Chapter 119: The Rat’s Journey

Chapter 119: The Mouse's Journey

Outside Starfall City, at a fork on the North Road.

A group of refugees who had just fled the city gathered around a signpost. Among the crowd were well-dressed men and women, riding donkeys or riding in carriages—clearly wealthy merchants or lesser nobles from the city. There were also many ragged paupers, carrying their belongings on their backs, some without even that, having fled in such haste they didn't have time to gather their belongings.

"If you ask me, we ought to head south," said a well-dressed man. He was on horseback, with several retainers and a donkey cart piled with luggage.

"Prince Aster is holding White Spring Valley. Once we get there, everything will be fine," the man said confidently. "Surely the Prince wouldn't just leave his people to die?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"I wouldn't count on it, sir. If you ask me, the Prince's got his own problems to deal with," a ragged old man snorted, carrying only a simple pack on his back. "White Spring Valley won't hold out much longer! Nobody can stand against the Holy Nation's army—not even Prince Aster."

The well-dressed man snapped angrily: "You old fool, what nonsense are you spouting! You're talking up the enemy and tearing down our own side!"

"I've lived longer than you, sir. I've been through two wars. When they started, everyone was just as confident as you. And look what happened."

The old man shrugged. "If you ask me, we should head north and cross the border into another country. I hear the countries further north still worship the ancient True God. Maybe they can hold back the Holy Nation's advance!"

"Aren't those old gods all dead?" said a woman with her hair in a bun, holding a child's hand. "But the old man's got a point. The Holy Nation's coming from the south, so we should head north."

"White Spring Valley isn't going to fall!" the well-dressed man insisted.

"Whatever, I'm heading to the countryside to stay with relatives," someone said.

"Going to another country to ride out the storm is the right move!"

"Hiding in the mountains... we'll be back in Starfall City eventually."

The crowd chattered on, unable to reach a consensus. They had fled Starfall City together, bound by having faced death together, but facing an uncertain future, they decided to go their separate ways.

Some followed the well-dressed man south. Others headed north with the old man. The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving only a cloaked young woman standing before the signpost.

Her hood was pulled low, nearly hiding her entire figure. She had no mount and carried no luggage. She stared blankly at the signpost, not moving even after the other refugees had gone.

"Where should I go...?" Stella murmured to herself.

She'd barely escaped Starfall City, and getting this far had nearly drained every last bit of her strength. Every part of her body ached. When the burning shed collapsed on her, she'd almost blacked out, and it had taken everything she had to crawl out. Her face still stung like crazy, but she didn't dare stop to look.

Starfall City was in total chaos, as if the legendary war of the gods had come down upon the land. Everywhere there were soldiers with swords drawn, panicked men and women, crying children. She was swept along by the crowd, stumbling toward the city gates.

Above the gates hung the Scale-Lion banner, half-scorched by fire. Soldiers should have been there checking travelers and keeping order, but now no one was guarding the gates. The soldiers had either fled or been killed by the Duke of Cold Mountain's forces. And the Duke hadn't taken control of the city yet. So the crowd poured through the gates like water through a broken dam.

Once she'd finally made it out of the city to the outskirts, Stella had no idea what to do next. In the original plan, Alfonso was supposed to protect her out of the city, and then her guards and servants would escort her to safety. But her loyal guards and servants were all dead. And Alfonso... that despicable snake...

Stella stifled a sob.

"Just you wait, Alfonso. I'll live to see you die. I'll avenge Father and Mother..."

She looked down the southern fork. Most of the refugees had gone that way. Perhaps she should follow the crowd. Their original escape plan had been to head to White Spring Valley to find Aster. If that fell through, they'd detour north to a neighboring country.

Stella took two steps south, then went back to the signpost.

Alfonso knew about this escape plan too—he'd even helped come up with part of it. He might've already sent men to set up checkpoints on the roads north and south, waiting for her to walk right into his trap.

Where else could she go? Oh, right—Mother had once said that if there was no hope of restoring the kingdom, she should take a ship to the southern continent. The Holy Nation had set up colonies in the south, but there were still plenty of lands they hadn't touched. She could start a new life there.

If she needed to catch a ship, she should head west, cross the border into the western nations, and make for the western coast of the continent. There were several port cities there—not as grand as Starfall City, but all famous trading harbors.

