Randy woke to Chewy’s stomach growling like distant thunder.
“Let’s press on,” Chewy whined, shifting his paws restlessly. “I am really, really hungry. My humans kept saying all life comes from trees, but maybe they were wrong because I don’t see any dog biscuits anywhere here.”
“You keep saying ‘your humans’, what do you mean by that? You own humans?” Randy asked.
“Yeah,” Chewy explained. “I take care of them and give them love, and in turn they feed me. But I am here because they don’t respect me. I heard them laughing, saying a dog like me could never survive out here in The Wild. Well, I am not planning to go back until I prove them wrong.”
They set off again, following the winding path as it dipped towards the river. The air grew heavy, thick with a foul, cloying stench that made Randy’s nose twitch. Discarded bits of human rubbish — wrappers, tins, strange plastic things — littered the ground with increasing frequency. They reached a rickety wooden bridge slung across the river. In the far distance, hazy through the foul air, loomed a vast mountain range made entirely of refuse. The landfill. Its overpowering reek rolled towards them in waves.
"This must be the land the fox promised we would find," Randy said, pinching his nose tightly. "It reeks."
"It's... rich," Chewy countered, sniffing the air deeply, his tail giving a tentative wag. "Dense. Smells like opportunity. Now, where are those dog biscuits?"
It was bizarre. Chewy seemed to relish the stench of the dump with the same morbid delight Randy had felt tasting that first bite of Duria’s cheese.
"Are you absolutely sure we'll find food here?" Randy asked, eyeing the desolate mounds of trash.
"Of course! Where else do you think humans harvest all their food and stuff?" Chewy replied.
"What??"
"This must be it," Chewy insisted. "The part of the forest where humans grow their things."
Randy scanned the landscape again. Mountains of rotting waste, buzzing flies, scraps of unidentifiable junk. There was absolutely nothing that looked remotely edible, let alone desirable.
"You're joking, right?"
"Tell me your favourite food," Chewy demanded, already nosing through a pile of discarded wrappers, oblivious to Randy’s scepticism.
"Something sweet!" Randy said instantly.
"Sweet? You mean like… candy?" Chewy asked, wrinkling his nose.
"Yes!" Randy exclaimed, his mouth watering at the thought.
Chewy looked horrified. "Candy? Who would want sticky, horrible candy when you could have delicious, crunchy dog biscuits?"
Randy simply couldn't understand it. "Have you ever tried sweets?"
"Of course," Chewy said dismissively. "My humans have a candy store. That's where I grew up. Never liked a single thing in there."
Randy’s jaw dropped. His ears shot up. "Are you serious? You lived inside a giant human house filled entirely with sweets?"
"Yes, but luckily my humans never fed me that junk," Chewy explained. "Only tried it once or twice when a customer dropped some. I suppose I kind of like chocolate, but apparently it's bad for dogs."
"Please, Chewy! Take me there!" Randy begged. "Please promise you'll take me!"
Chewy hesitated. "Maybe one day. If I can ever prove I can survive out here on my own. I'm not going back until then."
Suddenly they heard a muffled cry cut through the stench. "Help…! Help me!"
Randy and Chewy looked at each other, then rushed towards the sound. They scrambled over a mound of refuse and peered down. Below them, a long, green snake coiled tightly around a large glass bottle. Inside the bottle, frantically scrabbling at the glass, was a rat. The snake was content to wait, its unblinking eyes fixed on its trapped meal.
"Get her off me!" the rat yelled, banging against the inside of the bottle.
The snake turned its head towards Randy, its forked tongue flicking out in a sinister greeting. A cold smirk played on its scaled lips. Randy froze, rooted to the spot, his fur prickling with icy fear.
"Don't be foolish, dog," the snake hissed as Chewy growled, creeping closer down the slope. "My venom would kill you easily, but it would be a terrible waste. I couldn't possibly eat something your size. That little mouse, however…" She flicked her tongue towards Randy again. "…he would be quite the treat. A fair trade, wouldn't you say? One rodent for another."
"If you don't leave now, you'll regret it," Chewy barked bravely.
The snake chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Go ahead. Try me. I'm waiting."
"Randy," Chewy whispered urgently, glancing back, "we need a diversion." Randy froze. "Can't… move…" he stammered, barely audible. His mind raced frantically. What would Tiny Hops do? Think! But terror clouded his thoughts like thick smoke.
