Down, down the rabbit hole the warrior mice went. Their paws never moved away from their tiny swords, for they didn’t know what horrors waited for them, but they knew they weren’t rabbits. Something foul had moved into the warren, scaring off the rabbits and forcing them to run to the mice for help. And so it was that the Gouda Guard was assembled and sent down, down the rabbit hole.
Commander Fenniwick was prone to nervousness, making him an odd choice for a commander, but he pressed forward with his jaw set tight. The men and women of the Gouda Guard looked to him for support and assurance, so he would not show a cowardly face to them. And he didn’t. At least, not until he slipped on a big black something and let out a frightened squeak.
The others came over to him to help him up, not wanting to leave the commander sitting in the mud. As they pulled him upright, they noticed that the big black something was, in fact, a huge feather.