Big, fat, wretched rats gnawed endlessly at the wood. Why are these pests only known for ruining what others build? To make matters worse, the beavers were trying to store food and control the sudden surge of water in the river, all to keep everyone safe from the coming storm. Even when the rats noticed us, they weren't threatened—if anything, they seemed to enjoy provoking us, daring us to fight.
Why are the beavers just letting them be? If it were me, I would've driven them away by force.
"Igor, what are we going to do?" I asked. "Are we going to fight them?"
Igor took a deep breath, calm as ever, and simply told us to gather more logs. The other beavers followed his orders without complaint. I did too, though confusion churned in my chest. Why would they admit defeat to such mean, pesky creatures?
"Igor," I asked as we worked, "why are you letting them tear down the dam and chew through the logs you worked so hard to place? We'll never finish if we keep letting them."
"If we fight them," he replied evenly, "what good will that do? Some of us will get hurt, which means fewer beavers to work on the dam. We would rather double our efforts, repair what they destroy, improve it, and continue working."
I stopped for a moment, his words sinking in.
I had never thought about it that way.
These beavers cared more about completing their duty than wasting energy on conflict. Their focus wasn't on pride or retaliation—it was on protection, efficiency, and survival.
"Shouldn't we at least try to prevent the damage from getting worse?" I asked, lifting another branch. "Something to slow them down?"
"They are close relatives of our clan," Igor said. "Even if they've lost their way, we must be patient. You never know when you'll need one another. Keeping relationships amicable matters."
I stared at him, stunned.
Igor might be the wisest ruler I've met in this world. His strength wasn't shown through force or dominance, but through restraint and diplomacy. It made me want to be better—to think beyond my instincts.
I worked harder than ever, hauling logs, mud, twigs—everything I could find. By the end of the day, the dam stood tall and strong. Relief washed over me. Our effort paid off.
I went home that night satisfied, even happy.
The next day shattered that peace.
More rats came.
By morning, almost everything we'd built was destroyed.
The sound of gnawing teeth and splintering wood burned into my ears. Tears welled in my eyes as rage surged through me.
"That's enough!" I shouted, stepping forward. "How dare you destroy our hard work! You're putting lives in danger—how can you not care?!"
One of the rats sneered. "So what are you going to do about it?"
That did it.
I was ready to charge—until Igor stopped me with a firm hand and a gentle shake of his head.
"Shelley," he said quietly, "if you truly want to help us, don't fall for their pettiness. Otherwise, please don't help at all."
His words hit harder than any insult.
I swallowed my anger. I had to respect their way. Igor's patience was on another level—but there had to be a smarter solution.
"Please," I said, bowing. "Let me try something. I won't hurt them—just deter them. If we keep doing this, we'll never finish the dam."
Igor didn't answer right away. He kept working, expression unreadable.
For a moment, I thought he'd refuse.
Then he spoke.
"Why are you so certain you can deter them?" he asked. "If you stop them, more may come. We don't believe violence solves anything—but if you truly have a way to deter them without harm, then do it."
My eyes lit up.
I asked where the rats usually came from and spent the next few days observing their paths. Slowly, a plan took shape.
Rats—like bats—hate certain plants.
I established a perimeter around the dam and planted lavender, catnip, marigolds, and eucalyptus. Soon, they were fully grown and blooming, forming a natural deterrent.
Next, I worked on a secondary dam.
I remembered reading about woods that were notoriously hard to gnaw—buloke, hickory maple. I manifested logs of those types, relieved to find they existed here as well. I instructed the beavers not to chew them but to stack them strategically, leaving openings for water flow.
The second dam served multiple purposes: a backup, a decoy, and a confusion tactic.
It worked.
The rats disappeared for days, giving us precious time to finish the main dam.
When it was finally complete, we celebrated—exhausted but victorious.
"You've earned my respect," Igor said. "We honor you as an ally and a friend, Shelley of the Bunny Tribe."
"No," I replied sincerely. "I should thank you. You taught me that not every problem needs force—sometimes patience, discipline, and perspective are stronger."
As we spoke, I noticed the rats watching from afar—eyes bloodshot, movements erratic, as if controlled.
Then the rain came.
Heavy. Relentless.
Igor was right. These rats weren't acting on their own. Someone—or something—was controlling them. And the only way to save them was to break that spell at its source.
The river began to roar.
"To higher ground!" Igor shouted.
The beavers scrambled up the muddy slopes, but the rats remained on the dam, frozen in their trance, staring at the oncoming wall of water. Igor, true to his word about caring for his relatives, ran back down to warn them.
"Igor, no!" I screamed, sliding down the mud to reach him, until something grabbed me and hurled me backward.
Rain blurred my vision. I screamed for Igor's name.
Then—thud.
I wiped the water from my eyes and saw him beside me. He pointed toward the dam.
A giant snake was tangled in it. It was injured, its scales torn by the rushing debris. My breath hitched. The emerald and gold pattern... it was familiar.
The rats scattered in fear and fled.
The dam held.
I stood, heart pounding, staring at the wounded serpent.
Have I met this snake before… or is it another one?