaffirmingly upon her shoulder, thumb brushing her cheek briefly. The motion felt very natural, but he immediately seems to regret it, slowly withdrawing his paw to help the mouse onto his back instead. "We should get moving." he agrees.

Mrs. Brisby barely has time to think about Rowan's warm, reassuring attitude, but something about his kindness touches her soul, anyway, and she smiles, almost wistfully, through her worry, as Rowan hurries through the grass as fast as he can.

Behind the two leaders, Jeremy and Tiffany chatter endlessly about Mrs. Brisby, Timmy, their own forthcoming child, and other matters, until the mouse turns around quickly, grabbing ahold of Rowan's vest from behind herself.

"Please!", she hisses. Jeremy looks right at her, almost squawking in surprise.

"What IS it?", inquires tiffany, scrunching down, and peering around, as though she's just been warned about some type of approaching danger.

"I'm sorry," sighs the mouse, "but we MUST be QUIET, because...well, what if DRAGON were to hear us?" Giving a glare of caution to the crows, she gingerly turns herself back around, receiving a nuzzle from Rowan for her pains.

"Oh, Rowan!" she whispers fondly, "You're a treasure to me!"

She strains to see if he's blushing, but then, remembering their serious mission, she begins to watch for danger, even as Jeremy whisperingly disobeys her, explaining every detail about Dragon to Tiffany.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearer to the Brisby home, the mother mouse's other three children become ever more bored. Teresa has cried all of her tears, and now she sits upon a small rock, staring at the ground sadly and playing with a ragged edge of her mother's cape. Martin scratches an itchy spot on his arm with a twig, before using it to add teeth to the monster that he's drawing in the dirt. Cynthia lays down once again, pulling on her feet and rolling about, giggling.

"You're SUPPOSED to be keeping an eye peeled for when DARKNESS falls, MARTIN!" grumbles Teresa.

"Oh, YOU go keep the FOOD peeled for DINNER, Teresa! I'M getting HUNGRY!"

Standing, Teresa approaches her brother; bending down, she pulls the twig from his hand, tossing it away.

"Timmy is in TROUBLE, Martin, and Mother asked YOU to keep a lookout for the SKY to darken, so you'd better follow ORDERS!"

"Hey!", snarls Martin, reaching for his sister's decorative hair bow. "You had NO right to STEAL that TWIG from me!" He marches past Teresa's defensive hand; sitting on the same rock that she had been moping upon, he glares at his sister, making a fist.

"I can't POSSIBLY keep looking at the sky for that long, Teresa!", he says. "You're SOOO stupid that you DON'T even know that if I stare at the sky for that long, I'll fall into a STUPOR, and I'll be no good to ANY of us, ANYWAY!"

Racing forward, Teresa shoves at her brother's shoulders.

"I am NOT STUPID, MARTIN!", she shouts. "I have always been the SMART one around here, and DON'T start telling me about how we're about the same AGE, because EVERYBODY in the ENTIRE FIELD knows that I'M the one who's in charge whenever Mother is away!"

Kicking the dirt in as ladylike a manner as anger will allow, Teresa sticks her nose into the air.

"Stupid SISTER!", mutters Martin. Looking right at Teresa, he glares.

"Auntie SHREW is in charge whenever Mother is away, and YOU know it, and I know it, and...and even CYNTHIA knows it!"

"I know WHAT?" giggles Cynthia, ruining Martin's monster drawing as she rolls right across it, creating a small dust cloud.

"CYNTHIA! You...you RAT!"

As Martin moves to punish his little sister, Teresa stands between them; grabbing her brother by the shoulders, she gives him a look that begs to be affected by some measure of temperance.

"Mother put ME in charge THIS TIME, MARTIN!", she intones authoritatively.

"I HATE you, Teresa!", snarls Martin. "When our FATHER was still alive, everything was GREAT!"

Struck by sudden emotions, Teresa backs away, ghasping.

"You KNOW it's the TRUTH, TERESA!", continues the chubby grey mouse, advancing upon his sister. "Our FATHER would NEVER have put YOU in charge...of ANYTHING! Mother is just DESPERATE, and, besides, it's TIMMY again! It's ALWAYS TIMMY! When TIMMY'S not in trouble... NOTHING'S HAPPENING around here!"

Teresa's eyes narrow threateningly.

"Martin, you SCOUNDREL! You SELFISH SCOUNDREL! How DARE you speak that way about Timmy?" Shoving at him tearfully, she narrows her eyes further. "I'M the one who hates YOU...more than YOU could EVER hate ANYBODY!"

Sinking to the ground, she shrinks into a ball, crying.

"You're WRONG about Father! You're WRONG!", she sobs. "If he were here, and he and Mother BOTH had to leave in order to save Timmy, he WOULD want me to wear Mother's cape, and to be in charge! He WOULD! I KNOW he would!"

Turning away, Martin returns to the little rock, punching at it, suddenly afraid to face his sister.

"Don't cry, Teresa!" Cynthia's small hand touches Teresa's back, and the older mouse sits up; pulling her little sister to her side, she kisses Cynthia's forehead.

"I'LL look out for you, Cynthia! I PROMISE!"

"W-what's wrong with MARTIN?", asks the sweet, dark-eyed mouse, her eyes filling with tears.

Teresa can't seem to glance more than once at her brother.

"He's just...UPSET at the moment, Cynthia. Once he's had SUPPER, he'll calm down."
8)

"You're right, Mrs. B. Absolutely right. Not one more peep out of me." Jeremy relents, but then he continues, "I'll be quiet as the grave. Quiet as one paw clapping. Why I'll..." he pauses then after a harsh glare from Rowan, "Right. Quiet." he whispers. He tips his head at the way the mouse clutches at Rowan and gestures to the sky, "We should uh... Fly around... And keep a look out." he comments.

Rowan looks to the mouse at that whisper, indeed blushing deeply as he glances back to the mouse, "Thank you, Mrs. Brisby. I..." he pauses for a lingering moment. What was the appropriate response to give to your friend's widow you cared about in such a way? Was there any? "That means a lot to me. I... care about you very much too." he states with an awkward official note to his tone, nodding his head once before he heads on his way towards the house with the mouse atop him, the two crows taking wing to watch for Dragon from above.

---------------------------------------------------------

While the crows find neither hide nor hair of the one-eyed feline titan, he is on the prowl, searching for an easy meal or at the very least a rousing chase.

The cyclopsean, scarred feline slinks through the grass nearer and nearer the Brisby home, ears perked to the sound of that chittering argument.

He licks his lips, salivating with anticipation for the meal to surely come!

Mrs. Brisby puts her hand to her cheek, sighing as Rowan makes his way towards the farmhouse.

"Thank you, Rowan," she says, almost to herself, taking in the sights, and the sounds of such a beautiful day! Looking towards the sky, she sees Jeremy and Tiffany teasing each other playfully as they fly overhead.

Suddenly, she realizes that the sun has almost completely set! Internal panic grips her, and her heartbeat quickens. As Rowan keeps racing towards the farmhouse, Elizabeth feels her chest tightening with fear; her breathing becomes more shallow, until she can no longer be at peace with the afternoon.

"Oh, PLEASE run faster, Rowan!", she begs. "I'm sorry, but-"

Even as he interrupts her with statements of reassurance, she feels a certain measure of fear for Timothy, and, strangely, she feels a sort of fear for her other children, too.

"I don't know WHY I am so afraid, Rowan, but..." Her tears come to her eyes once again, and she allows herself to cry, grasping the back of Rowan's vest tightly.

"I can't do this without the STONE!", she laments, full of fear, but when Rowan inquires about the stone, she says to herself, "I MUST do this, even WITHOUT the stone, for TIMMY'S sake!"

When Rowan questions her again about the stone, she sighs breathlessly.

"I COULD explain the story to you, but there's no TIME right now." She wipes her eyes with one hand, looking about.

"Besides, Rowan, you MUST have heard about my LAST...adventure. Surely SOMEONE in the field told you about...the STONE!"
--------------------------------------------------

"I'M HUNGRY, Teresa!", cries Cynthia, rolling away from her sister poutingly.

"Once DARKNESS falls, Cynthia...," says Teresa, trying to be patient.

"Well, I'M hungry, TOO, oh FAIR and REASONABLE SISTER!" scowls Martin, kicking at the small rock. "If I were in charge, we'd be eating right NOW, Cynthia!" Approaching his little sister, he kneels down in front of her.

"Oh, but LITTLE MISS RED CAPE is in charge, so we have to WAIT for-"

"Martin, PLEASE! I have had just about ENOUGH of you for one LIFETIME!" Teresa makes a fist at her brother.

"I SWEAR to you that if you say just ONE MORE DISAGREEABLE WORD, I will do anything that I HAVE to in order to make you QUIET!"

Lowering her head, which is full of the shame of her violent words, the pretty mouse pulls Cynthia into her lap.

Martin returns to his place on the rock.

"I STILL don't know why all of this had to HAPPEN today!", he grumbles sourly. "Our BROTHER was FINALLY well enough to PLAY, and then he had to go and get into TROUBLE, and now our MOTHER can't be with us, because SHE'S off chasing after TIMMY!" He makes a face.

"We can't even talk to the RACCOON now, because HE'S out there trying to find Timmy, TOO!"

"MARTIN!"

"I HATE our lives around here, Teresa, and I don't understand why YOU DON'T!"

As he turns away from his sisters, his slumped shoulders suddenly sadden Teresa. Tearfully, she approaches him, motioning for Cynthia to remain behind.

"Martin?", she begins, hoping that he won't have harsh words for her.

The grey mouse turns around, and he looks as though he's dried his eyes rather quickly.

"What?", he inquires flatly.

"You're VERY DEPRESSED, AREN'T you?", she asks, in a sort of self-assured, matter-of-fact way.

"No! I'm just..." The larger mouse wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Well, no KIDDING!", he finally agrees, accepting his sister's hug.

"I really...don't WANT you to be so sad, Martin, because even if you ARE a big pain..." She smirks at him, shaking her fist in his face.

"Oh, GO on, you SHE-RAT, you!"

"Alright, alright!", laughs Teresa. "Even if you're a pain...you ARE...one of us...a part of this FAMILY, and NONE of us should have to be sad."