Stella felt the small cloth pouch tucked into her clothes. Mother had given it to her, filled with gems—enough to hire a whole mercenary company or charter a merchant ship.

"Yeah, that's it. I'll go west and find a ship..." she murmured to herself. "Aster will be worried sick when I don't show. He might even think I'm dead. But he'll win for sure. Once he's victorious, I'll come back to Starfall City and reunite with him. Anyway, whether I'm there or not won't change the war. Maybe it's even better without me getting in the way..."

Among those who'd fled Starfall City together, a few thought the same way. About twenty or thirty people split off from the main group, taking the fork westward. Stella quickened her pace and managed to catch up to the back of the group.

Stella had never realized walking could be so exhausting. In the past, she'd often go on spring outings with her maids, picnicking on flower-covered hills outside the city, looking out over the grand city and beautiful harbor. She'd thought she was in good shape, but now she realized she wasn't in shape at all. The outings had been easy because she could ride when she got tired, rest whenever she wanted, and had people to carry her stuff.

At dusk, the group set up camp around a big tree. After a day of travel, people had naturally gotten to know each other, splitting into groups based on who they knew and lighting their own campfires.

When Stella arrived at the camp, people glanced at her sideways, seeming to recognize her from the day's journey, then looked away strangely. A few greeted her.

"Hey there, little miss, I thought you'd fallen behind!"

"Come warm up by the fire, young lady!"

Stella did need warmth. She looked around carefully, then chose a group with more women and children. She figured—men might hurt her, but surely women with kids wouldn't wish her harm?

She sat down by the campfire. A few kids glanced at her, then flinched in fear, shrinking behind their mothers. Stella didn't understand why they were looking at her like that. Could they have recognized her as the princess? No way—they were just commoners... But to be safe, she pulled her hood lower to cover her face.

People chewed black bread by the fire, looking numb. It looked like burnt stone. In the old days, Stella wouldn't have given such a thing a second look, but now, exhausted and hungry, food she'd once turned her nose up at had become a delicacy.

She suddenly realized she had no food and no water. Those things had been carried by her servants, and they were all dead in the tunnels.

"Um... could you spare a little?" she asked an older woman timidly. "I can pay you."

The woman looked her up and down. "Little miss, money's the least valuable thing these days. But if you'll trade those boots of yours, I might think about it."

Stella looked at the black bread, then at her finely made leather boots, and silently shook her head. She didn't think the two were of equal value, and without boots, she couldn't possibly make this long journey.

The woman curled her lip, muttered "ungrateful brat," and stopped talking to her. After eating, the group settled down to rest. Stella, fighting thirst and hunger, wrapped her cloak tightly and lay down by the fire.

She thought to herself—that woman scolded her, how petty. But if she disliked her, why didn't she drive her away from the fire?

Soon, Stella got her answer: if pursuers came, she'd be the slowest and get caught first. The others didn't need to outrun the pursuers—they just needed to outrun her.

Is this all I'm worth... Stella thought, despairing.

Just then, a faint rustling sound caught her ear.

Stella looked up, alert. The others were all fast asleep and hadn't heard a thing. She turned her gaze toward where the sound was coming from.

From the grass under the tree, a small gray-white head poked out.

It was a little mouse with tiny black eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian. It tilted its head, studying her with a wisdom that didn't belong to a mouse.

Stella faced off with it. The little mouse showed no fear, instead boldly taking a few steps closer.

Stella suddenly remembered she'd seen lots of mice in the tunnels, including one that was gray-white—maybe a mutant. Could this little mouse be the same one from the tunnels?

Impossible. How could a mouse have come this far?

Stella silently laughed at her own wild imagination. She reached out her hand to the little mouse. It sniffed her fingertips, then crawled under her palm, curling up into a little ball of fluff.

"You've lost your home too, haven't you?" Stella said softly.

She clutched the little ball of fluff, feeling its warm body and steady breathing, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when she felt something nibbling at her.

She jolted awake. A little grayish-white mouse was biting her finger. She let out a startled cry and tossed the mouse away. That's when she noticed someone crouching at her feet.

"Who's there?!"

Stella sat up and saw who it was: the woman who'd wanted to trade boots with her.

"Oh my, little miss, you're... you're awake?" the woman said with a nervous smile, scooting back a bit.

