One of the men brought a burning brand from the last of the village fires and handed it to Grace, who pushed it in amongst the dry moss and small branches at the base of the pyre. Flames began to flicker and smoke curled up into the quiet air.
There was a dry scraping and rustling as a mouse that had found its way into the pyre was sent scurrying by the smoke and heat. A pair of tiny eyes could be seen in the gathering dusk as the little creature paused in fear at the open space it would have to cross to safety.
Cat said, “I must save him!” and squirmed free of Marlowe’s arms, landing heavily on his paws and leaping into the pile of burning logs.