[CENTRE][b][u][i]In the camp of the Moulden Horde[/i][/u][/b]

So sat-sat cross-legged the great Timurrat Khan. He smoked a pipe with a bit of the finest paint scraped off of the wall, ready to speak his wisdom. 

"Harken, my sons." 

He spake.

"Forty of you are now of age, and at a unique time you-you have matured. Gather round me for much is to be done."

So the young-young rats clustered around his greatness, awaiting his words.

"I underwent my own-own trial, I killed the rat who killed my father, and now-now is the anniversary of then-then."

After a squeak-squeak of memory and the pain of loss, the great Khan continued.

"Now, it is your turn. Taketh some of this paint, put it in the fire and inhale. Then, I want you to go on a quest to find your mount. Find the strength that I and those before me found. Find yourself a beast-beast and only then may you come back. Take some of these blue and white nuts with you, eat-eat if you feel hungry or the connection with the holy flames is waning."

So, they did. They breathed, and breathed. Much loud giggling followed, and then they sit off dancing like ballerinas with happy squeaks as interjections. Some had the sense of mind to bring a bow or food to tame an animal they sought, while others would have to rely on their wit-wits. Some banded together in their wisdom for the flames wanted them to come together to tame. Others did not, and the flame-flames saw they had a higher purpose, so they never returned. 

The Khan-Khan sat, and smoke his pipe some more before laying with his wives. He didn't have issues with possibly having to wait-wait for long. He knew the flame-flame was on his side, and the rats would come back to the second layer's wastes, with or without their task done. [/CENTRE]