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Description
His paper thin ears twitched. Something was out there. His small, black nose quivered, as he sniffed in the night air. There was no scent, the coast was clear; he must have imagined the sound. His small, black eyes winked in the dark, the moon glowed above him, illuminating the mouse beside him, she was quivering. With anticipation, or fear, he could not tell. They weren’t allowed out at night. His white coat glowed in the moon light; his partner’s had a glossy sheen. He ventured out.
“Be careful.” His partner whispered. She was afraid for him, he could tell, her fear scent told him everything.
“I will.” He promised, and scampered out, into the open. He stepped out. The ground was cold, covered in frost. He shivered. He could feel the eyes of other animals burrowing into his fur, looking for a weakness.
Where am I? He thought, as he crept forward. He scampered towards a scent he knew, he had known it since he was a juvenile, his mother had brought him some. Cheese!
“Swiftfoot.” He whispered, “Come over here!” I wonder what would happen if our mothers found out? How would they punish us? He thought carefully. If we brought some cheese back, maybe we won’t get as bad punishment.
“What?” Swiftfoot asked, breaking into his thoughts. Tension was gripping her like an owl, he could scent it.
“I’ve found cheese! Want to share?”
“Thanks.” She squeaked, settling down beside him, her warm fur comforting him with the knowledge that she was there.
Suddenly she was gone. She had run. But Why? And what from?
“Sharpear, run!” she squealed, catching her breath she added; “Cat!”
Sharpear hesitated; pinpointing the hole and Swiftfoot, then ran. Sharpear was a tail-length away when claws hit him, one slash opening up his side. He squeaked in pain. The paws let go.
“What are you?” something above his head boomed. But too late, he had already run for it. Paws crashed over the hole, a heart-beat after, he was in.
“Sharpear?” a quavering squeak ruffled his ear-fur. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sharpear replied. “Are you?”
“Yes,” She replied “But you should be more careful! In your condition…”
“What do you mead ‘In my condition…’?” Sharpear retorted, his pride stung.
“Well…” She seemed reluctant to say.
“’Well…’ what?”
“You are blind!” Swiftfoot burst out. “You should be more careful!” she added, taking advantage of his speechlessness.
Sharpear knew it was true, though it pained him to believe it.
“Just because I can’t see doesn’t mean I’m useless!” he spat.
“I never said you were useless!”

Description
His paper thin ears twitched. Something was out there. His small, black nose quivered, as he sniffed in the night air. There was no scent, the coast was clear; he must have imagined the sound. His small, black eyes winked in the dark, the moon glowed above him, illuminating the mouse beside him, she was quivering. With anticipation, or fear, he could not tell. They weren’t allowed out at night. His white coat glowed in the moon light; his partner’s had a glossy sheen. He ventured out.
“Be careful.” His partner whispered. She was afraid for him, he could tell, her fear scent told him everything.
“I will.” He promised, and scampered out, into the open. He stepped out. The ground was cold, covered in frost. He shivered. He could feel the eyes of other animals burrowing into his fur, looking for a weakness.
Where am I? He thought, as he crept forward. He scampered towards a scent he knew, he had known it since he was a juvenile, his mother had brought him some. Cheese!
“Swiftfoot.” He whispered, “Come over here!” I wonder what would happen if our mothers found out? How would they punish us? He thought carefully. If we brought some cheese back, maybe we won’t get as bad punishment.
“What?” Swiftfoot asked, breaking into his thoughts. Tension was gripping her like an owl, he could scent it.
“I’ve found cheese! Want to share?”
“Thanks.” She squeaked, settling down beside him, her warm fur comforting him with the knowledge that she was there.
Suddenly she was gone. She had run. But Why? And what from?
“Sharpear, run!” she squealed, catching her breath she added; “Cat!”
Sharpear hesitated; pinpointing the hole and Swiftfoot, then ran. Sharpear was a tail-length away when claws hit him, one slash opening up his side. He squeaked in pain. The paws let go.
“What are you?” something above his head boomed. But too late, he had already run for it. Paws crashed over the hole, a heart-beat after, he was in.
“Sharpear?” a quavering squeak ruffled his ear-fur. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sharpear replied. “Are you?”
“Yes,” She replied “But you should be more careful! In your condition…”
“What do you mead ‘In my condition…’?” Sharpear retorted, his pride stung.
“Well…” She seemed reluctant to say.
“’Well…’ what?”
“You are blind!” Swiftfoot burst out. “You should be more careful!” she added, taking advantage of his speechlessness.
Sharpear knew it was true, though it pained him to believe it.
“Just because I can’t see doesn’t mean I’m useless!” he spat.
“I never said you were useless!”