There’s something akin to honor in ratkind. It’s a squirreling sort of attitude, though they’d hate it if I said as much. It’s also something of a rule not to compare oneself or others to other rodents or rodent look-alikes. Comparison is the thief of joy, or whatnot. It’s easy to be objective about the rat-ness of your fellow rats when you’re not truly a rat. At least, I wasn’t born one. No, I was a lanky, walking, talking wizard with responsibilities, friends, family, and studies. And, now, here I am writing with my little rat mouth in my little rat diary about my little rat ideas. Preferable, I’d say.
Oh, the honor. Yes, yes. Apologies, my rodent mind has a habit of running off with the cheese, if you will. You’d think that another faux paw in rat society, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Cheese jokes are all the rage. Anyway, honor amongst us rats. Well, it's no good not to share as much as one takes. A bounty is to be shared, not hoarded like man or dragon is wont to do. And punishment for betrayal of that unspoken rule is harsh. There’s no talking around it. They’ll eat you. Scary, yes, but what does it say about humankind when I feel safer here than up there above the floor boards? Do not steal and you won’t be devoured alive. It’s a simple treatise when you get down to it.
And, well, it's a refreshing way to study. You hone in on the important bits as a rat. The brain won’t let you dally on the unimportant for too long, lest your teeth start to chitter. There aren’t many distractions when one gets down to studying, at least not aside from my own breakneck faculties. But I was never one for a sole focus when I farted around on two legs. I was just as distracted then, tinged with a malaise. No malaise here in the land of wit and whisker.
But, studying. That was where I was. There’s more education amongst rats than you’d think. Not by much, but it’s still likely a bit higher than expectation given life expectancy of my non-magical brethren. Would you believe one fellow was a practicing cleric of Pelor? Incredible stuff. Who would have guessed that swallowing a holy symbol could advance your holy career so swiftly?
No one pays much heed to a rat scurrying around a library, church, or book store as long as you do your scurrying with ample discretion. A broom handle wack once set me out of sorts for a few days, but it’s nothing a little reprieve in the refuse couldn’t absolve. I was able to pilfer a tome that would have cost me a week’s wages doing garment fixes and blessings for university students. As long as I take a little human-siesta every few days to reorient my mind to a distinct course, I don’t see why I wouldn’t choose to be a rat the majority of my time.
And the landlord’s of this place pay us no mind at all. Crumbs aplenty tumble through the floorboards, and spilled ale makes for lurid evenings, but I shan’t squeak and tell. That’s another one that gets laughs aplenty down here. There’s truly no better place to be a rat than the basement of the Elfsong Tavern.
No comments:
Post a Comment