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“Not a god, just a paladin,” he muttered, then belied his irritated tone by waiting patiently while she used his shoulder as a stepladder and ascended the heights of Mt. Equine.
“I’ll kill the beast,” the assassin rasped. “I’d cut his throat right now, but I don’t think I can get off if he falls down.” “It’s a her,” said Caliban. “You think that’ll stop me, god-boy?”
“My legs will never close again,” she muttered. “That would be music to my ears if I wasn’t dying,” said Brenner, a step below her.
Learned Edmund is apparently afraid that if he sleeps on your floor, your feminine exhalations will cause his genitals to wither and his bowels to turn to water. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”
A single dancing rat might have been cute, a line of several dancing might have been amusing, but this constant, slithering stream was deeply unsettling.
He wondered what Slate would say if she were here, and was extremely glad she wasn’t. Assuming she doesn’t take it in her head to come after us…no. She wants to live now, and chasing after mad deer people isn’t a good start on that. And after that charming little display on your part, I doubt she’d walk across the street to save you, let alone stage a daring rescue on a village full of demented deer people.
“Dancing rats. Some of them with no heads,” said Caliban. “Oh, thank god. You see it too.” “It’s very disturbing.” “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.” “I wonder if they’re going to eat us.” “Always an optimist, our paladin.” “Shut up, Brenner.”
I hope I’m actually going the right way, and that this isn’t some kind of random phenomenon—the Running of the Rat Bits—that happens occasionally in this part of the world. Seriously, though, what are the odds?
