The emptiness of Twitch’s burrow did little to keep the frigid winter outside or drive the chill from my ears. Our bodies warming the den meant nothing as Twitch’s body cooled elsewhere. My heart wept for my lost brother; Konal would kill me in my dreams tonight and I’d be gone.
Russet nudged my side lightly. “I might need your help for this.”
“I’m not sure if I can give much enthusiasm right now,” I said as I sulked on the ground.
“Then it’s good this is a bitter story.” Russet turned to Sylvia. “It isn’t told to outsiders. It’s a warning about the damage we can do if we lose track of who we are.”
Russet stretched. Eyes closed, he kicked a little dirt behind himself. Taking a breath, he looked at us and began.
“Let’s begin many summers ago. Chestnut, what one would call a shaggy rabbit, member of the warren watch, was suspicious of a newcomer to the Hazelford warren.” His ears flicked between Sylvia and me. “The newcomer, by the name of Blackfeather, was their only storyteller, and he was odd.”
The callback was one we’d practice many times, but the moment of silence awkwardly stretched in the den. “Insane,” I snapped. It was supposed to be a light quip. It wasn’t. “He’s an albino rabbit who says he’s a crow, and he talks to anyone, predator or prey.”
“This newcomer was quite unusual.” If Russet noticed my anger, he didn’t let on. “And Chestnut was particularly protective of the warren, which made him suspicious. He made accusations that this newcomer was putting the warren in danger. Blackfeather could have backed down or struck back. But, before Blackfeather came to Hazelford, Whitepaw had shown him a different way, and he had yet to outgrow his former teacher’s cruelty.
“A scary story will frighten the listener. It’s a perfectly normal reaction.” Russet flattened his ears in mock-fear, looking around. “He told a disturbing story about bees, with enough description that one could hear the buzzing. Chestnut was caught up in the fear and leapt into the nearby stream to escape.”
Russet hopped to the side and smacked lightly against the wall. He shook his head and stepped back to the center. “To this day, Blackfeather still calls it his biggest mistake. Chestnut knew something was different about that story, even if he couldn’t prove it. And despite thinking him odd, the warren didn’t hate Blackfeather. So, the two became rivals, with Chestnut’s physical strength a match for Blackfeather’s storytelling skill.
“That became more intense as they competed for the love of one doe. That’s another story, but to understand what happened after, all we need to know is that Bremen’s mother choose the strange, albino rabbit over the captain of the watch and they were bonded. Heartbroken, Chestnut left Hazelford in voluntary exile. An understandable way to avoid a painful situation.
“We didn’t know.” Russet sighed. “Blackfeather could befriend a starving bobcat, yet couldn’t smooth things over with Chestnut. He always regretted that. A reminder that he had treated another rabbit as callously as Whitepaw had treated him. Maybe that’s why he befriended a crow, or other predators. Maybe that’s why he says all animals are friends.”
My claws dug into the ground. Twitch died because he was my friend.
“Growing up, the story of Chestnut was our warning not to abuse our abilities. Rabbits have enough enemies without making more. But as we grew up, there was a new part to his story.” Russet sat back.
“That didn’t seem too bad,” Sylvia said. “Was Whitepaw really that cruel?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Blackfather was taken from his family. He doesn’t talk about it much, and he doesn’t remember much of them. Maybe because of Whitepaw, maybe because he was taken when he was a single season old. All he said was a wandering storyteller came to his warren, and after Whitepaw’s story was done, they didn’t remember the albino who lived there. It likely wore off, but by then they were gone. Whitepaw didn’t care who he hurt; he only took what he wanted.” I closed my eyes. Killing Konal would be taking what I wanted, but it would also save my friends. I knew the situations were different, but I didn’t see how they were similar. “Sorry, Russet. Please, continue.”
