The last thing that went through Bobs mind was a blade of magical force steel..
Next thing he was aware of was a shape…
It was about six inches high. It wore a black robe. It held a small scythe in one skeletal paw. A bone-white nose with brittle grey whiskers protruded from the shadowy hood.
Bob did not seem very pleased to see him.
SQUEAK, the Death of Rats explained.
SQUEAK, the Death of Rats confirmed.
‘[Preen whiskers] [twitch nose]?’
The Death of Rats shook its head.
Bob was crestfallen. The Death of Rats laid a bony but not entirely unkind paw on its shoulder.
Bob nodded sadly. It had been a good life in the Trog tunnels. But then meeting the non smelly men opened up a whole new world of terror filled ant fights and massive feeds of roasted beef and ant meat.
Bob shrugged, and trooped after the small robed figure.
It wasn’t as if he had any choice.