"NONE of us!", echos Cynthia, smiling up from her belly-on-the-ground position of childlike silliness.

Teresa's initial laughter gives way to near-tearfulness.

"Oh, Martin," she sighs, leaning against the rock. "I wish with all my HEART that Father could be here with us!" Her wistful blue eyes shine as she looks into the dreary sky. "It DOESN'T always seem fair for me to have to take care of everything so much of the time!"

"YOU!?"

"Let me FINISH, Martin, PLEASE." Her serious tone keeps the chubby mouse from retorting.

"I don't always GET to have all of the fun that I'd LIKE to have, but I just do whichever tasks Mother NEEDS me to do, because certain tasks just NEED DOING!" She sighs. "I have to accept my role around here, because that's just the way things ARE for us!"

"If our FATHER hadn't died..." Martin kicks at the ground, almost growling with a frustration that can barely be expressed.

"If he weren't gone, YOU'D be a lot happier!" Teresa's tone is almost irreverently happy, wistful, capricious.

"I know you WOULD, Martin," she says softly. "He'd be out there in the field with you, and he'd be throwing little pebbles so far out that you'd BARELY be able to catch them, even at a sprinting run."

She laughs, her eyes gazing far away from reality.

"He'd INVENT things with TIMMY, and talk a lot about SCIENCE, but when he wanted to get into a good FOOD FIGHT, or maybe WRESTLE, or take a nice jog around the FIELD, he'd want to spend time with YOU, Martin, because YOU'RE the RASCAL around here!"

She musses his hair playfully.

"Oh, but he'd ALSO-"

"Well, I SUPPOSE that he'd put YOU in charge...," she says, half seriously snobbish, and half jokingly imperious.

"I guess that he'd make YOU the captain of...of the BEST food fight team in the house, and that he'd put YOU in charge of being a one-mouse GUARD team for us, and that he'd let YOU be the first to taste any CHEESE that he had found..."

Martin's face falls ever so slightly, even as he smiles uneasily.

"He would love you so much!", she whispers, hugging him. Looking at him, she sighs heavily.

"I can't lie to you about your being in CHARGE, CAN I?", she asks. "I really DON'T know WHICH SERIOUS task he'd put you in charge of, but I DO know that he'd put you in charge of SOMETHING, because you try SO much to be fearless...ALL of the time, AND because...you're just the ATTACK MOUSE IN THE HOUSE, now, AREN'T you?"

Tackling her brother, Teresa begins to tickle him mercilessly, and soon, even Cynthia is at it, tickling her brother's foot, until Martin begs them both to stop, pushing Teresa's shoulders away, and trying to avoid kicking Cynthia.

"I LOVE you, Martin!", whispers the grey mouse's sister, hugging him. "I don't LIKE it when you're sad."

"I'm gonna hate myself TOMORROW for SAYING it, but...I love you, TOO, Teresa."

As the two siblings share a hug, Cynthia gazes through the grass, peering with interest at the spaces between the blades.

"Big EYES!", she announces with wonder, and Teresa is the first to turn towards her, narrowing her own eyes in bewilderment.
8)

The setting sun feels more comfortable for Rowan. He's always felt more at home in the night, safer... Of course there was the threat of Dragon in the house as the sun sets.

Rowan nods his head gravely and continues on his way, doubling his already fast pace. He pants lightly as he moves along now at nothing short of a run. The raccoon had indeed heard some of the story of Mrs. Brisby's adventure before, but little of the rats or the stone, about which the mouse had sworn secrecy.

Through his rapid breath, Rowan offers his assurance, "You didn't have any help when you went to see the owl, or when you entered the farmer's house before. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Elizabeth. Braver. You can do this." He assures her between his breaths of exertion.

He doesn't speak further though, focusing on his run until he reaches the wooden fence that surrounds the Fitzgibbons' home and garden. By the time they arrive the sun has fully set, the sky above is cloudy and there's little light shining over the yard but for that filtering through the farmhouse's windows.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Big eyes stare back, one yellow and predatory, filled with a savage, murderous hunger with an alien and unfeeling slitted pupil. The other stares more blankly, a milky, sightless blue. Beneath those horrible eyes were long, glistening fangs are revealed beneath peeled back lips running with hungry drool. Hungry for mouse.

Teresa has little time to simply look before Dragon charges and the time for running and hiding comes.

Dragon charges through the group of children, swiping with his claws, snapping his jaws with lethally long and sharp fangs, massive maw capable of swallowing any of them whole. He tries to split the group up by barreling through their center, moving next to chase after any straggler cut off from the other two. The cat bellows a horrible roar more at home from some great, wild tiger than a mere house-cat... if one could call a cat of Dragon's size a 'mere house-cat.'

By the time that Elizabeth realizes that she HADN'T actually told many critters about the stone, it is far too late to discuss the matter, because she and Rowan are right next to the garden side of the Fitzgibbons' fence.

"THANK you, Rowan!", breathes Mrs. Brisby, suddenly kissing the top of the raccoon's head. Shivering nervously, feeling almost alone and vulnerable without her familiar cape, the widowed mouse climbs down from the raccoon's back, stepping into his outstretched paw on her way towards the grassy ground.

A loud crash sounds from behind, and Elizabeth nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around to see Jeremy and Tiffany tripping over each other at the end of their big, heroic landing.

"Oops, SORRY!" giggles the female crow, just before Rowan clamps her beak shut with his paw.

"Now, ROWAN!" reprimands Mrs. Brisby, walking towards the raccoon and the crow, but glaring at Jeremy alone.

"PLEASE, you two! Remember what TERESA said! We MUST rescue TIMOTHY!" Pausing, she sighs sadly. "This is about HIM, and NOT US!"

Looking at her exhausted friends, she stretches her arms out before her.

"Are we ALL willing to cooperate?" Her eyes beg for understanding and teamwork.

Jeremy mutters his cooperative pledge as his beak is released, and Tiffany lowers her head, looking surprisingly ashamed.

"I'LL do whatever you want ME to do, TOO, because...wherever HE goes, I go!" she declares, stifling a slight giggle.

"Alright!", says Mrs. Brisby. "THAT'S more like what I want to see!" Folding her arms across her chest, she sighs.

"Now, I'm THINKING that we should split up for a time, and that after a few minutes of searching, we should meet at a designated spot in the farmhouse."

Tiffany's feathers ruffle nervously.

"Split UP?", she squeals, staring at the mouse in total disbelief.

"YES!", insists Elizabeth. "You and Jeremy WILL see each other again, but we must EACH try to find Timothy, because he COULD be almost ANYWHERE! Nobody KNOWS exactly where he decided to go!"

Pointing towards Rowan, Mrs. Brisby announces that he will explore the attic. When Jeremy bravely claims that he will explore the kitchen, Elizabeth assigns him to the various rooms of the house. Tiffany is given the duty of exploring the outside perimeter of the place.

"I CANNOT have you risking your life TOO much while you're EXPECTING, Tiffany!" insists the mother of four. Then she smiles proudly, raising her nose ever so slightly.

"I'M going to search the kitchen!", she says.

They are ALL too involved with their determined thoughts to mentally register the nature of the distant screams and growls that they are barely hearing.
--------------------------------------------------

"RUN, Martin!", shrieks Teresa, throwing herself towards the house, swinging her hand out to push little Cynthia towards the door ahead of her.

The savage cat swipes again, throwing Cynthia into a spinning motion, so that her head hits the door with a thud! Martin and Teresa are nearly neck and neck, but even as Martin sprints ahead of his sister, panting madly, a wretchedly sharp claw slashes through his back, slicing through his shirt, and bloodying his skin with searing precision!

Screaming in anger and fear, Teresa whirls around, staring right into Dragon's eyes, before throwing the door aside and kicking first her brother, and then her baby sister, into the house. Even as she throws the door aside from behind her back so that SHE might get into the house, Martin races past her, panting and sweating in extreme pain. Teresa barely dodges Dragon as she ducks behind the door, peering around it at the great, fearsome outdoors.

"Martin, NO!", she screams, wide-eyed as she watches her brazen brother run right past Dragon.

"Come BACK, Martin!", she whines chokingly, dashing forward, and then running back to enter the house with a deafening scream, her heart racing at the prospect of the horrors that await her brother.

As she stares blankly at the unconscious Cynthia, her brother is the only one who remains on her mind.

"Auntie Shrew!", she whispers desperately, thinking about the shrew, and yet suddenly seeing her mother's brave face in her mind.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: I realize that I sort of changed Martin's fate, but I made certain to give him a way by which to meet up with Auntie Shrew, anyway. I hope that I didn't ruin the story.
8)

The raccoon blushes a bit at the kiss, but keeps moving until the group meets up once again, the larger creature stopping and standing up on his haunches, alert as he keeps an eye out for Dragon or the Fitzgibbons family while the group discusses strategy.

Rowan frowns with concern over the plan, not immediately questioning Mrs. Brisby, but he's reluctant to leave her side, "With so many of us in the house there's a good chance we'll be caught. Perhaps it would be better to let Jeremy and Tiffany check the windows first for any sign of Timothy on the inside. They can stay safe outside and if they can't spot him then we can go in to look." he suggests before adding, "You have your own children to think about too, Mrs. Brisby... I don't think it would be best for you to..." he trails off. He didn't want to stifle the mouse, but the worry is clear on his features as he looks down to her, already knowing she'd never agree to such terms.

Jeremy gives a nod of his head and opens his mouth to speak, but looks to the raccoon and decides better of it, instead looking to the house quietly and waiting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the mouse breaks from the group, Dragon gives chase, forgetting the two Brisby daughters and chasing after the eldest son. He pounces, missing the fleeing boy by mere inches and bellowing an roar of frustration before he finds his footing again, kicking up great clods of dirt as he turns to follow the mouse's evasive motion. All the while he snaps at the boy, barely missing the tip of his tail.

As Martin dives for safety under a thick branch, Dragon crashes through after, sending splinters of wood flying violently in all directions, claws swiping dangerously still.