Stella glared at her, wary, pulling her legs up and hiding her feet under her cloak.

"What do you want?" she snapped. She figured the woman was planning to swipe her boots while she slept.

"I was just... uh... well..." the woman said, looking away guiltily. "I saw a rat and was scared it might bite you. Since you're fine, I'll just go back to sleep now, heh heh."

She crawled back over to her family. They all had sleeping bags, and the kids were bundled up in thick blankets.

Stella hugged her knees, staring at them without blinking. She didn't dare fall back asleep, scared of getting robbed in the night.

The little mouse scurried over and tugged at her sleeve. She scooped up the tiny creature and looked into its black eyes.

"I'm sorry, I misjudged you. You were trying to warn me, weren't you?"

The mouse squeaked twice, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

Stella smiled and tucked the mouse into her cloak. How strange—her own people wanted to rob her, but a mouse was helping her. The world really was upside down...

She waited until dawn. The refugees woke up one by one, ate breakfast by the dying campfire, and then set off in groups.

Stella stood under the big tree, watching the refugees vanish into the morning mist in twos and threes, but she didn't follow. Only when the last figure was swallowed up by the fog did she let out a long breath.

She looked down at the little mouse in her palm. The tiny thing curled up in her palm, its bright black eyes looking up at her as if to ask: Aren't you going?

"I'll go alone," Stella said softly. "I don't trust anyone else. I can make it to the west coast by myself, and then take a ship south."

Suddenly her stomach growled loudly. Stella's face turned red. She hadn't eaten a single bite in nearly a day. Despite her bold words, she had no food or water—how far she'd get in the next day was anyone's guess.

The little mouse squeaked twice, slipped out of her hand, and darted into the grass by the road.

Stella froze. "Hey—!"

She hurried after it. The mouse's grayish-white shape flickered in and out of sight in the grass. It ran a short ways, then stopped, stood up on its hind legs, and looked back at her. Stella got it—the mouse was leading the way.

Stella hesitated for a moment, then decided to follow it. That little mouse had something special about it; it had helped her last night. She trusted the mouse more than she trusted people.

She followed the mouse off the main road and onto a path that was almost swallowed up by wild grass. The trail looked like it hadn't been used in ages, with bushes on both sides almost closing it off. After about fifteen minutes, a small wooden cabin appeared up ahead.

The cabin's door and windows were wide open—no need to go inside to know it was empty. Roughly made tables and chairs were knocked over on the floor, wardrobe drawers were yanked open, like the owner had left in a big hurry.

"Maybe they ran away," Stella muttered to herself.

The little mouse crawled under the bed, then came back out a moment later with a leather waterskin in its mouth.

The waterskin was small, the leather a bit old, but still usable. Stella was thrilled. There was a well outside. She hurried over to get some water. She'd never drawn water before; it took several tries to haul the bucket up, and it was only half full. Her palms stung from the effort, but having water was what mattered most.

She drank straight from the bucket, gulping it down. As the water ran down her dry, aching throat, she almost cried. Her mother would definitely scold her for "not acting like a princess," but she couldn't worry about that right now.

After she'd drunk her fill, she planned to fill the waterskin with the rest, but then she caught her reflection in the water.

Her eyes widened as she stared at her right cheek in the water.

An ugly, horrifying scar ran across her cheek.

She screamed and knocked the bucket flying.

Now she understood why her cheek had hurt so much, and why the people at the camp wouldn't look her in the eye. She must have been burned when the burning wooden shelter collapsed on her.

How could this happen... how could this happen...

Stella wept quietly. Once, people had called her the most beautiful maiden in Moltalia, the brightest pearl of the Northern Kingdoms. Countless young, handsome nobles had come to court her, and even getting a dance with her required waiting in line.

But now, now... she had become this. Would Aster even recognize her?

Stella lay on the ground crying for a long time. The little mouse scurried anxiously around her, squeaking. She cried until her tears were nearly spent, sobbing and hiccuping, before she managed to push herself up.

Aster will recognize me—even if I'm completely changed, he'll know his sister. Stella thought. I have to survive, I have to reunite with Aster. There are supernatural forces in this world; maybe I can be healed?

She drew another half bucket of water and filled the waterskin. It hung heavy, and for the first time Stella realized how heavy water could be.

