"Rat," she answers. He fusses in her arms a bit. "He's sick, or dying. I can't figure out what's wrong with him." His snout is long and narrow enough that he could have gotten into anything. But pyjaks can eat just about everything small enough without a problem. It's probably some sort of Darrow flu. She expects him to keel over any minute, and her gizzard clenches at the thought.