It's then that a seemingly unlikely hero emerges. A familiar voice calls out loudly, "Stay away from him, you brute!" Auntie Shrew as always rolls her R, voice cultured even as she shouts, throwing her cane for Dragon's good eye. It strikes the beast, but only seems to distract him temporarily and anger him further, roaring a beastial howl before charging blindly for the two, Auntie Shrew grasps at Martin's shirt to tug him out of the way of the furious charge, "What are you doing, child?! Run!" She shouts, racing to safety with the boy in tow.

Something inside of the mother mouse instantly warms at the thought of Rowan's mate-like kindness, and she smiles, in spite of her in-the-moment fear.

"Well," she begins, softening, "if you REALLY think that we can search the house alone...just as long as it's TRULY the fastest way to find Timmy!" She gives the raccoon a serious look.

"So, Jeremy and I will just search from the WINDOWS, RIGHT?" Giving a brief glance to Mrs. Brisby, Tiffany looks up at her mate, her eyes glazing over playfully.

"BEHAVE yourselves...BOTH of you!" The mouse sighs, her eyes widening with exasperation. "You will watch from the WINDOWS for signs of TIMMY! You'll NOT be...looking at EACH OTHER! UNDERSTAND?" Her hands upon her hips, she glares at the canoodling crows, waiting for a speedy answer.
------------------------------------------------------

Upon the very instant during which the shrew and the mouse throw themselves behind a tall boulder, Martin winces, staggering slightly.

When the shrew asks him if he's alright, he plasters a tough look on his paling face, scowling for good measure.

"I'M alright, Auntie Shrew!", he says swaggeringly. "That stupid cat will never conquer ME!"

Striding through his pain, Martin approaches Auntie Shrew, giving her a hug. It is only when her paw touches his back that she realizes that the middle of his shirt is soaked with blood.
---------------------------------------------

Teresa pushes the pan aside, peering out into the near-darkness. Seeing the ears of Dragon, she gasps, shrinking back into the Brisby house.

"I CAN'T!", she cries, sinking down onto the stairs. "I just CAN'T go looking for you...not NOW...not yet!" Curling into herself, she cries, nearly shivering with fear and desperation.

"Oh, Auntie Shrew, where ARE you when we need you so much?", she sobs into Mrs. Brisby's red cape, barely able to think of Cynthia.
8)

"It may be a bit slower, but it will be safest for all of us." Rowan replies, "We can't do any good for Timmy if we're caught and locked away or worse." He adds, looking next to Jeremy.

The crow salutes with a wing, "Don't worry, Mrs. Bris. We'll check the windows in no time. No fooling around!" He peers over at Tiffany next and tries to stifle a grin before he spreads out his wings to fly, "We'll be back before you know it! And don't you worry, we'll get Timmy home before dinner! Isn't that right, Row?" He questions, patting Rowan on the back with a wing.

"Rowan." The raccoon corrects again.

Jeremy spreads his wings and takes to the air in a most ungainly fashion, legs scrambling and wings flapping clumbsily. Once in the air he circles the house, peering into any windows for signs of humans or of where Timothy might be held.

Rowan in the meanwhile stands his ground beside Mrs. Brisby and glances down to her, slowly and carefully touching a paw to her back to comfort the mouse as they wait for the crows' return.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"You most certainly are not alright. If I hadn't come along he'd have made a meal of you... Oh you poor dear... You're practically cut to ribbons." Auntie Shrew replies after returning that hug, quickly moving to turn the boy about and inspect his wounds. "What would your mother say? Out here all by yourself. Well come along, dear. Let's get you mended." She offers in an uncharacteristically caring voice, moving to touch a paw to the boy's shoulders and guide him towards her home nearer the garden.

"Your mother really must do a better job looking after you. Consorting with raccoons, wandering off into the fields up to who knows what. That ruffian is a bad influence. You should have seen the way he was looming at your door. He nearly scared the life out of your poor auntie." The shrew rants as she leads Martin along, waving her other paw expressively as she speaks.

Something deep within the field mouse warms again, and, before Rowan can say another word, Elizabeth turns around to take hold of his paw, giving him such a blue-eyed look of bold tenderness that he scoops her up, carrying her towards his chest.

Once she's there, right next to him, she snuggles into his fur, so burried in warmth, and in the moment, that she gives no thought to what Johnathan would think of her feelings for the raccoon.

"I wish that I could thank you a thousand TIMES for what you're doing for me," she murmurs, her voice partially muffled by Rowan's fur, "but I don't think that I'd EVER be able to thank you ENOUGH!"

Looking up at him, she blushes deeply through her fur at her own loaded words of gratitude, and at the boldness with which she spoke them.

Looking down with sudden shyness, she sighs.

"I really DO appreciate you, Rowan!", she states, staring up into his eyes. "I SINCERELY do!"

Turning back around, she seats herself in his upturned paw, trying to be modest and calm, but feeling far too many jumbled shades of fear, sorrow, desire, and worry to be the TRUE picture of ladylike calmness.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

"No, WAIT!", protests Martin, even though he's fighting to avoid falling into a swoon. "We CAN'T leave our house! CYNTHIA was thrown against the DOOR, and she's UNCONSCIOUS!"

The shrew stops in her tracks, placing her hands on her hips, questioning the news that Martin has just told her.

"I'm SURE, Auntie Shrew!", he pants.

Only after she grabs his hand again does he think to say, with a crossness that defies vertigo, "Oh, and about our MOTHER! She DOES look after us, but TIMMY is in the FARMHOUSE, so she's out looking for HIM tonight!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Teresa forces herself to sit up again, despite her tears. Gasping, she tries to listen for any signs of movement from Cynthia, but she hears nary a sound.

"Oh, CYNTHIA, PLEASE!", she sobs, racing back down the stairs to crouch beside her sister.

"PLEASE wake up, Cynthia! PLEASE! For ME!" Holding her baby sister's head upon her lap, Teresa wraps the tattered ends of the red cape around the tiny mouse as best she can.

"What am I supposed to DO for you, little sister? I don't know what to DO!" Looking desperately around the room, she suddenly remembers Timmy's bed!

Struggling, she carries the unconscious little mouse into Mrs. Brisby's room, setting her down only once, so that she can pull back the covers of Timmy's bed.

Placing Cynthia into the bed, she draws the covers up around her neck, whispering, "I'LL take care of you as best I CAN, Cynthia! I'll think QUICKLY, so that I can do SOMETHING for you!"

She retreats tremblingly back to the kitchen area, forcing herself to think about what should be done.

Looking about, she tries to reason out a scenario that will benefit Cynthia. She knows that the child might need water, but she soon realizes that she shouldn't force water down the throat of an unconscious child. She thinks about wet compresses, food, the removal of clothing, and so forth, and finally, she fetches a small dishcloth of her mother's, wetting, and wringing it sufficiently enough to make it usable as a compress.

Tiptoeing into the bedroom, she approaches Cynthia. Carefully, she places the cool water compress upon her sister's forehead, silently praying for a sign of consciousness from Cynthia's pale form.

If only Mother were here! We need to find a DOCTOR!, she thinks desperately. Suddenly, her own words inspire one thought: MR. AGES!
8)

Rowan gives the mouse a gentle squeeze, nodding down to her and smiling very lightly. His expression looks a bit awkward, but he seems to enjoy the embrace just the same.

"It's nothing, Elizabeth. I'm sure any friend would do the same." He offers quietly but dismissively, his paw brushing lightly along the mouse's back.

He finds himself meeting the mouse's eyes for that moment when she looks up. He nods lightly, "Thank you." he offers quietly next, his gaze shifting to one side soon, a blush warming his cheeks beneath his fur. He clears his throat lightly then, coming to take a seat beside the mouse as the pair wait for the crows' return.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Auntie Shrew continues to lead the way back to her home, hauling the mouse along after her, "Dragon is still out there. We must get somewhere safe, then we will see to your sister... The poor dear. First we must get you mended. Teresa is a clever girl. She'll know just what to do." The shrew offers, frowning worriedly. She is concerned in spite her confidence, but going back to the Brisby home would put them both at risk for Dragon. She needed to wait until the evil cat returned home for his dinner.

Soon enough in spite Martin's struggles the pair reach the shrew's home, a burrow dug deep into the farmer's field, nearer the garden, beside a large rock, the hole dug beneath it for protection from predators that might try to dig the shrew out. She hurries Martin down the hole and into the darkness waiting beyond.

---------------------------------------------------------

It's a short time later that Mrs. Brisby and Rowan see the front door of the Fitzgibbons' home open, casting a beam of light across the darkened yard. Though they're unable to see the inside of the house from where they stand, Rowan and Mrs. Brisby can see the silhouette of Mrs. Fitzgibbons at the door, lifting a hand to her mouth. She calls out loudly then, "Dragon! Dragon you lazy old cat, it's dinner time!"

Elsewhere in the field Dragon perks his ears and lifts his head, he turns and begins quickly padding back towards the house, crashing through the grass as he goes. The threat to the children was gone for now.

liIgnore this post, thank youli

Hello, Alucard5200,

Well, alright, but if you'd like to join the RP Scenario, just tell me which character you'd like to be, and I'll let you join SentinelMoonfang and me. I wouldn't even mind giving you a character like Teresa, Martin, or Cynthia. I know hat I've been writing for them, but I honestly wouldn't mind your being one of them.
8)

liIgnore this post, thank youli

As Rowan sets Mrs. Brisby down, his paw brushes against her, and she closes her eyes, nearly loosing her balance, what with all that she's feeling.

That supportive paw is at her back again, steadying her, and she suddenly sighs rather loudly.

"Oh, how I wish that my life didn't feel so...COLD...these days," she says, her words once again loaded with more than one meaning.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rowan's back paw twitch ever so slightly.

"I...I mean, I wish that I didn't feel so cold...TODAY!", she corrects herself quickly, blushing through her fur.

Turning to face the raccoon, she realizes that she can never hide her true thoughts from him.

"Oh, ALRIGHT!", she sighs. "I can't HELP myself! I sometimes think about how my life USED to be...just me, and...johnathan, and, of course, the children, and...and then how...how COZY it was...when just the TWO of us were together, and..." Looking up into his eyes, her gaze melts, revealing an intense loneliness and an extremely warm fire.

