Under the pale moonlight, Arlan retreated to the shed behind the tanner's workshop, his heart still pounding with a mix of triumph and fatigue. Once inside the rickety shelter, he set Bones down on an upturned crate that served as a table. The skeletal rat stood there, tail curled around its bony feet, glowing eyes blinking slowly in the dark. Arlan lit a stub of a candle he had scavenged, casting flickering light over his unusual pet.
Now that he wasn't in immediate fear of being caught, Arlan studied his creation. Bones was mostly skeleton now; in the animation process, much of the remaining flesh had sloughed off or become desiccated. A few tufts of brown fur clung to its skull and spine, and one of its ribs was cracked. It smelled a bit musty, like an old attic rather than raw decay, which Arlan was grateful for. The rat's small size probably meant it didn't have as much putrefaction. "You look... better than earlier," Arlan said, wrinkling his nose. "But we should probably clean you a bit."
He fetched a rag and dampened it from a little water skin he kept. Gingerly, he wiped the rat's bones, removing clinging dirt and dead insects. Bones remained still and patient, only the flicker of its green eyes indicating it was active. The process was oddly calming for Arlan. This is my life now, he thought with a rueful smile, giving a bath to a dead rat. The absurdity made him snort quietly.
"There. Much more presentable," he declared softly after he had cleaned it as best he could. Bones tilted its head as if in thanks—or perhaps it was just a random motion. Arlan liked to imagine the former. With the cleaning done, the rat's skeleton gleamed faintly in the candlelight. It was a fragile thing, held together by magic and bits of sinew. He wondered how strong it was. Could it bite? Scratch? It certainly wasn't going to win any fights.
Arlan extended his hand slowly. "Climb on," he coaxed. Bones scurried up onto his palm. The sensation was strange: light tapping of tiny claws with hardly any weight. If Arlan didn't look, he could barely feel it. The rat perched on his hand, and he brought it closer to his face. "We really did it, Bones," he whispered, feeling proud. The little undead rat tapped its bony front paws on his thumb, and Arlan liked to think it was celebrating too.
He let Bones down onto the ground. "Alright, let's see what you can do." He thought for a moment, then pointed to a scuttling beetle in the corner. "Fetch that bug." Bones seemed to hesitate, then it darted clumsily across the dirt floor. The movement was not as fluid as a living rat; its joints were stiff. But after a few attempts, Bones pounced on the beetle. When it returned, the beetle was impaled on one tiny claw. Arlan grinned, but then quickly waved his hand. "Drop it, that's fine." He hadn't actually wanted to eat the bug or anything, it was just a test. Bones released the beetle, which promptly crawled away, seemingly unbothered by its brief ride with death.
A sudden wave of exhaustion hit Arlan then. He had been running on adrenaline and a thin stew all day. Maintaining Bones took a subtle, constant effort—like holding a very light weight in the back of his mind. He realized he could probably release the spell and let the rat become just bones again when not needed, but a deep instinct in him resisted. Perhaps it was loneliness, but he didn't want to snuff out the only companion he had, even temporarily. "We should sleep," he murmured, lying down on his makeshift bed of straw and sacking. Bones crawled over and curled up against his side. It was like a pet cat curling up, except where a cat would be warm and soft, Bones was cool and hard. Still, Arlan found it comforting.
He draped a part of his cloak over the little skeleton rat. "Goodnight, Bones," he whispered with a faint smile. The rat made a faint clicking noise that Arlan chose to interpret as a goodnight in return. In the silence of the shed, an orphaned boy and his undead rat settled in for the night—an unusual duo bound by secrets in the dark heart of Duskhaven.