A faint hope has been glimmering in the back of the polymorphed wolffolk's mind during his exchange with Chrrou. The gentle mannerisms, the thoughtful voice, no obvious outward threats...maybe this mouse is one of those Pact-loyal wimps who are disgusted by the thought of eating another being...Lon clings to this thought desperately, even though on some level he knows it is pure fantasy.<br/><br/>Then Chrrou speaks--his voice is no longer gentle. Lon stutters for a response, trying to think of something to say that will forestall what he knows is coming. "No...look, I..." Frustratingly, he can think of nothing; he had never needed to be good with words before, not when he could just let his swords and fangs do all the talking. "wait!...no...I--wait!" His tiny lizard heart flutters faster and faster. He looks into the mousefolk's eyes, searching desperately for some sign of pity or hesitation. He sees none.<br/><br/>It is then, in that tortuous second which seems to stretch for an hour as Chrrou opens his jaws to devour him, that Lon finally grasps the full gravity of his decision to reject the Pact. Morality is not a hat, to be put on and taken off whenever it is convenient to do so. It is a holy contract: you surrender your natural freedom to eat whoever you want, and in exchange your life is sanctified. But if you exercise your natural freedom, the contract is voided. You become fair game.<br/><br/>Something buried deep in Lon's mind snaps, and he is reduced to a whimpering pup.<span style="font-style: italic">"Please..."</span>he begs,<span style="font-style: italic">"...don't eat me!"</span>But it is far too late for that. He finds, to his horror and shame, that his own words sound exactly like how the mice had begged.