Silence came as an electric shock. We jolted. We knew that the moment had come. Instead, we huddled tighter in the nest. Sweat. Flickering ears. Vibrating whiskers. We did not move, until the rising heat made the place intolerable. We overcame our fear, and left, as written in the book. The traditional paths were not altered. One could still scent on the damp concrete the comforting body odours imprinted there by whole generations. We scurried along the southern pipes, passing by the food caches organised by our late uncles and aunts, a few days before our birth, three weeks ago. For hours, we scampered up the cool draught, another Ariadne's thread to guide us from our native darkness to a faint twilight that was slowly creeping in. And slowly we were able to discern the winged silhouette of the silenced fan. We lay down for a moment, and stared at the world that awaited us on the other side of the blades, the snug shadows of the kitchen, the harsh glare of the open fridge, the nutritious belly of an overflowing trash can : our few months of rodent life. We all rose and scuttled across the