The Island of Whispers by Brendan Gisby Page B

constricting his breathing.
    ‘ It’s not strength that we need, comrade.’ Vehemence and
insistence were back in Long Ears’ words. ‘It’s cunning and courage
and intelligence. You have all these qualities. More so than any of
us. You are our natural leader!’
    Twisted Foot’s
heart thudded. Iciness was crawling through his bowels.
    ‘ I – I don’t know.’ The voice was weak, whispering. ‘I must
have time to think ...’
    It was his
turn now to stare at the distant shoreline.
     
    – o –

– Chapter Fourteen –
     
    She moved
swiftly and lightly through the Common lair. The place was quiet,
deserted except for the guards outside the Scavengers’ dungeon. Her
passage seemed to have gone unobserved. When she reached the pool,
the Protectors at the foot of the entrance tunnel regarded her
silently, indifferently. She drank greedily from the pool, stopping
every few seconds to glance about. Only her lapping disturbed the
eerie stillness. She sensed danger. She knew that it was unsafe to
be here alone at this time. Her companions were all sleeping
soundly, exhausted after another night of furious copulation with
their mates. Her own mate was keeping the night watch above. She
had been thirsty and had crept out of the lair, not wishing to wake
any of the other she-rats. She would be away only a short time.
    Shaking her
dripping muzzle, she glanced once more at the immobile Protectors
and then left the pool. The tunnel going back seemed longer, more
threatening. She quickened her pace. In the darkness of the Common
lair, she could see a darker shape moving towards her. Another dark
form came close behind the first. She stopped, crouching very low,
ready to spring away. Grave danger lurked in those forms. The trip
to the pool had been a terrible mistake, she realised. She should
have stayed safe in her nest, waited for the others to rise.
    The first
Protector crept closer, sniffing her scent, until she could feel
the hotness of his breath.
    ‘ And where do you belong, pretty one?’ he asked. The tone was
light, but she recognised the menace in it.
    She decided on
a bold approach. If she showed no fear, they might let her pass
unharmed.
    ‘ The lair of the Watchers,’ she replied defiantly.
    ‘ A Watcher, eh?’ The tone was mocking now. He had moved even
closer, his snout rubbing against her own as he spoke. ‘What about
some pleasure for a lonely warrior? After all, it is the time of
the mating.’
    ‘ But I have a mate already,’ she answered quickly. ‘Twisted
Foot,’ she added, the tremble in her voice belying the show of
boldness.
    The sudden,
harsh guffaw made her start in terror. She spun round. A third
Protector had slid behind her.
    ‘ The cripple?’ he boomed and guffawed again.
    The first
Protector spoke again. His body was pressed hard against her.
    ‘ What you need, pretty one, is a real warrior on your
back.’
    She knew now
what they intended to do. At first, she attempted to leap away, but
the Protectors had her hemmed in. In desperation, she began to hiss
and snarl, lashing out with her bared teeth. The effort was futile.
Two of them gripped her head and neck in their powerful jaws. The
third pinned her down from the back. She squealed as his sharp
claws dug into her flesh. She felt his rough entry, his heaving
body and then the rush of his seed inside of her. He slid off with
a grunt, but the ordeal was not over. She struggled a second time
and a third time when the others leapt on her back in turn.
    The Protectors
darted away from the still hissing she-rat. ‘We’ll be over here if
you want any more,’ one of them shouted from across the lair: the
final insult.
    Whimpering,
hurting, the she-rat stumbled towards her own lair. One of her ears
was badly torn, and blood seeped from the deep scores along her
back. Her thoughts were bitter, vengeful. The pain would go, the
injuries would heal in time, but the memory of this shame, this
defilement, might never fade.
    Small Face
slunk