"Thank you," she said hoarsely to the little mouse.

The mouse scurried back into the cabin and dragged out a small cloth bundle. The bundle had been gnawed open in a few places, revealing several hard, dry flatbreads covered in dust, but they didn't smell spoiled.

Stella sat on the ground, slowly chewing the flatbread. It was hard as stone; she had to grind it bit by bit with her teeth, taking a big gulp of water with every bite. After finishing a small piece, she paused to rest, as if that would make the food last longer.

She shared a small piece of flatbread with the little mouse. The tiny creature held it in its paws, nibbling with its front teeth, whiskers trembling.

Stella rested at the cabin for a long time, until the sun climbed to its peak, before setting out again. She found a small pack in the cabin and slung it over her shoulder. The little mouse ran ahead to lead the way. It didn't take the main road but guided Stella through paths winding through fields and woods.

Though her pace was much slower, Stella felt more at ease. Pursuers wouldn't take such routes—they'd be on horseback, confined to the main roads.

Stella wondered how the little mouse knew the way. Was it an innate gift of mice? Or could it talk to birds and insects, learning from them the most hidden yet easiest paths?

By dusk, the mouse led her to a cave.

The entrance was small, half-hidden by a thicket of brambles. Had the mouse not crawled in and out to signal her, Stella would never have found the place.

She struggled to push aside the branches and crawl in, discovering it was surprisingly spacious inside—roomy enough for two people to lie side by side.

"Thank you, clever little one!"

She scooped up the mouse and planted a kiss on its tiny head.

"If I ever return to the palace, I'll appoint you the Royal Mouse of Moltalia!" she promised.

But her expression dimmed immediately. Would she ever see Starfall City again? Her father and mother were gone—Aster... was Aster still alright?

She wiped her eyes hard, cleaned up the cave, and arranged a spot to sleep. She wanted to build a fire, but she had no tinder. And she didn't know the skill of striking sparks from stone.

So she could only wrap her cloak tightly against the night's chill. She shivered violently, afraid she might catch a cold. If she fell ill here, she would surely die...

The only warmth she had was the little mouse. The tiny furball lay in her palm, its grayish-white coat rising and falling with each breath.

Even now, Stella found it hard to believe. Less than a month ago, she had been drinking tea with her mother in the garden pavilion of the palace. Aster had assured her he would win the war. Her father had said the walls of Starfall City were impregnable, that they could hold the city until they grew old. Her mother had comforted her that if worst came to worst, they could flee. Her cousin Alfonso had sworn he would protect her with his life.

"You know," she murmured, gazing at the mouse's trembling whiskers, "I used to think Cousin Alfonso was the finest person in the world, even better than my brother. He was the same age as my brother, but his martial skill and learning both surpassed Aster's. Every time he came to Starfall City from his domain, he brought me gifts. He trained the Griffin Legion alongside Aster. I attended their parades—Alfonso looked so magnificent then, riding a white horse, his armor gleaming. Every girl in Starfall City dreamed of him."

Her voice grew softer and softer. She could no longer see the little furball in her hands; a mist seemed to form before her eyes, blurring everything.

"Did he want the throne that badly? Is it really worth that much? Would he abandon his own kin for it? Were all those words he said to us just lies?"

Silence settled over the cave. The little mouse raised its head, its small black eyes fixed unblinkingly on her.

Stella closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. The little mouse crawled up to her cheek and licked away her tears with its tiny tongue. The feel of it was rough and warm, with a faint sting.

Stella reached out, cupped it in her palm, and held it against her chest. The little mouse let out a soft squeak—small, yet resolute.

*

At first light, Stella and the little mouse set out once more. She carried the heavy waterskin on her back, following the mouse's lead through the wilderness.

Sometimes she came across berry bushes or wild fruit trees, enough to take the edge off her hunger. But most of the time, she just had to tough it out on an empty stomach.

Once, she found a cluster of green berries. Starving as she was, she ignored the little mouse's warning and ate them, only to end up puking and getting the runs. In the end, the mouse managed to find some medicinal herbs, and she chewed them up and swallowed them before the pain in her stomach finally let up.

Even when she was so weak she could hardly stand, she had to keep moving. On good days, she'd find an empty cabin where she could rest. On bad days, she just had to sleep under the trees.