"How much you remind me of him, and of the past, and..." Just as she's becoming intoxicatedly dreamy, she lowers her head; her tears begin to fall, and she turns away from he raccoon.
-----------------------------------------------

"No, WAIT!", exclaims Martin loudly, even as he faints upon reaching the burrow's sturdy floor.

Gasping, the shrew flies to his side. Lifting his arms carefully, the kind creature removes his shirt; since he is already laying on his abdomen, she carefully examines his back.

No muscles or bones are exposed, but Martin has clearly been ripped into fairly significantly, as his outer layer of flesh is severely torn.

Frowning, Auntie Shrew wonders aloud at how Martin was able to retain his consciousness for so long.

Sighing, she stands, preparing to fetch the necessary supplies for an emergency session in first aid nursing.
-------------------------------------------
Just as Dragon enters the house, Beth Fitzgibbons scolds him aloud, slamming the door shut with exasperation.

"Oh, thank GOODNESS!", sighs Mrs. Brisby, crying lightly, and yet very nearly laughing with relief.

Just as Rowan is about to bend down to hug the mother mouse, a noisy, crude flapping of licorice wings upsets the gratefully poignent moment.

Screaming, Mrs. Brisby dives for cover behind Rowan's bent knee. When her scream is answered with a giggle, she darts out from behind her hiding place; placing her hands on her hips, she glares right at Tiffany.

"Will YOU be QUIET, PLEASE? YOU scared me nearly to DEATH!"

"Oh, GOSH, Mrs. B. I'M sorry!" The female crow flutters her eyelashes frivolously, but her tone bears some attitudinal weight this time.

"WE were just doing what you'd ASKED us to do!", she continues, placing one wing over Jeremy's back protectively.

"Well, THANK you," begins Mrs. Brisby, attempting to lose her frown. "Only PLEASE try to be more quiet, because you MUST remember that we're STILL on a VERY SERIOUS MISSION!" Turning towards Rowan, she rolls her eyes, sighing.

"Well, don't you want to know what we SAW, Mrs. B.?", inquires Tiffany, that sassy attitude still present within her voice.

Taking a deep breath, the field mouse turns to face the crows.
-----------------------------------------------
"Mr. Ages!", exclaims Teresa aloud. "I'll have to...go FIND him!" Her hopeful expression melts away, and she sinks to the floor again, crying loudly.

"No! No!", she admonishes herself through her tears. "DON'T CRY, Teresa! Not NOW! You CAN'T!" Sitting, she forces herself to stop crying, to think again about Mr. Ages, and about how she is going to find him.

Kissing Cynthia's cheek, she leaves the room, racing towards the front door. As she pushes it aside, she peers into the darkness, and when she sees no sign of Dragon, she fetches a candle, lights it, and sets out into the night, her mother's cape about her shoulders.
8)

Hello, Alucard5200,

Well, alright, but if you'd like to join the RP Scenario, just tell me which character you'd like to be, and I'll let you join SentinelMoonfang and me. I wouldn't even mind giving you a character like Teresa, Martin, or Cynthia. I know hat I've been writing for them, but I honestly wouldn't mind your being one of them.
8)

Actually I would like to join.

Don't know if I'll be playing any feature characters. Perhaps Jeremy or Brutus.

I will be resurrecting my old original character A mouse named Hector Schumann, his character profile can be found here http//www.thornvalley.com/commons/forum/viewtopic.php?t=635

((Hey there. You're welcome to snag Jeremy from me. We were planning on visiting Thorn Valley as well at some point, at which time you could certainly play Brutus. As for your original character, if Teresa is taking Cynthia to Mr. Ages, they can meet him on the way))

Rowan opens his muzzle to speak as Mrs. Brisby admits her feelings of loneliness and despair. He frowns lightly, watching the mouse as he tries carefully to choose his words. Then as the mouse corrects herself, he pauses and shuts his mouth, glancing downwards, he pauses for a lingering moment. The raccoon then tugs his vest from his body and leans down to settle it around the mouse's shoulders. He nods knowingly, but he doesn't press the mouse to speak any further.

As she continues, Rowan frowns concernedly. After the mouse has turned away the raccoon begins to speak again, laying a paw upon the mouse's shoulder, "Mrs. Brisby... I..." He begins to offer with a certain uncharacteristic timidness to his voice.

And that's when Dragon dashes into the house and the door is slammed shut behind.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deep in the bowels of the rusted hay bailer, Mr. Ages works late into the night, muttering quietly to himself as he mixes vials of bubbling chemicals together, jotting down the results of the experiment on a piece of parchment beside him.

The old mouse sighs a bit in disappointment, rubbing at his eyes before he turns to jot down his findings in a note to Thorn Valley. He rolls the parchment into a small scroll. He would send it via dragonfly in the morning.

"Well then..." He mutters to himself, making his way to his living area to relax for the evening, moving aside a heavy jumble of notes, equipment and a few insects from his path as he pads along, blissfully ignorant to the situation developing elsewhere on the farm.

"Please tell me everything you know!", says the field mouse, staring at both crows with serious urgency.

"Well, since you FINALLY showed an INTEREST...," begins Tiffany, before Jeremy nudges her with his wing, urging her tone to soften, "We didn't see ANYTHING that looked suspicious, DID we, Baby?" Looking at her mate, Tiffany smiles flirtatiously.

"Jeremy. Are you SURE?" Mrs. Brisby's eyes are wide with a mild sort of fear.
----------------------------------------------

Auntie Shrew lifts Martin, all some-odd pounds of the chubby mouse, into a small, metal soap dish bathtub, and she emerses his back in soapy, warm water, cleaning out his wound with a scrap of cloth. Her whispered apology is slightly tearful, and she makes certain that Martin's chin still rests securely against the edge of the tub, so that his face is not in the water.

After Martin has been washed, rinsed, and completely dried off, Auntie Shrew places him, face-down, on her bed; fetching a tiny needle and some thread, she wonders if he'll need stitching back up, and then, she suddenly questions herself, whispering something about REALLY needing a doctor in a case like this.

Hurriedly wrapping the young mouse in some fresh sheets, she leaves her house in the darkness, balancing Martin in both of her arms; she and Martin MUST see Mr. Ages, and since she knows where he lives, she won't take "No!" for an answer!
----------------------------------------------------------

Teresa pads softly along, looking this way and that for signs of Mr. Ages' office. If only Mother had ever told us where he WAS!, she thinks, desperately straining her eyes in frustration, despite the candle.

Forcing herself to stop thinking about Cynthia, she whispers "Cynthia will be alright!"
---------------------------------------------------------

The pale, young mouse's eyelids move rapidly, and, several seconds later, her eyes open completely, to see a world of cotton-candy soft objects. Her ears take in a romantic melody, as it swirls along the wavelengths of blissful insanity, en route to her mind.

Reaching out, Cynthia touches the air, but she sees and feels her mother's cape, and she begs aloud for tasty, spiced morsels that she cannot hope to taste.

"Oh, Mama, you're HOME again!", she cries sweetly. "I KNEW you'd be back soon! Teresa and MARTIN are so MEAN! THEY said you'd NEVER come home again, but you DID!" Giggling, she rolls onto her back, absentmindedly hitting her head upon the floor.

"I want COOKIES!", she cries, wailing with pain, hunger, and euphoric selfishness, unaware of everything except the mirage that dances before her.
:idea:

((I'm going to hold off posting for Jeremy and allow Alucard to do so in his next.))

Rowan stands beside the mouse, his expression once more hardening from it's earlier shy and boyish look. He regards the two crows and waits patiently for a reply.

"Nothing... Where were the humans? Are the little ones in their beds yet? Has Dragon settled in for the night? Even if you didn't see Timothy, every detail is important." Rowan informs them, frowning a bit at their seeming inability to take so dire a situation seriously.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Heavy little rascal." Auntie shrew complains to herself, as she waddles through the field, with the boy awkwardly hoisted into her arms, "I hope you're thankful for this when you come to. Why I do so much for you I'll probably never know." She complains further, shaking her head. Of course she certainly knows, in spite her bellyaching she cares deeply for the Brisby family, even those who don't exactly care for her much. "Ages will know just what to do with you, lad... then we will see to your poor sister." She adds, worriedly glancing towards the Brisby home's direction.

Auntie Shrew squints lightly as she sees some shadows moving beyond the thick and tall grass nearby. She hurries to catch up, the bow and dress painting a familiar silhouette even in the dark. "Teresa? Teresa is that you?" She calls out to the young mouse searching frantically for Mr. Ages' home.

The crows look at one another, shaking their heads, as if to say, "Don't blame US! WE know NOTHING!"

Mrs. Brisby feels her chest tightening in fear, and she approaches Jeremy, her hands clasped desperately.

"Oh, PLEASE, Jeremy! If you know ANYTHING...the SLIGHTEST DETAIL...if...if you...OR Tiffany noticed ANYTHING unusual, suspicious, or...Oh, WHAT am I going to DO?" Lowering her head, she cries wearily, so out of energy that she actually takes comfort in the wings that surround her protectively.
------------------------------------------------

"Who's THERE?"

Freezing, Teresa Brisby clasps the candle in one hand, and she grabs the cape in the other, glaring defensively into the night at nothing.

As Auntie Shrew identifies herself, and her image becomes more clear to the young mouse, Teresa ignores the darkness, and she runs at the shrew, crying with frustration and relief as she buries her nose in the bundle that her new protector carries, trying desperately to keep her candle out of the way of the shrew.

The shrew cannot hug Teresa, but Teresa sets her candle upon the ground, wrapping Auntie Shrew in a hug as best she can.

"Cynthia...CYNTHIA...!", she gasps, looking up at Auntie Shrew with wide eyes, gulping in an attempt to control her sobbing.

When the shrew questions her about what's going on, she tries to catch her breath.

"Cynthia is UNCONSCIOUS, and...I HAVE to find Mr. AGES...NOW, because I don't know what to do for my sister, and..."

For the first time, Teresa notices the very end of a grey tail as it peeks out from the bundle that Auntie Shrew carries. Narrowing her eyes fearfully, the young mouse breathes quickly, but then, she looks up at Auntie Shrew.

