Who is it wrote:Ginger
.:. Female .:.
.:. 10 years .:.
.:. Rat furry/anthro .:.
.:. Size of a human child .:.
.:.#404080.:.
The rat had been wandering for days. Over her shoulders was a plain leather backpack. In it were her clothes, food, water, and other things she felt she would need. Her clothes were ragged, torn, and somewhat old-fashioned. Actually, extremely old-fashioned. Pantaloons. or pretty much. She looked like something out of a redwall book. A cool wind blew, smoothing back her pale fur and blowing out her whiskers. Her eyes were black, and looked just like a real rat's eyes. She wore a tattered dark green cloak with a bronze buckle. It had one been made of fine velvet, and still technically was, but it was so ragged and worn that there was now much finer velvet in the world. She had stopped at the crest of a steep hill. Below her, there was the rocky, loose soil of the hillside, and beyond that was a field. Looking at a smudge in the distance, she felt a rat's curiosity tugging her. She pulled out her spyglass, but could still make out nothing more than a silhouette. Drat. her annoyance quickly changed to terror at the sound of pounding footsteps behind her. She knew she couldn't fight them if they caught her. She half-ran, half-fell down the slope. At the edge of the field, she picked herself up and kept running. Stopping only when she reached the cover of trees again, she panted and drew the long, thin, but deadly sword she always carried, just in case. Finding a place to camp took her the remainder of the afternoon. And all she had to show for it was an old, musty cave. And worse, she dreamed.
"I didn't want to kill him!" Ginger insisted. "He attacked me first!" The cats refused to believe her, or even acknowledge her. Ahead of her they carried the mangled remains of the duke. He had attacked her, it was true. But the cats refused to listen. Her paws were in handcuffs, or she might have escaped. But you can't run with chains on your hands, neck, and feet, plus a guard of half a dozen cats who are twice your size and armed to the teeth - literally. She was being pulled along, her haunches dragging on the ground, craning her neck forward so the chains wouldn't strangle her. Her forepaws were still stained with blood. As they approached the castle grounds they were greeted by the king and the pitifully wailing duchess. The chains on her neck and legs were removed, and one cat dragged her on, with a second behind. When she faltered, he slashed at her haunch, grinning as he cut it almost to the bone. Ginger gritted her teeth and stumbled on, trailing blood. The cat in the lead called back, "Careful! We can have some fun later." The cats continued to snarl at each other until they dumped her in a huge birdcage and left. She fell asleep quickly that night. When she awoke, the cage, and many others, was hanging from the ceiling of the throne room. She could see the king below, calling oreders to open her cage. "This is my chance." she had the presence of mind to murmur this before the cage was unlocked. Ginger leapt, hit the floor on all fours, picked herself up, dodged a mace, and raced from the room, from the castle, from the kingdom. She was constantly pursued, and once they almost got her, but . . .
She woke up.
The first thing she was aware of was the bright, milky dawn light, and the cat-scent on the wind. They would be at the cave any minute. There was no chance to run. She could only crawl further in. Wait . . . another entrance? Yes! - Thank goodness, yes it is! Ginger crawled forward, out the small hole in the rock. The cats realized she had escaped, and started in pursuit. Oh, no - wait! I might be able to climb that . . . The cats were almost all out by now. She leaped up, pulling herself through the branches as the cats raced past. One stopped to sniff at the tree. A tabby paw grabbed him roughly and a voice said, "Rats don't climb trees, you idiot!" She waited what she guessed to be half an hour before crawling carefully down. No cats - thank goodness. The sky was bright blue, and it was still early morning. She could travel a good distance before nightfall - and she did.
Ginger would have gone farther, but she stumbled upon a half-sunken ship while passing, by chance, a beach. It looked as if a battle had just been fought, and in her life as a runaway she had learned battlefields were good resources. It took her almost an hour, and so it must have been about 4 p.m. when she finished. She was dressed differently now - a fancy coat, and other weird stuff - the ship had belonged to corsairs. On the bright side, she was hardly recognizable. It was starting to get overcast, and as there was no point in getting soaked while she could shelter here, she decided to go below decks to find out more. Some of the rooms were entirely flooded, but others she could still walk through. One room appeared to be the captain's, or whatever corsairs have, and although there were several inches of water on the floor, she could still reach her main interest - the desk. On it there was a quill, and ink, as well as a thick, old-looking book. The wood was stained with red pawprints, and the cover and pages of the book were slightly torn, as if whoever left the pawprints had tried and failed to move it. It sounded like it was raining up on deck now, so Ginger took the book and retreated to another cleaner, drier room. Sitting down on the hammock after lighting a fire, she opened the book. Ah, delicious old-book smell. She loved the smell of old books. But the words in this book were even better - words about fox-like creatures and a secret city, about warriors and magic, couriers and a queen . . . Ginger loved it. When she looked up from the pages, she saw through a hole in the ship wall that it was almost dark outside. Putting some more wood on the fire, she fell asleep, using her bag as a pillow and the coat as a blanket, the book still held in her paws. She dreamed, but for once it wasn't a nightmare about cats. It was a dream about Vinara and Faerres, the knowledge that she knew something forbidden from the outside world, and a song her mother used to sing . . . she couldn't remember the words, but it wove itself into her dream for the entire night.