When the hunger got to be too much, the little mouse led her to an anthill. Seeing all those ants crawling everywhere made her skin crawl and she almost puked. But she quickly figured out what the mouse was getting at. She had heard that insects were edible—in the colonies of the southern continent, roasted bugs were even a delicacy.

She didn't have a fire, so she just grabbed the ants and ate them raw. She cried while she ate, a weird sour taste filling her mouth.

Stella's feet were covered in blisters, and every step was pure agony. By the seventh day, the blisters had popped. She just collapsed under a willow tree.

I'm going to die, she thought. Die out here in the middle of nowhere. Wild beasts will devour my corpse. Alfonso will finally get what he wants. If I'd known this was going to happen, I never would've run—I should've died with Father and Mother...

But thinking about Alfonso made her sit up with a jolt.

I can't die yet. Alfonso's not dead, so there's no way I'm dying before him!

So she dragged herself up again and limped after the little mouse.

She couldn't handle the steep, rough mountain trails anymore, so the mouse led her away from the hills, trying to get back to the main road. They climbed a small hill. A few pine trees stood at the top. Stella crouched behind one of them and peered down at the road below.

The road wound below her like a gray-brown snake. At the narrowest spot between the hills, someone had set up a roadblock with barricades and wooden fences.

About twenty soldiers were standing guard at the roadblock. They wore iron-gray chainmail, and the surcoats on their chests had the emblem of three peaks.

"The Duke of Cold Mountain..." Stella's eyes widened.

A dozen or so people were lined up at the roadblock, all refugees heading west. The soldiers checked each one—men were pulled aside for a search, and women had to take off their hats or headscarves. An officer stood nearby holding a piece of paper, glancing at the women's faces every now and then.

From this far away, Stella couldn't make out what was on the paper. But soon, a dark-haired girl in the line was pulled out. She was crying, and her father stepped forward to argue, but a soldier just slapped him to the ground.

Stella touched her own hair—no doubt about it. They were looking for her.

The soldiers were on the main road, so they were faster. No wonder they'd gotten ahead of her and set up the roadblock.

She couldn't just walk into their trap. The mountain trails were rough, but she had no choice—she had to find a way around.

Stella slowly backed away from the hill, and only when she was sure she was out of sight of the roadblock did she stand up and head the other way.

The pale sun crept from east to west. Her legs felt like lead; every step took everything she had. Her feet hurt more and more, until they finally went almost numb.

The little mouse kept running ahead, sometimes turning back to wait for her. It seemed to pick up on her exhaustion, slowing down, and sometimes even running back to circle her feet, like it was cheering her on.

Suddenly, the little mouse stopped, stood up on its hind legs, and stared into the sky.

Crows circled overhead.

At the same time, a sweet, rotten smell drifted on the wind, and Stella's stomach turned.

She'd smelled this smell a long time ago. When she was a kid, there was a stretch where she kept noticing a weird smell in her room. Eventually, the servants found out a cat had died on the eaves outside her bedroom window. That's when she learned it was the smell of rotting flesh.

Stella knew she should turn around and leave, but the only way around the roadblock was to keep going. She steadied herself, covered her nose, and kept going.

In the valley ahead, on a stretch of flat ground, bodies were piled everywhere.

Most were civilians, easily identified by their plain clothing. Among them were soldiers in padded armor. Some wore surcoats embroidered with the Duke of Cold Mountain's crest, but more wore battle robes bearing the Scale Lion.

Perhaps it had been a skirmish between the Duke of Cold Mountain's men and Moltalia soldiers. The civilians had been caught in the crossfire. But none of that mattered anymore. They were all dead.

Flies buzzed incessantly. Crows strutted proudly among the corpses. Seeing Stella approach, these black birds reluctantly flapped their wings and took off, landing on nearby branches to wait.

Stella plopped down on the ground, supporting herself with her hands, and dry-heaved a few times. But there was nothing in her stomach to bring up—only a bit of yellow liquid.

The little mouse stood by her feet, squeaking anxiously.

"I'm fine," Stella said, wiping the corner of her mouth, her voice hoarse. "I just need to get through this place, right? I can do it. They're just dead people—it's not like I've never seen them before..."

She pushed herself up by her knees and had just turned when she heard a sound ahead.

