Lion Head Mesa The harder you pull, the tighter the rope.

one danger passed over the tiny fellahin, and another rushed in to take its place. zakariya, a weak and sickly whelp since the day of his birth, at first failed to notice the rats which had started to sniff and probe at his ears and ruff. even if they had been in his line of sight, his newly-acquired vision was still quite poor.

and it would never improve.

the first rat to take a bite out of zakariya caught the back of his head, lacerating the delicate flesh there and setting him to writhing. he cried out, lashing out with tiny clumsy limbs in a futile effort to ward the attackers away. the movement only drew their attention elsewhere; to his legs and forepaws first, and then to the source of his screams. his muzzle, his face, the cutting little teeth did not discriminate.

then they discovered the soft, appealing flesh below his brow bone. he could not fight them. within just a few bloody moments, the world had gone dark again. this time, forever.