Mess hall

Two muffled thumps followed four swift whonks dealt by silent rage and excitement. Heart pounding and nerves dancing, Grumbleshanks looked with annoyance at the blood, guts, and brains painting his fishing net. Oh bugger. Dinner's in the oven, Squiggles! He spent the next few moments untangling the rat corpses from his net, while the others peeked down the tunnels at intersection T and kept an eye further down their current sewer, worried that their tenderizing created too much noise. With his newly painted net bundled up, ready for a more lucrative catch, he motioned for the others to continue towards the nest. Rage, revenge, and excitement padded quietly towards their next battle and, quite possibly, their death.