"What...what's in your ARMS, Auntie Shrew?", she dares to ask, backing away, uncomfortable with what the truth might turn out to be, and slightly afraid of her neighbor and the suspicious-looking bundle.
-----------------------------------------------

Sitting up, Cynthia sees Mrs. Brisby, her hands full of delicious, spiced cookies, her red cape falling around her gracefully, her face framed by haze-edged, pastel objects.

"Oooh, MOTHER!", she breathes, entranced beyond everything. "You've brought me COOKIES...just for ME! My FAVORITE FLAVOR, TOO!" Reaching out, she grabs a bunch of air with both hands, greedily eating it, actually putting the fingertips of one hand into her mouth as she tastes the nonexistent sweetness, the spicy tang of ginger and cinnamon and nutmeg!

"LICIOUS!", she mispronounces, licking her fingers, looking down at the imaginary cookies that she's just dropped onto the floor. Picking each one up delicately, she asks the mirage of her mother if she should still eat them, smiling when her ears hear the air give its permission to her.

"Mother?", inquires the injured little creature, tilting her head to one side charmingly. "Can I go play OUTSIDE today? It's so SUNNY and WARM!"

After a few seconds, Cynthia jumps up, bouncing so much that her pretty green bow flops about merrily.

"HOORAY! HOORAY!", she shouts, leaping for joy. "I LOVE playing with the SUNSHINE!" Stuffing the other cookies into her mouth, she wipes each hand on the other, and, skipping deliriously, she makes her way towards the door. As soon as she's pushed it aside, with much effort, she dashes out into the night, unaware that her sunshiny day is darkness for the rest of the world!
8)

Rowan frowns and seems to consider the options, looking to the house quietly, ears laying briefly back with concern.

Jeremy on the other hand waves a wing, "We didn't see anything. The blinds were closed and uh... there were people inside but they were all moving around." He makes a walking gesture with a pair of finger-like feathers,

Rowan takes a deep breath and nods his head once, "Then we'll have to go inside to look. Dragon will be sleeping in the kitchen. If we wait a while the farmer's family will be asleep too. It will be much safer to look for Timothy then. There's no commotion, and that probably means they haven't found him yet." he suggests. "Unless there's an emergency, we'll wait for them to sleep, then stick to the plan. I'll take the top floor from the attic and you take the lower floor." Rowan offers.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Cynthia unconscious? Of course, my child. Follow me. I'm headed to Mr. Ages as well." Auntie Shrew replies before looking down to the bundle in her arms.

"It's Martin, Teresa dear. I'm taking him to Ages as well. He's going to be fine, but he's very tired and resting. Follow me, child and put out that candle, who knows what kind of beasts are about looking for young mice to eat!" Warns the old shrew as she gestures and continues to lead the way to the machine, which in a few moments can be seen above the tops of the blades of grass in the blue moonlight filtering down from the clear sky above.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Fat and happy after his meal, Dragon lays his head down upon the linoleum floor of the kitchen, shutting his good eye, while his sightless milky one simply lids lazily.

The Fitzgibbons family files one by one from the kitchen after their meal, Mrs. Fitzgibbons staying put for the time being to see to the dishes, unaware entirely of the mouse trapped within Billy's room, or the band of creatures outside making a plot to save him.

Unbeknownist to The Shrew and Teresa. A young mouse soon was watching them from the shadows. His head was obscured by a hood. Then, after following them for a few minutes. He makes his presence known.

"Halt!" The mouse yelled as he came into view, he held in his hand a pointed stone that could have very well subsituted as a dagger.

The mother mouse looks up at Rowan, feeling slightly, and unusually fearful...for both herself and the raccoon.

"I'm...afraid I..I don't UNDERSTAND...," she says, lowering her head and blushing through her fur, "but WHO will take the lower floor?" She sighs, weary and anxious, and the paw that Rowan places upon her shoulder somehow makes her feel warm, safe, and...loved.
-------------------------------------------

Teresa barely has time to blow the candle out as Auntie Shrew grabs her hand tightly, and before she can take but one breath, she is traveling over tiny stones, through tall grasses, past boulders; throughout the journey, she still shrinks with fear at Auntie Shrew's previously shadowy stance, wishing all of the time that the shrew had actually SHOWN her the face of her brother, so that she might have known that he truly WAS her brother!

"Auntie Shrew?" she pants breathlessly, wondering if she should back away from asking her question.

The shrew doesn't seem to hear her, and when she does answer the young mouse, her words are harsh. Auntie Shrew runs on, Teresa fairly flying behind her, until the shrew very nearly runs right into a strange mouse who stands in her path.

The indignant shrew gasps so loudly that Teresa screams, but the younger mouse has no chance to cover her mouth, because Auntie Shrew bumps into her, sending her backward into the grass with a rough tumble.

Screaming again, Teresa deliberately rolls onto her side, reaching for her head, which has already hit the ground. When she sits up, whining from the new pain that's throbbing inside of her head, she wonders if she's really seeing a strange mouse from behind Auntie Shrew, or if she's lost her mind.
------------------------------------------

Holding her arms out at her sides, Cynthia spins and spins, until she is dizzy from the playful activity.

"Look at me SPIN, Mother!", she squeals, sitting down awkwardly, a silly smile upon her face. Reaching out, she touches a painted, hazy butterfly, and with her other hand, she picks a flower that's not really there.

"I touched a BUTTERFLY, Mother! At LAST!" Giggling, she closes her eyes in an almost embarrassed way, before bragging, "I never did that BEFORE!"

When she rises from her sitting position, she twirls again, before racing ahead with absolutely no caution. She runs and runs, as though her life depends upon the speed of her feet, and yet, she's not afraid of either man or beast.

On several occasions, she trips, but she blames each misstep upon her brother, crying, "Martin TRIPPED me, Mother! HE'S a BAD BOY!". When she trips for the third time, landing on her face after catching her foot on a tangled weed, she half-screams, scowling, "Martin needs a SPANKING, Mother!" Kicking her feet, and pounding her fists upon the cold ground, she cries and cries, finally declaring "I'LL spank him NEXT time!", and ordering her big brother to leave her alone.

As she brushes the dust from herself, she pouts prettily, holding one hand up, so that her sunny, hazy mother might take hold of it. Grinning up at nothing, as though she's caught the last bit of cheese, the little mouse says, "I'll walk with YOU, Mother! THEN Martin CAN'T be mean!"

Skipping along, she has no idea how cold her fur is becoming, or how hungry she really is.
8)

"It would have to be you, Elizabeth." Rowan explains grimly, "I'd volunteer to look through the whole house by myself, but I can't move as quietly as you can. I would wake Dragon." The raccoon states. He frowns then as he looks to the house, "If something goes wrong, I will be right upstairs and I can distract Dragon or the farmer long enough for you to escape." He assures her, his voice hushed but confident even in the promise he makes, fully aware of the consequences it might have.

The raccoon looks to the house, noting quietly the lights downstairs falling dead one at a time, shrouding the lower floor in darkness. The time to act would be very soon.

Rowan takes a deep breath and looks down to the mouse, "I know you can do it." He assures her, voice gentle.

"Be brave."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Auntie Shrew gawks at the new mouse for a moment, gasping indeed and nearly dropping Martin. The scrappy old shrew then lifts her cane, though as though ready to defend the two mice from the other, even as she peers on with wide eyes.

"You very nearly frightened me and these children to death! Just who do you think you are creeping up on us like that?!" The shrew demands angrily, waving her cane as she glares hatefully.

"Telling me to halt and waving weapons at me in my garden. The very nerve!" Mutters the shrew.

"Just hand over your valuebles and nobodys gets..." The mosue said but trailed off when he realized who he was speaking to.

"...Hurt. Oh no." he said, his voice taking on a frightened tone. He lowered this makeshift weapon.

Mrs. Brisby gasps, and a flood of new feelings fill her entire being. She wants to scream, but her throat feels dry. She stares at her new hero with wide eyes, but she's frozen, and she cannot slap him for having such nerve as to not offer to search the house with her. Her mouth is open, but she cannot even speak, and, as she looks at the cold ground, she feels her pulse quicken to the point of discomfort.

"Brave!", she barely whispers, not even feeling Rowan's paw anymore, but filled with a fear that even she doesn't understand.
------------------------------------------

Teresa blinks as she stares at the strange mouse.

"Am I DREAMING, Auntie Shrew?", she asks, and even through the shrew's shushing, she muses, "If I'm AWAKE, then who ARE you, and why haven't I ever seen you BEFORE?"
-------------------------------------------

Cynthia Brisby's starved, fuzzy-minded daze carries her farther and farther from her home. Twirling, skipping, running, she wanders on a now completely empty stomach, never even bothering to search for seeds or grains that she might munch upon.

"Where's Timmy, Mother?", she questions lazily, looking up at a tall flower in the dark night.

Skipping merrily, she tilts her head in a playful gesture.

"Oooh! He's HIDING! I'm gonna FIND him, Mother, and then...HE'S gonna have to find ME, and I'M gonna pick a REALLY good hiding place, Mother!"

Dashing ahead, she whispers, almost eerily, "I'm gonna FIND you, Timmy! You can't hide FOREVER in that grass!" Running, and running, and running on empty, Cynthia grabs the grass along her mad path, creasing it with her hands, swinging past certain green blades, trying to touch the grass at higher and higher levels.

Finally, she stops suddenly, crouching down to peer among the very bottoms of the grassy stocks, narrowing her eyes seriously.

"I'm gonna FIND you, Timmy, so if you're HERE, you'd better find a better place to HIDE!" Trying to stifle a giggle, the young, light-colored mouse places her hands behind her back; adjusting her bow playfully, she sighs.

"I'm getting tired of WAITING, Timmy!", she hollers. "Either STOP hiding, or I'm gonna FIND you!" Standing again, she runs as quickly as she can, unaware that she's not far from the fuzzy crash of starvation.

Through a sunny world she runs, faster and faster, although each second takes her farther away from the sunshine. More recklessly she pads through the grass, hurling herself farther and farther into a lost world, never allowing assorted roots to slow her down too much.

In the distance, somebody calls out, but, instead of a voice, Cynthia Brisby hears a bird chirping.

