Prolouge

A learned hand sent a dutiful quill scratching swiftly on a paper's rugged surface.  In haste and urgency, the writer looked not at the candle, which threatened to self-exhaust in the frigid air.  Nor did this person risk a wandering glance around the quarters, which held no luxury, not even a cot.  The pen was not the only sound in the dismal room, for it was joined by the ever-present sound of rats and--tonight--the harsh attack of rain.  The many drops that managed to enter the room splished and splashed into puddles on the floor, surely ruining any chance of sleep for the night.

Though new goose bumps from the cold rose on the writer's arm, this person did not hesitate or even quiver in the cold.  This letter was far more important than any type of present discomfort.  So, dutifully, the quill scratched on.

After a few moments, a single rat made its way into the room, using its nose as a guide.  Left.  Right.  The nose guided the rat's head in the direction of its goal.  In a sudden epiphany, the rat darted in the direction of the absorbed writer.  As soon as it approached, it began to slow, to waver in its quest.  A moment passed when nothing moved save the quill on paper.  Then the rat darted to the writer's coat, which still hung around the person's hunched shoulders.  Swiftly, the rat gathered a few small crumbs into its hungry mouth and scurried away to leave the being alone.  Truly alone.

Another moment later, the writing ceased, and it was proofread.  Satisfied with the work, the letter was dated and rolled up snugly.  In a moment of pure concentration, the writer closed their eyes and held the parchment limply.  As the moments turned to minutes, the paper began to give off a slight pale blue glow.  As the glow faded, the letter was shoved through a small crack in the wall and into the night's harsh rain.  A single, solitary plea rang through the night as the letter made its destined journey.

"Please bring help..."