Like a startled bird, she instinctively crouched down (a move she had grown practiced at during her days of flight), hiding behind a rock. The little mouse followed, perching on the stone, ears pricked, alertly scanning the distance.

A small boy pushed through the underbrush and emerged.

He looked about ten years old, thin as a dried reed, his hair a tangled mess like a bird's nest. He wore a tattered coat several sizes too large, trousers that were far too short, exposing his calves, and no shoes at all. Compared to him, the beggars of Starfall City were dressed in finery.

The boy walked through the battlefield, head bowed like a crow, carefully inspecting the ground. Stella wondered what he was doing, until she saw him crouch beside a corpse, deftly fumbling a few copper coins from its pocket and quickly tucking them into his clothes.

He's looting the dead! Stella thought in shock. This is desecration!

But then she reconsidered—perhaps the boy needed those things more than the dead did. If it were Stella, and a corpse carried food, she might also endure the disgust to take it.

The boy searched a few more bodies, finding nothing. His lips moved, as if cursing. Finally, he discovered something good on a headless corpse.

It was a pair of short boots, still in decent condition. Crude workmanship, worn soles, the uppers caked with mud and blood.

They were nothing compared to Stella's leather boots, but the boy grinned, ecstatic as he pulled the boot off the corpse's left foot and compared it to his own—too big, but wearable.

The boy looked satisfied, then began pulling off the right boot.

Just then, a voice came from the other side of the valley.

"Hey! You! Kid, put that down!"

The boy froze, jerking his head up.

A man stepped out from the bushes. He wore a short-sleeved cloth shirt, a short blade at his waist, and an unhealed scar beneath his eye, like a red earthworm crawling across his face.

"Kid, give me that!"

The boy hid the boots behind his back and shouted defiantly, "I found them first!"

The man cursed and lunged to snatch them. The boy refused to yield, biting the man hard. The man yelped in pain, released his grip, cursed, and kicked the boy square in the chest.

The boy's frail body flew like a sack of potatoes, landing on a pile of corpses and rolling several times, yet he still clung tightly to the boots.

"They're mine!" he screamed. "I found them first!"

"Yours?" The man laughed as if he'd heard a joke, walking over slowly, drawing the short blade from his waist with a theatrical flourish.

"Well then, once you're dead, they'll be mine!"

The boy clutched the boots to his chest, tears welling in his eyes. But even then, he refused to let go of his "prize."

Stella hid behind the rock, trembling all over. She couldn't understand why an adult would try to take something from a child. There were other corpses—he could easily search those. And for such a trivial thing, he was actually willing to kill a kid!

She understood even less why the boy wouldn't let go of the boots in the face of death. If what he was protecting were gold and jewels, or books containing precious wisdom, or priceless works of art, that would at least make sense. But those were just a pair of worn leather boots. Were they worth more to him than his own life?

The man raised his short blade. The boy turned his head away and closed his eyes.

Just as the blade started to come down, the man seemed to sense something. He began to turn, but a sharp pain burst at the back of his skull.

The boy, eyes squeezed shut, trembled as he waited for death. But he waited and waited, and the pain he expected never came.

He only heard a dull thud, and something heavy hit the ground. The boy timidly opened one eye and was stunned to see the man who had threatened him lying face-down in the pile of dead bodies, as if he'd become one of the corpses himself.

Behind him stood a thin, frail-looking woman. She wore a brown cloak with the hood covering her face, her cloak covered in mud and leaves, like someone who'd been walking through the wilderness.

In her hand, she clutched a large stone stained with fresh blood.

The boy froze for a moment, then asked hoarsely, "Are you going to take my stuff too?"

The woman glanced down at herself, then suddenly flung the stone away in a panic, as if it were something filthy.

The two stared at each other in silence, neither speaking for a long moment.

Then, from the far end of the valley, faint voices drifted over.

"Damn, this stinks. Why does Hendrik love looting corpses so much? Doesn't it gross him out?"

"Maybe he'll find something good. Heh heh, if there's a woman..."

"You sick bastard! Get the hell away from me! Don't touch me! Disgusting!"

The boy snapped out of his daze. He realized the man had accomplices. At least two of them. And even if he teamed up with this strange woman, they wouldn't stand a chance.

In that instant, the boy made his decision.

Still holding the boots tight with one arm, he grabbed the woman's wrist with the other.

"Come on, let's go!"