"Pretty! Oh, LISTEN, Mother!", she chirps back, looking at her mother through the eye-level air.

"I'm gonna find the WORLD, Mother!", she shouts, sprinting ahead with such gracelessness that she nearly falls. Staring up at the sun, she runs and flies at such a speed that when she crumples to the ground, she is still looking upward, whispering, "What pretty SUNSHINE, Mother! ISN'T it PRETTY?"

Grasping Teresa's skirt, Cynthia looks up at her sister, her eyes wild and carefree.

"I want another COOKIE, Mother!", she orders, smirking with a giggle.

As the older mouse child scoops the limp little mouse up into her arms, Cynthia kisses her cheek.

"I LOVE you, Mother!", she whispers, snuggling against the shocked, older mouse.
----------------------------------------------------
8)

"Because, I've been keeping out of sight in case that cat comes prowling around, hungry for the flesh of young mice and grumpy old shrews." the mouse said. He figured that bringing up Dragon would frighten Teresa and the Shrew.

Of course he'd offered to take the upstairs, but Rowan was far too noisy to move across the linoleum kitchen floor. It was a job for delicate mouse paws. There was no doubt. Rowan looks down to the mouse still until she whispers that word and the raccoon spots the determination in those blue eyes. "If you don't find him downstairs hurry back outside. We'll meet here." He explains.

The raccoon then moves to the side of the house and begins to climb, pausing a few feet into the air and looking over his shoulder, pausing as if to say something further to the mouse, but whatever he meant to say, he silences it and continues his way up the siding towards the roof of the house and the small gap into the attic.

Once again the mouse is alone, just outside the house, near the familiar hole in the lattice beneath the front porch and the hole beyond into the kitchen.

----------------------------------------------------------

Auntie Shrew lets out an offended gasp and shakes her head at the new mouse, "You hush this instant. You'll frighten the children carrying on like that, you little rapscallion." She complains, waving her cane, "Now if you'll excuse us, we are on our way to see Mr. Ages. We've very important business with him and haven't the time for thieves, muggers and highwaymen." She states, "Good evening." She adds with an indignant huff, lifting her chin and shaking her head as she continues on her way, "Come along, Teresa darling. We're almost there."

"Hmph, indeed" The mouse, named Hector Schumann, muttered. After all it wasn't like mugging the mice and the shrew would amount to anything.


For Hector, life as a thief was all he had after the death of his parents and his loss of a home. Life in the field was hard and Dragon made it worse. The young mouse then left the area.

Mrs. Brisby stares at the ascending Rowan for more than a moment, giving a smile, but shivering from more than just the cold night air. Finally, she looks about her quickly, and then, she looks at the damaged lattice, wondering how she's going to crawl up into the kitchen all by herself. She only made the journey through the kitchen on one other occasion during her entire life, and she remembers how successfully THAT little excursion progressed.

Even so, she closes her eyes, and she walks towards the lattice, forcing herself to believe that all will be well.
-----------------------------------------

Teresa laughs at Auntie Shrew's tirade, but when the shrew suggests that their party hurry off to see Mr. Ages, the young mouse stops short.

"Um...Auntie Shrew...", she begins, her smile fading quickly. "What's wrong with Cynthia?"

The shrew turns about, scolding Teresa harshly, ordering her to come along, and even threatening to discipline her if she does not hurry; through it all, the determined Teresa stands still, allowing the wind to whip her dress softly, allowing the cold to cause her to shiver.

"PLEASE, Auntie Shrew!", she argues, her eyes nearly tearful. "Just...just LISTEN to her for a minute! She's..." The young mouse struggles, sighing and attempting to give a diagnosis to a condition that she doesn't even understand.

"She's CRAZY, Auntie Shrew! I MEAN it! She doesn't make one bit of SENSE!"

Stopping mid-sentence, the shrew turns about; kneeling down to face Cynthia, she gives a presumptuous, "Go away already!" glare to Hector, and then, she shifts her gaze to Cynthia.

When Hector asks if the party will need to be escorted somewhere, for their own protection, the shrew only growls at him. Turning back to Cynthia, she asks the child how she feels.

Sighing, Cynthia says, "I'm HUNGRY right NOW! I want...COOKIES!" Scrunching her face up adorably, the tiny mouse giggles, and Auntie Shrew demands to know what's so strange about THAT statement.

"She's...her MIND is gone, Auntie Shrew!", replies Teresa, grabbing her sister's hand. The shrew grabs Cynthia's other hand, yanking her away from Teresa, claiming that SHE knows sanity from insanity, and that SHE will carry Cynthia.

Picking the child up, Auntie Shrew places her on top of the bundle that is Martin, and she pushes on towards the home of Mr. Ages.

"I...I HATE you!", mutters Teresa, kicking at the ground with every other step, grabbing her dress furiously, wishing that her mother, or somebody, would put an end to this infuriating madness!

She doesn't even bother to see weather or not Hector is with them, but when she feels his hand upon her arm, she gives him a silent look, and a nod, and she attempts to smile, even though she'd really just like to kick something.
8)

(OOC Mrs. Brisby, I know enough about RPs to know that you shouldn't take control of other member's characters. Just letting you know.)


"Fine, I have better things to do than waste my time with you two" Hector muttered silently, soon he was gone.

The underside of the porch is much the same as she remembered it, loose, dry dirt shifts lightly beneath her paws as she scurries in. Refuse litters the ground here and there, culminating in a pile the rats crafted to use as a ladder that one might use to ascend into the kitchen. Above the hole in the kitchen floor glows lightly, casting a beam of blue moonlight down over the pile. Above, nothing can be heard, but for the slow, rhythmic breathing of the resting feline sleeping beside his bowl.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Rowan finds the attic quickly, clambering through the hole beside one of the beams supporting the house's roof. It's a tight fit, but he squeezes through easily enough, wriggling and struggling his way in. Once inside he falls upon the top of a cardboard box, flopping someone noisily on it. The scene surrounding him is far more dark, with almost no light at all filtering into the secluded and forgotten room.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Pulling Cynthia along, Auntie shrew shakes her head dismissively, "That it might be, but Mr. Ages will know just what to do with her." The shrew agrees, leading the girls through the grass still as she carries Martin.

The journey is not terribly long, and Mr. Ages home is soon visible looming over the grass like some kind of monster made of metal, complete with horrible teeth in it's maw.

When the group arrives, Auntie Shrew pauses at the foot of the tire, gesturing for Teresa to continue, "Go roust that cantankerous old mouse. I'll wait here and look after Cynthia." She instructs.

Elizabeth Brisby very nearly bumps into the makeshift ladder.

"Oh!", she gasps, backing away. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she grasps the ladder, using every ounce of her strength to pull it towards the opening in the floor, making certain to be as quiet as she can be.

"For TIMOTHY!", she whispers, ascending the steps with caution, until her breath catches in her throat.

Looking upwards, she can see Dragon's tail, and she lets herself exhale slowly, cautiously, calculatedly, as she prepares to make the journey...again...
------------------------------------------------------

Teresa looks up at Auntie Shrew, but her mind is on Hector.

She wants to ask Why did he leave in such a hurry, and why was he so upset?, but she doesn't dare to do so, as Auntie Shrew is quite insistent that Mr. Ages be alerted to the presence of new business.

Teresa is about to obey Auntie Shrew, and then, a certain, strange fear overtakes her. She NEVER went to see Mr. Ages before, not even with Mother. What if he really CAN'T help her siblings?

Suddenly, Teresa feels herself becoming angry. Standing still, she wonders why Auntie Shrew can't just introduce herself to Mr. Ages, why she has to make a young mouse do an adult's work.

Whirling about to face the shrew, Teresa takes a deep breath.

"Why do you want ME to talk to him, Auntie Shrew?", she inquires bravely, grasping both sides of her mother's red cape for internal strength as she speaks.
---------------------------------------------------------
8)

The kitchen above is quiet as can be, blue moonlight from the clear sky outside illuminating the linoleum tiles on the floor below. From the foyer she can hear the Fitzgibbons' grandfather clock slowly ticking away. Dragon by now snores somewhat, the massive cat still and sleeping peacefully. Even Mrs. Brisby's keen ears can detect no sign of the humans on this floor, though serving as a grim reminder of their potential danger, at the far side of the kitchen, the old bird cage still stands, vacant... at least for now.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Because, child," The old shrew explains, "We won't be able to carry both of them all the way up there. One of us must stay behind... And what if that scoundrel of a mouse returns?" Auntie Shrew suggests. "Now run along and fetch Mr. Ages, dear." She orders, gesturing vaguely to the entrance to the machine with her head, both of her hands full, Martin tucked under one arm and Cynthia's paw held in her other.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile in the attic of the house, Rowan slides down from the cardboard box into near total darkness, wiping away some cobwebs stuck to his fur. He pads cautiously onward before bumping into the brass legs of a tall, standing mirror. He feels out the shape of the object with his dexterous paws, before having an idea. He pushes at the side of the mirror it's self, grunting with effort, paws and shoulder against the mirror as his footpaws press against the floorboards, making the huge mirror swivel on it's stand towards the narrow beam of moonlight, properly adjusted. Illuminated, the room is full of piled boxes, old pictures and furniture, arrayed like a maze and covered in dust and cobwebs, but of yet there are no spiders to be seen.

Beyond the beam of light, however, shrouded in shadow, dozens of sets of gleaming, hungry and soulless arachnid eyes peer on at this new, strange creature who's entered their lair.

That white birdcage catches the widow's attention, and its slightly rusty, prefabricated exterior brings back a flood of almost nauseating memories.

Elizabeth's throat tightens, her mind racing towards the past. She can still feel the heart-pounding panic that was induced by Billy's quick action with that orange, plastic cup! Her fur still stands on end as she remembers the helpless, hollow feeling that filled her stomach when she found that she was imprisoned within that...animal cage...with no hope of escape!

"Timothy!", she whispers to herself, forgetting the fact that she should make no sounds within THIS place.

Trying to calm herself, she thinks about her sudden, accidental cleverness on that past occasion, and she wills herself to believe that she CAN still be that great!

Climbing up onto the kitchen floor, forcing herself to only half-gasp when she catches a glimpse of Dragon, who purrs in growly whispers on the kitchen floor.

