Crouched in perfect stillness beneath a toadstool, Tobin sniffed the air. Wet, with a faint metallic odor.
A storm was coming, a big one. Lightning for sure. Not a good day for a mouse to venture too far from the Great Burrow. Tobin lifted his nose to the breeze again, performing the junior weather scout procedures dutifully: Sniff the air. Search the air. Feel the air.
He didn’t even need all three steps today. The odor of rain was obvious, the clouds sat heaped in the sky like a row of giant bears, and as for feeling the air – his tan-and-black speckled fur was already clumped together from the humidity. For the third time that afternoon, Tobin rubbed his cheeks, fluffing out his fur and whiskers. After all, whiskers used properly are a fine-tuned sensory tool. Drooping whiskers can’t do their job.
I had random.org select a page and it selected page 112.
He gazed around. The underground stream flowed through a long, open tunnel, with the earth wall they had just taken a tumbled own on one side and a raised bank on the other.The bank looked easy enough to scrabble up, but he couldn’t quite see over its top.
By far the most interesting thing was a rusty chain running straight up out of the water and disappearing into the murky darkness above.