The mouse darts through the crumbling ruins, its tiny paws a blur against the moss-stained stone. Sharp claws grip uneven surfaces as it leaps gaps with feral precision, whiskers twitching at the faintest tremor in the air. Hunger gnaws—always hunger—but survival demands more than speed. It listens, nose quivering, to the distant skitter of armored beetles and the low growl of something larger prowling beyond the broken archway. Every shadow is a sanctuary, every crevice a potential tomb. The world here breathes danger, and the mouse knows its rules: move swift, vanish quicker, trust nothing but the pulse of its own frantic heart. Tonight, it will feed. Or it will not.
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