He certainly guards his food, DOESN'T he?, she thinks, shivering as she rubs her arms, taking one tiny step onto an illuminated square. Gazing up at the moonlight, she feels too many emotions all at once: relief, fear, insignificance, strength, total vulnerability, joy...love. Her shining eyes mirror the moonlight, and, for a few moments, she stands there, transfixed, before remembering herself with a deep breath of common sense.

Thinking sharply, she flicks her tail upon the floor, knowing that if Timmy ventures into the kitchen later, he may be able to pick up the small amount of scent that she's leaving behind; she daren't even whisper so much as a sylable of his name, lest DRAGON pick up her VOICE, although she very nearly cries at the thought of her son!
-----------------------------------------------------

Teresa nods obediently, wondering why Auntie Shrew is suddenly sounding so kind, and she tiptoes bravely towards the residence, and the workplace, of the local doctor.
----------------------------------------------------

NOTE: ACK! I may have to watch the movie again, because, as I recall, one has to be lowered into the office of Mr. Ages... (?)
----------------------------------------------------
8)

Dragon doesn't seem to wake from the mouse's soft footfalls and hushed voice. After a long day of chasing small creatures through the fields he seems out like a light. She can faintly smell Timothy with her keen nose. He's been here, but it must've been many hours ago by her estimation. Still her keen nose is able to pick up on even so faint a scent. The ghost of Timothy's scent seems to linger in the kitchen for a while, then Mrs. Brisby's nose would guide her into the foyer beyond and the stair.

All seems quiet and safe for now, no sounds fill the air other than the breath of the sleeping feline, the soft ticking of the old clock and the occasional creaks of the venerable house settling.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As Teresa scales the machine, she finds herself at the top of a ramp that leads downwards towards the creation's heart, sharp 'teeth' protrude from the belt below her, and while old and rusted they still appear quit dangerous. Deeper still within the mechanical titan that serves as Mr. Ages home, she can see a deep pit with a pulley above and some ropes dangling down into it, rocking faintly with the evening breeze that's followed the young mouse in.

As silently as he can, Rowan makes his way from around the legs of the giant, oval mirror, and he begins to creep across the one empty area of floor that still exists within the dusty, dirty attic.

Breathing in the multitudinous scents of the polluted room with a silent nose, he closes his eyes, trying to sort human sweat from formaldahide from window cleaner...from...as his nose touches the cobweb, he opens his eyes with a start!

"Timmy?", he whispers, peering through the intricate tapestry of the octagonal, sheer wonder that keeps trying to cling to him, even as he pulls away casually.

From behind that cobweb, within the corner of the attic, one of the spiders waits...and, in the corner from which Rowan has just emerged, a Black Widow guards her territory, ever watchful, just waiting for the raccoon to step out of line...
-----------------------------------------------------
8)

Rowan sputters a bit as the webs cling to his muzzle, batting at them with a paw. The spiders themselves give off little, if any smell, and what smell there is has been horribly masked by the obtrusive smells of the human home. Still, his keen eyes spot finally the spider waiting before him and he retreats several paces. Certainly these creatures wouldn't try to prey on him, but might be territorial, and a bite would certainly leave him incapacitated to help Mrs. Brisby, or perhaps worse still.

He steps carefully around the edges of the web before him, moving deeper into the attic and glancing about for some way down into the house below, his eyes narrowed lightly to take in detail through the dim light.

The raccoon sets his jaw with determination, letting out a slow breath, hoping Elizabeth was having a safer journey downstairs!

Mrs. Brisby peers about the foyer, glancing cautiously at the telephone that she heard on that fateful night when SHE was last here.

Creeping about, she can smell Timothy's scent, and, yet, a million other scents waft through the air. Elizabeth never believed that she'd be here again, and, as she breathes the disturbingly loaded array of scents that are present within this place, she suddenly thinks of Rowan, wondering how he's faring in the attic.

Shivering, the mother mouse wonders where the bedrooms are. She just HAS to find Timmy, even if she must go into one of the bedrooms in order to do so. There MUST be a way by which she can safely extricate him from this house!
--------------------------------------------------------------

Teresa reaches out, grabbing hold of a rope, and just barely swinging herself into the barrel...with a frightened scream of surprise.

Mr. Ages voice calls out, but Teresa puts her nose down, too afraid to answer the doctor. From her place within the barrel, she can hear Auntie Shrew's loud mutterings.
----------------------------------------------------
8)

Timothy's scent leads up the stairs, hanging ever so faintly amid the chaotic horde of smells that meet Mrs. Brisby's nostrils. She can move easily across the floor of the kitchen in silence and even more so along the floor past that. A rug runs up the length of the stairs upward, each one taller than a mouse, requiring she jump and hoist herself up, at least the fibers provide something to hold onto.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Ages wakes to the sound of the elevator, reaching a paw out blindly to his night stand and his glasses. He fixes them upon his nose and scowls, listening for a time. Was he hearing things. "Who is that?" He finally calls out, satisfied that it's not his mind playing tricks on him. The old mouse awkwardly clambers out of bed and pulls a loose-fitting shirt over himself, "Go away. There are no visitors at this hour!" He shouts next, before muttering in frustration to himself as he moves to light a small candle and hold it out in his paw, padding out of his bedroom by the dim, flickering light it offers, heading towards the door to his living area deep within the machine.

Rowan sighs in the darkness, nearly choking on a breath of thick dust.

"Timmy!", he whispers, glancing about again. Walking towards a large pile of dusty clothes, he bravely peers between two shirts.

"Hey, Timmy! Are you IN here?", he inquires, suddenly realizing that these clothes have been marked with another animal's scent!

Which animal WAS it?, he wonders, thinking desperately, secretly afraid that a predatory creature might be nearby.
--------------------------------------------------

"PLEASE!", Teresa finally calls out desperately. "PLEASE bring me DOWN from here, Mr. Ages!" Shivering, Teresa gulps nervously.

"I need your HELP, and...and there's NO TIME to spare! PLEASE, SIR! My...my brother and my sister NEED you...NOW! HURRY!" The commanding boldness of her own voice frightens her, but she sighs deeply, getting ready to deliver another round of demands, if necessary.
----------------------------------------------------
8)

Mr. Ages' muttering can be heard from clear up to the basket but he sighs and relents at the sound of urgency in Teresa's panicked voice. "Alright, alright." He calls back up, tugging at one of the ropes to bring the basket downwards, "Just like her mother.. never letting an old mouse have some peace." He mutters to himself. After a few moments the basket is settled onto the ground at the shaft's bottom. The older mouse looks to Teresa, a bit surprised at first. She'd grown since he'd seen her last, "Now slow down. What seems to be the matter?" he questions, still holding aloft his candle, which really offers the only light down here, the other lanterns having been doused before the mouse headed to bed.

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Rowan furrows his brow at the scent, his nose wrinkling as he tries to place it. His ears perked and eyes wide, he remains on alert, staying well clear of the spider webs around him as best he can while he searches, looking high and low for any way down to the upper floors of the house or into the walls, looking about for anywhere Timmy might have tucked himself away as well.

Elizabeth Brisby looks at the dark, snaking rug, sighing determinedly, wanting to leap from step to step, and yet wanting so desperately to just throw herself onto the floor, and into a deep sleep of relaxation.

"One...step at a time...," she sighs to herself, hopping a few times in one place for practice, before leaping into the air...and just barely landing on top of the first step.

Gasping, she looks behind herself, trying to avoid worrying about the dizzying height at which she will, at some time during the future, stand...alone.
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"Mr. Ages...," begins Teresa, and then, suddenly, she begins to cry, catching herself in an almost defensive manner when the older mouse tries to put his arms around her comfortingly.

"My family is in trouble, and we all NEED you...RIGHT NOW," she declares solemnly, looking strangely angry and calm at the same time. Uninvited, she walks ahead of the doctor, looking behind herself at him.

"Timmy ran away," she began quickly, so that the doctor mouse would not launch into a round of questions about the constantly hospitalized Timothy.

"Timmy ran away, and when our mother...and Rowan...went to the Fitgibbons' house to LOOK for him, DRAGON tried to kill us, and...and..." She takes one large breath, trying to avoid crying.

"MARTIN was BADLY injured...he's STILL unconscious...and...and CYNTHIA was dashed against the DOOR of our house, and...she's...she's run MAD, I'm afraid..."

As her newly shiny, teary eyes look up, they beg Mr. Ages for answers, and for help.
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8)

It's a difficult climb, but the rug offers ample hold for the mouse's dexterous little paws. The stairs will indeed take her quite high. Each step also brings her closer to the very real danger of the humans above. From somewhere beyond the doors above, she can hear the snoring one of the great, two legged beasts sleeping nearby. Her keen ears can also detect the sound of the raccoon in the attic above, his footfalls heard through the ceiling, soft, but reassuring.

At the top of the stairs there are a number of doors arrayed along a hallway, one door at the end of the hall and a trio of doors along the far wall from the stairs. She can smell Timothy still, more strongly than downstairs, but still faint. He must be behind one of those doors.
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Mr. Ages doesn't interrupt but sighs heavily and adjusts the glasses atop his muzzle with his unoccupied paw, "Slow down, Teresa." He scolds, shaking his head a bit, "Alright, alright. Let's have a look at them." He relents, "Did you bring them out here alone?" He questions, expression softening a bit at Teresa's tears. The old mouse gestures back to the basket and waiting for Teresa before he clambers awkwardly in himself, paws moving to the rope to lift the two back up the machine's shaft so he can examine the two injured children.

"Oh, Timothy!", Rowan calls, just as quietly as he possibly can, unaware of the pair of Brown Recluse spiders that lurk within the walls of the farmhouse, waiting to dissolve any available prey with their venom.

Skirting another small pile of junk, he presses one ear against the wall, listening carefully for any sounds of scratching, whimpering, breathing...for any sounds that represent ANY kind of life.

Sniffing at a tiny, nose level hole within the wall, he closes his eyes.

"Hey, Timothy!" he calls softly. "If you're in there, don't be afraid, because...I'M going to find a way for you to get OUT of this house again."