When Ginger woke up the next morning, her first thought was, "Where am I?" her second thought was "In a pirate ship," her third thought was "I'm hungry," her fourth thought was, "And I'm really stiff from having this book on me all night," and her fifth thought was, "I want to go to Vinara." As she cooked breakfast, she felt happily self-sufficient, and she remembered reading about faerre warriors. Her mind made the connected the warriors with the pawprints, and she remembered how faerres sometimes became a companion, mostly for humans, but other creatures too. If I could convince a faerre . . . She didn't care if it took her the remaining 8 years of her time as a child or teenager. The cats would never find Vinara, and she would speak to all the faerres on the altar. In her heart, she knew she wanted a warrior, but, if she could convince one . . . what was the harm in traveling with a group? A group of faerres and a rat. She knew just one would content her, but she liked the idea of a group. With that in mind, she set off for Vinara, which she now realized was the dark smudge she had seen a couple of days ago.
It took Ginger 3 (mercifully catless) days to reach the gates of Vinara. Her plan was to camp outside, since it was getting dark. Finally. I made it. That was all that echoed in her mind. Although . . . cats always seem to find me. I'll be safer in there. Yawning, the rat furry walked through the gates, collapsing in a heap as soon as she could.
Waking up the next morning, it took Ginger only a few seconds to remember her location. I must be getting used to this, she thought. There were the sounds of loud music, and talking. The altar? She guessed. Must be. I'll go, but I'll wait 'till the action dies down a little. It took almost all day for the action to die down. Ginger spent her time wandering around Vinara, chatting with faerres, learning what the book could never tell her. She also found things of interest in various shops, but, being penniless, she couldn't buy any. There was also a place full of portals, and she made a mental note to come back and explore here later. But it was dusk, and perfect, in her opinion. The sky was painted orange-purple-pink, and a warm wind was blowing. Faerres were beginning to retire to their dwellings for dinner, and lanterns were being lit. It was the most beautiful thing Ginger had seen in her life. Nowhere but Vinara . . . she thought. She dined with a faerre family who invited her in, and, ratlike, she enjoyed all their food. But then came the time to speak with the faerre on the altar, who she had caught a glimpse of, and Identified as a warrior. Keego. That was what he called himself.
Ginger saw that the crowd around the altar had thinned out. A few people were finishing their speeches and leaving. My turn. Ginger, swallowing her fear, walked forward. She took a moment to compose herself. "Hi. Keego, right? Oh, excuse me. I'm Ginger. As you can see, I'm half-rat." Ginger thought for a second before continuing. "Anyway, I got here when I boarded a corsair ship. I wasn't sailing on it, but I spent the night there, among at least two dozen corpses. In my life, I've learned that battlefields are good places to find stuff." She paused. Do I really want to tell him? She sighed. That was a stupid question. "Anyway, In the captain's . . . well, his room, I found a book about faerres and Vinara. So then, since I was on the run from a bunch of half-cats, I came here. But I'm not here for refuge. I'm here to find someone who will be with me through whatever battles I have to fight." She took a deep breath before she finished her speech. "I'm hoping, Keego, that you will be the companion I have been waiting for. I hope that you will at least consider this." Wait. I might not be done. "Actually Keego, let me give you a little insight to where I've been. I used to live normally, with my parents, but then I was out in the forest, and the duke of the cats attacked me. I killed him, but then the cat soldiers captured me. I have a bad leg from one of them. Anyway, after that I ran for my life, lived on my own, boarded a boat, ran for my life again, raided a corsair ship, and found this place. And just for the record, No, I did not want to kill the duke. She dipped her head to the faerre before sauntering off to find a campsite. Please, Keego, pick me! She wailed in her head.
