Macklin held his tail in his hands, biting his lip as he looked out at the open space before him, his nervousness making his eyes dart, a cold sweat already coming down his back. The young mouse, his white fur bristled slightly, leaned forward, but his feet remained in place and he straightened, gulping softly. The far side of the broad way seemed miles off, and a great foot came down as he watched, his eyes level with the ankle bone as the great pads smashed mouse-sized prints into the dust. He drew back into the dark, narrow crack, not completely able to withhold a squeak of fear.

Where he was, even in the entrance of the narrow ways, he was safe. The narrow ways extended back and down, the walls close and protective where ever he went, the other mice of his town that was built between the constructions, going about their lives in relative safely. They grew what they could for food, had access to good water, and every scrap of fabric or metal that could be pulled into the narrow ways was. This, however, was not quite enough, and it was necessary for some to venture into the world.

The bravest were the raiders, who went in the darkness and stole. Huge socks became string and cloth, crumbs a meal for a family, old coins metal to build, and all were fair game. Still, many did not come back. Mouse families were big, though, and the town managed, but stories of what could happen to foolish mouselings were told to every youngster as soon as they could understand them.

The less brave could be traders. There were more narrow ways, more towns, and other mice they could trade with. Metal for food, cloth for strong drink, whatever one town had for spare was likely to be needed by another. Thus Macklin now stood at the precipice.

He was of age, and curious about the outside world and had signed up eagerly. He had trained, learned the values of goods, studied the locations of other towns and the ways to get there, practiced bartering, drilled hiding and camoflague, and was judged to be ready. But now, with the act of crossing the broad way in front of him, he found no moisture in his mouth, no strength in his legs, no will in his mind to move his feet.

His mentor, Kevin, stood beside him, wearing the same brown cloak to better blend into the dust, though sharp eyes would pick up their movement more than colour. “OK, lad, seems quiet. Now’s the time.”

By custom, a trader crossed the broad way alone. That way, if one was lost, well, it was only one. Macklin took a deep, slow breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then with a sharp exhale started out in a rush, scampering forward. He heard the cry of surprise from Kevin too late.

“Wait! No, you fool mouse, don’t you see–“