Magnimar, Late Pharast 4712
Winter was reluctantly releasing its hold on the city. Crusts of ice still formed along the river banks at night, and the citizens continued to wake to find everything coated by a soft and frizzled frost.
But even as the morning’s ice was forming Qatana was returning from an early morning errand. Some years ago a rickety old tavern along a back alley in Rag’s End had burned down, but the kitchen ironically enough escaped unscathed. For more two years now Qatana had made this kitchen her home.
The embers in the oven had all but died, and the room was chilly. Qatana put a handful of coal from the scuttle onto the grate before realized she had company.
Quickly turning around she saw three mice crouched near a small wooden box lined with soft wool. The boys had returned while she was away, possibly to keep a watch over Star while Qatana was out.
Star was old—just how old Qatana had no idea—but for a mouse a few years was a lifetime, and Star had been with Qatana for longer than that. There was little doubt Qatana’s care and feeding had allowed this little rodent to live far longer than was normal for her kind, but in the end, even the best care was not enough to stop the ravages of time on a mortal frame.
She now slept in a the small box Qatana had placed across from the oven to keep her warm through the winter. “Her last winter,” thought Qatana morosely.
She bent down and pulled the wool back to reveal an ash-grey body of a mouse. One of the boys softly squeaked, perhaps in sympathy. Star was gone.
Star. The last of the original eight mice Qatana had befriended since moving to Magnimar. Other mice had come and gone through Qatana’s kitchen, taking advantage of the warmth and a bite to eat, but most had passed on to other places, seeking some special mousy needs that only mice understood. But her first eight had all stayed, and she had known Star longer than the others.
Qatana was uncomfortable with feelings of grief and usually did her best to suppress them, lest she give herself totally to despair. But Star was gone, and she could not stop the tears: the first she had shed in more than a decade.
The boys seemed unsure of how to react. They did not visit every day, and usually stayed only a day or two at a time. She had found the three in a trash bin, next to their dead mother, and had taken them in a few months back. Star had given them a sniff and an approving twitch of the whiskers, and that was enough. But the boys liked to roam, and were not dependent on Qatana’s care.
Qatana looked at the mice, and they stared back at her. “Will you miss me when I’m gone?” was all she could think to say.