Only after opening his eyes does he see a long, thin leg creep through the tiny hole in the wall; he backs away instinctively, knowing that the leg that he's seeing cannot belong to a friend of ANY kind, and a moment later, he finds himself flying backward, care of another piece of junk that has sped up his retreat.
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The sight that greets Mr. Ages' eyes is far from angelic, and it's certainly not pretty!

Before him stands an overly determined-looking shrew, and under one of her arms rests Martin, looking for all the world like a cold, stoney, lifeless mouse body, which could never, ever hold a zest for physical pursuits.

Cynthia wriggles about under Auntie Shrew's other arm, attempting to squeeze herself out from under the shrew's elbow.

"Oooh, MOTHER!", she bubbles enthusiastically. "It's the gentleman who's made all of CLOUDS!"

Grabbing at the air greedily, she struggles to free herself from the grasp of the shrew.

"I want a cloud LOLLIPOP, MISTER!", she demands, reaching her hand ever so far, grabbing for the green, fluffy confection that nobody else can see.

"Please?", she asks, dragging the word out with youthful, manipulative charm; gazing at Mr. Ages, she sighs impatiently, and then she looks over at Auntie Shrew, glaring.

"I SAID PLEASE, Mother!", she pouts, near to tears. "Why won't he GIVE me a LOLLIPOP? I SAID please!"

As Cynthia dissolves, Teresa gasps. Very nearly tripping, she throws herself out of the basket; she, too, is crying as she rushes towards Auntie Shrew.

"NO, Cynthia! DON'T!" Staring up at her sister, she tries to reach for her.

"DON'T cry, Cynthia! Oh, PLEASE don't cry! You've got to stop UPSETTING yourself about...NOTHING!" Glaring, Teresa turns back to Mr. Ages, and her expression of furiously confused frustration suddenly becomes weak, so that she looks as though she's just plain confused.

The doctor's eyes widen.

Through sobs of despair, Teresa tries to calm herself.

"I...shouldn't have SAID that, because it was MEAN, but...it's TRUE, but..." Looking up at Cynthia, she closes her eyes.

"Oh, PLEASE get well! THAT'S all I want!", she whispers, suddenly hoping to feel the comforting arms of ANYBODY who's available to hug her, INCLUDING Mr. Ages.
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8)

Rowan frowns lightly as he waits and listens, pointed ears perked, paws touching the lattice and mortar of the inner wall. Not immediately hearing a reply, he retreats a pace or so, but notes the small space between floor and wall that leads into a deep chasm between the inner walls of the house. He peers into the darkness for a long moment before taking a deep breath and moving to try to squeeze his way in, lowering himself closer to the lethal spiders' lair unknowingly.

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Mr. Ages has never been one for children, and as such doesn't quite understand the look in poor Teresa's eyes. He grimaces a bit at Cynthia's madness, then nods gravely, "Ms. Shrew if you would help the children inside." He requests, "I'll see about setting them right." He mutters before adding, "But don't touch anything inside, it's all very sensitive." he looks to Teresa again and his whiskers twitch, "Well crying about it won't make them better any faster. Keep a stiff upper lip." he commands.

Auntie Shrew glares at the old mouse and moves to hand off Cynthia to Teresa, "Do as he says, child." She offers before touching a reassuring paw upon Teresa's shoulder, "If anyone can fix your brother and sister, it's Ages." She adds with some degree of false confidence. The reclusive mouse always seemed a bit mad to her. Carrying Martin still, the shrew guides Teresa and Cynthia up the machine as best she can.

Mrs. Brisby shivers as she peers down the long hallway.

"Timmy?" Her falsely brave whisper almost echos, and as she tiptoes with caution, she can hear her own footsteps, cringing with each one as she attempts to move more silently.

Approaching the first door, the determined mouse sniffs the very edge of the wooden door, closing her eyes, concentrating solely on what her nose might pick up. Struggling, she sighs as she attempts to decipher each of the scents that assault her nose all at once.

Flipping her eyes open, she gasps, frustrated, and racing towards the second door, she sniffs more quickly, desperate to sense her son's presence within the house.

"Timmy?", she whispers, her voice hoarse now, her breath fast. A barely audible sobbing sound reaches her wide-open ears, and she looks about, trying to figure out which direction the sound is coming from.

"Timothy?", she asks, positioning herself between the second room and the third, panting for breath.

"Oh, NOW I'm IMAGINING things, TOO!", cries the phantom voice, and, for a moment, Brisby's face brightens. That MUST be Timothy!

The young mother mouse begins to run towards the third door, but she stops herself, and she returns to her position between the second and the third rooms.

"Timmy? Timmy, it's Mother! Are you up here?" She barely pauses before saying, "I've FOUND you!"
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"A STIFF UPPER LIP, my EYE!", mutters Teresa, glaring at the backside of Mr. Ages, barely able to contain her panicked sorrow.

Cynthia shifts within her sister's grasp.

"Oh, Mooother!", she whines playfully. "I WANT a cloud LOLLIPOP from the Cloud Lollipop Man!"

"No, Cynthia...no!" sighs Teresa wearily, attempting like crazy to control her temper.

"Oh, but-"

"What would you say if I promised you that you could have ANYTHING that you wanted...AFTER you'd been seen by Mr. AGES?" Teresa's sly, desperate smile gets a stern look from Auntie Shrew, but she glares at the shrew lightly, looking back into Cynthia's eyes, flashing her own blue eyes enticingly.
8)

Rowan continues down the space between inner walls in darkness, listening in as well, the lack of light growing oppressive. He works cautiously, keeping his back to one wall and his paws against the other, slowly creeping his way down, his nose constantly twitching for the scent of nearby humans or other dangers. Every now and again a whiff of those horrible spiders reaches his nose, but their scent is fleeting and almost feels like his mind playing tricks on him in the dark.
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Mr. Ages wanders towards the basket that leads down into the belly of the machine where he makes his home, leaning out over the pit to pull it closer to the edge so that the children can more easily mount it. "Come along. I haven't got all night." He mutters, though he means well his cantankerous streak isn't helped much by being woken at such an hour! Auntie Shrew moves to lift Martin into the basket carefully, plopping him down on it's wicker floor.

Mr. Ages humms to himself lightly as he looks over the boy's wounds, "May need stitches." He mutters to himself, peering at the young mouse and reaching a paw up to adjust his glasses, before turning to Cynthia and Teresa, giving them an expectant gaze and gesturing to the basket.

"MOTHER?"

"Timmy? TIMOTHY! It's REALLY ME! I MEAN it!" The harshness of her voice saddens her, but she brightens slightly, calling out her son's name once more, hoping that he will believe her.

"Am I HEARING things, or is it REALLY you?"

Brisby thinks that she can hear Timmy sniffling ever so slightly, as though he's been crying.

"Well, I can tell you that your father's name was JOHNATHAN, and that your SISTERS are named Teresa and CYHTHIA, if...if THAT would help..." The plain, yet pretty mouse barely breathes as she awaits an answer.

"Well, ALRIGHT...Mother," declares the voice, before pausing.

"I just hope that you can get me OUT of here...tonight." The fear in Timmy's voice forces Mrs. Brisby to race underneath the space between the third door and the floor, and soon, she finds herself inside of Billy's room, taking in the sounds of the human boy's breathing.
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Rowan's journey takes him to a super skinny place within the walls, a place where the outer wall has buckled under the stress of continuous freezing and thawing. The space soon proves to be slightly small for a raccoon, and it also sports a rather thick, heavy spider web.
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"I WANT A CLOUD LOLLIPOP!", screams Cynthia; at the urging of Mr. Ages, Teresa lifts Cynthia into the basket, before allowing Auntie Shrew to help herself in as well.

Once everybody is aboard the basket, Teresa turns her gaze to Mr. Ages.

"STITCHES?", she asks, her eyes wide. "Is...is he THAT bad...or...WORSE?" Dissolving into tears over the body of her brother, the sweet mouse cries pitifully, nearly breaking the hearts of all who stand near her.
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8)

Rowan pauses there for a long while, listening and sniffing slightly, all the stories about animals falling into the space between walls, being trapped forever and eventually succumbing to hunger and thirst fill his mind, but his courage holds true. He had to prove his worth to the mouse. "Timothy?" He calls out into the dark, "Timothy? Are you down there?" His voice a bit hushed to avoid waking the humans, but still loud enough for keen mouseish ears to pick up from some distance even through the wall.

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Mr. Ages begins lowering the basket with his paws, going one over the other on the rope. It's a long journey to the base of the shaft, which is shrouded in shadow, invisible from their height, "I said he might need stitches." The old, cantankerous mouse corrects with a hint of frustration in his voice, "The boy was lucky to get away from Dragon with only a few scrapes to show for it." he adds next before muttering a bit to himself and turning to inspect Cynthia, peering into her eyes briefly and squinting, adjusting his glasses as he inspects her pupils briefly. He sighs and relents a bit, his tone softening to Teresa as he adds, "I just can't be sure until I've inspected both of them, but you were well to bring them here." he offers.

The silence that echos back to Rowan is accompanied by nothing, until a few seconds later, when the spine-shivering sounds of arachnid feet puncture the hollow air.
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Trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness, Mrs. Brisby gazes upward, attempting to see weather or not Timmy is enslaved within the same cage that the Fitzgibbons family trapped HER in.

Within a matter of seconds, she is CERTAIN that she can see the exact same cage, its slightly more worn exterior chilling her to the bone.

"Timmy?, she inquires hoarsely, sighing. "Are you in a...CAGE, Timmy?"

"YES, Mother, and...it's a rather LARGE cage, TOO...and it's probably TOO FAR of a climb for you, Mother...so..."

She forces herself to ignore the intelligent-sounding despair that's in his voice, and she thinks quickly, remembering her own past captivity.

"Timmy!", she says briskly. "What is in there WITH you? Is there WATER, a BLANKET...is there ANYTHING at ALL in there with you?"
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Teresa, whose face has been full of tearful worry, brightens when the wise old doctor compliments her brilliance, and she suddenly stands taller, gazing up at Mr. Ages with a mixture of joy and ever-so-flirtatious pride!

"So they WILL get better SOON?", she asks.
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