"I need you to distract her," Chewy whispered again, his body tense. "Just make a noise, jump around, anything! So I can bite her neck. Do it on my signal, alright?"
Randy tried to nod, but he was paralysed, trapped in the snake’s cold, red gaze. Chewy, mistaking his frozen silence for readiness, didn’t wait any longer.
"Now!" Chewy shouted, launching himself forward.
Startled, the snake struck out, fangs bared. But her coiled body, wrapped around the bottle, restricted her movement. Chewy dodged the strike, his own fangs snapping shut, finding their mark deep in the snake's neck.
The snake thrashed wildly, twisting and turning, trying desperately to break free, but Chewy held on with the tenacity of a bulldog, his small body braced against the struggle. Within minutes, the thrashing weakened, the snake’s body twitched, and finally, it lay still.
Chewy released his grip, stepping back. He looked down at the dead snake, tilted his head curiously, then licked his lips, shaking himself slightly as if nothing particularly unusual had happened.
"You were supposed to cause a diversion," he said, turning to Randy, who remained frozen, staring wide-eyed at the scene.
"I'm so sorry," Randy whispered, shame flooding him. "I couldn't move… I don't know what happened. I was so afraid. This is pointless — I'll never be a good adventurer."
"Sorry to interrupt this tender moment," squeaked the rat from inside the bottle, jiggling impatiently, "but I'm still rather stuck in here!"
Randy and Chewy looked up. The rat was considerably wider than the bottle's narrow opening.
"Just roll me down this heap," the rat instructed. "Push the bottle down onto the ground down there. Hopefully, the glass will break."
Chewy nudged the bottle with his nose. It tumbled down the pile of refuse, rolling and clanking until it hit a hard patch of ground and shattered, freeing the rat.
"Well now, what do we have here?" the rat said, dusting himself off and carefully checking his fur for shards of glass. "This looks like the start of a bad joke: a rat, a mouse, and a dog walk into a landfill…”
"How on earth did you get in that bottle?" Randy asked, amazed.
"I am Karnel, an exile from the city," the rat said, ignoring the question with a flick of his tail. "And you have my sincere thanks. You saved my life."
"Nice to meet you, Karnel. I'm Randy, and this is my friend Chewy," Randy replied. "Sorry to ask again, but I'm really curious — how did you get inside that bottle? It looks impossible…"
"Ah, yes," Karnel sighed, glancing at the broken glass. "Let's just say I had a small disagreement with 'King Randal', as he insists on being called. He… well, he doesn't like me much. We have some history, you see…”
"Randal?" Randy's ears twitched. "King Randal? Where is he? That's him! That's the rat who stole my pearl!"
"Pearl?" Karnel asked.
"Yes!" Randy exclaimed. "A magic pearl. It's precious to me, my uncle gave it to me just before he died."
Karnel snorted. "Magic? What sort of magic?"
"It shines brightly," Randy explained. "To guide you through life."
Karnel chuckled. "That's got to be the lamest magic power I've ever heard of. I would have preferred flying abilities or fire vision."
"Maybe it is useless," Randy retorted, stung by the rat's cynicism. "But it's very dear to me, and I want it back."
"Let's go find this 'king' then, Randy," Chewy said encouragingly, his tail wagging. "If he's a king, maybe he'll also know where the food is!"
Karnel held up a warning paw. "Listen to me, both of you. Randal hates mice. Hates them even more than he hates me, and that's saying something. The moment he lays eyes on you, Randy — or even you, dog — you'll both end up as his lunch."
"You saw Chewy fight that snake, right?" Randy boasted, trying to regain some confidence. "No rat is a match for him!"
"Maybe no single rat," Karnel conceded. "But he won't be a match for a hundred of them. Randal commands quite a following."
"Look," Randy said, ignoring Karnel's warning, "I just want to talk to him. Ask him nicely to please return my pearl."
Karnel sighed, twirling his whiskers. "Very well. You saved my life, so I owe you. I can take you to his 'palace' — that's where he usually holes up. But I won't be sticking around to watch the fireworks. I need to get out of this dump and find somewhere quiet to retire. Preferably somewhere with lots of food that doesn’t smell like month-old garbage."
Karnel turned and led Chewy and Randy along a narrow path weaving between two towering mountains of trash. The air grew thicker, the stench more potent with every step, but a strange sense of purpose filled Randy, overriding his disgust and fear. He was going to find Randal. He was going to get his pearl back.