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andaisqPerrit Hookhand, itinerant rat mystic and occasional graverobber extraordinaire, is currently hunting the wild berry. Berries are delicious, and the cheese he got from Sally is running out, and he doesn't want to have to ask for more so soon. She's nice enough already, he doesn't need to elevate her to sainthood. So: berries. He has a tidy little basket of blackberries and raspberries and strawberries hidden under his coat in case some goodmouse is struck by the perfectly understandable impression that he stole it from a dying widow or something and feels the need to bring him to justice with a broadsword.
...Is that a door in that tree over there? That is definitely a door. Perrit does not remember a door in that tree. He cautiously squeaks it open, and- the interior is definitely not the interior of a tree.
"My dreams usually have more food than this," he comments as he walks into the strange room. No one else appears to be inside.
It's fucking cold out. He's going to take advantage of the inexplicable central heating in this tree and shelter here for a minute.
...Is that a door in that tree over there? That is definitely a door. Perrit does not remember a door in that tree. He cautiously squeaks it open, and- the interior is definitely not the interior of a tree.
"My dreams usually have more food than this," he comments as he walks into the strange room. No one else appears to be inside.
It's fucking cold out. He's going to take advantage of the inexplicable central heating in this tree and shelter here for a minute.
