Midnight grass.

 Whoo, whoo, sounded an owl in the distance. The midnight air was moist, like swimming in sludge. Stars glittered above and reflected among the wet grass twinkling like silver moon fairies. A Gerbil stuck his head out above the grass, his fuzzy hair matted with the wetness. Whoo Whoo.He ducked down below and bolted through in cover of the tall moist grass. He had to get there, he had to. Timothy's life depended upon it. The elixir in his mouth slipped a little as his teeth struggled to grip the slick glass. Whoo. Whoo. Faster and faster the Gerbil bounded as fast as his tiny feet could blur. They went as blurred as the fancy fairy-lighted grass blurring about him like sound and fury rolling over stone. At last he bolted out into the clearing, the house before him, but he quickly backed up into the cover of the tall blades of grass. Whoo. Whoo. His belly touched the ground and his ears lay low. Just fifty yards to the door. Fifty yards exposed to the midnight gaze. Whoo. Whoo. Did he dare?