The black sky was dotted with stars. Mouse thought they looked rather like glittering beetle eyes. She sighed and looked away: the stars also reminded her of Denzel’s cute black button eyes. Oh, how she missed her friend! This was yet another reason to hurry home.
Mouse must have looked strange indeed to a fellow traveler. The little girl was slumped in the driver’s seat, looking a bit like a clumsy puppet with its strings all tangled up. Her elbows rested on her knees; a lamp dangled dangerously from one arm. The other hand held the reins loosely. A boy’s messenger cap was jammed down over her choppy hair. There were bags under her eyes. Exactly what this scrawny imp could be doing commandeering a huge draft horse and cart on her own, no one can guess.
And it was late, too. The horse she was steering was dragging its feet with a mournful shuffling sound. “Just a little farther,” Mouse coaxed, stifling a yawn. The clip-clopping of Bess’s hooves and the rattle of the cart wheels were comforting, like a lullaby. No one had ever sung Mouse a lullaby, but that’s what she supposed it must sound like. She hadn’t slept for days, and the night was so warm…
When she awoke, she knew instantly something was wrong. Everything was pitch-black: her lantern had been snuffed out. Actually, it was nowhere in sight. But that was not all—she was sprawled on the side of the road and the cart was gone. “Don’t panic,” she spoke to herself aloud. She could feel a bruise forming on her cheek from where she had hit the gravel. She picked herself up stiffly.
That was when she saw the horse. Bess was lying on her side, covered in blood, her neck and legs bent at an odd angle. She was dead.
Mouse’s stomach lurched and the world began to spin. All that blood… she couldn’t look, to her shame. She was stranded: no cart, no Bess, no money, not even Denzel to keep her company. She felt a shriek rising up in her throat. Who had done this?! They’d pay.
A small voice in the back of her head told her it was her own fault she’s fallen asleep, but she ignored it.
“Bess,” she whispered, her eyes full of tears. She turned away and mastered herself, looking up at the beetle eyed stars reassurance. Then, she turned back around and unbuttoned her cloak. Shading her face, she draped it around the poor animal. She could almost pretend Bess was sleeping. The cloak looked so silly: it only covered part of her huge belly. Mouse didn’t see that, though.
She’d have to get back to town… it was convenient that Bess was lying on the side of the road. So convenient, in fact, that Mouse’s suspicions were aroused. The cart was gone, the horse was killed, and therefore hampering the rider… she had been robbed. But why had the bandits not slit her throat, as well? Mouse stood in the road awhile, musing.
At last she decided. She straightened her skirt and continued her journey on foot this time. Bess was clearly dead: there would be no sense in helping her. No, Mouse was going to find those robbers. She knew exactly what the items in the cart looked like; she’d track them down. When she found them, she’d make them pay and she’d find out exactly who they were. And she’d get her lantern back.  
Mouse scowled stubbornly and marched on, shivering in the cold night air.