“We grew up with Spike, so the story doesn’t usually have an introduction for him either,” Russet said. “From the Blackwood warren, he was the nephew of Balethorn, the mad storyteller king. With his uncle’s gift for storytelling, the young prince was Bremen’s main rival for best storyteller of our generation. His father, Farrow, had been slowly healing the damage Balethorn had done and was a friend to our order. When Spike disappeared on a routine patrol, the king sent a messenger requesting our help.”
“Why you?” Sylvia asked.
“Unlike Chestnut and Blackfeather, that rivalry was based on mutual respect. Also, Farrow was a seer; perhaps he knew that what had taken Spike really wanted Bremen.” Russet lightly groomed his paws. “No matter. Rivals or not, they were friends. We knew Spike well, were nearby, and wanted to find him.”
His voice grew stronger. “Last winter, about a moon after you found me and two days after Spike went missing, a messenger from the Blackwood warren met with us. As she relayed the request, that we might find him when others could not, I could not stop shaking. Despite overcoming the physical pains of Seerleaf, I still had a gnawing uncertainty, a whisper that promised all I needed was a vision and I would be free of doubt.”
“We met with Twitch and headed to Blackwood.” Russet pulled his forelegs close to his chest and slumped on the ground. “I wanted a vision to guide me, tell me that we’d find Spike and everything would be okay. Bremen tried to help, but I feared it was simply ‘what a storyteller says to someone in crisis.’ I didn’t trust him to tell me the harsh truth of the situation. Besides, he wasn’t a seer; he didn’t know my pain.”
I sat up. The last time he told this story, Russet said my words had given him the strength to keep going. Was this how he really felt?
“When Balethorn’s power was broken, countless rabbits left Blackwood. There was a sense of emptiness; like Foxvale, the warren was built for so many more rabbits than those still living there.” Russet sat up and licked his paws then used them to groom his ears. “I didn’t let on about my doubts, put up a brave front.”
Russet hunched over and whispered toward the curved wall. It threw his voice back at us, as if he was whispering in our ears. “We asked when Spike was last seen, who he was with, but we didn’t find anything new. Farrow was the last rabbit to talk to him and he had disappeared on a solo patrol of the warren outskirts. So, that’s where we went.”
He sniffed the ground, turning back to us slowly. “A skilled wolf-tracker can follow a trail that’s a few days old. Even with spearmint, I was lucky to find a partial trail.”
“No,” I interrupted. “You have a sensitive nose. You prepared for the journey by bringing tracking herbs along. We knew where his patrol should have gone because we asked. A trickster may rely on luck, but luck is preparation meeting opportunity.”
Russet gave a nod. “Spike had turned from the patrol route for some reason. We found a small scrape he made to rest in. There were a few bits of his fur and the slightest hints of blood. It appeared he had spent a day or two there, with two other rabbits, whose scent I didn’t know. I couldn’t tell if it was a secret meeting or a kidnapping, at least not without a vision. Thankfully, the time they spent there made the trail more recent and easier to follow.
“The three of them traveled in bursts and had a few days head start. We ran after them, stopping only for short breaks, for the rest of the day and much of the night. As the trail grew stronger, their pattern became more evident. They always rested for a long time, and spent maybe half a day afterward lounging, perhaps talking. By the time Lady Moon reached her highest point, I collapsed, too exhausted to continue.”
Russet slumped on the ground. “My nose wouldn’t behave. Was I imagining the trail? Was it a vision? So, we settled down for a longer rest. Bremen reassured me that I was doing great, but I knew if I could just have a vision, we would have already caught up with Spike. I knew I was a failure and my rest was fitful.”
There was a pause. “Bremen, you remember this part better than I do. I was sleeping, if you recall.”
It took a bit for me to get to my feet. I wanted to remember Twitch’s life, before he left to find himself. But, that wasn’t the truth, I had not known he was in pain. Perhaps my voice remembered hope, even if I did not.
“Russet, as he said, was exhausted. He slept as the Lady moved across the night sky in one of her brighter moods. What he didn’t say is that we were being followed.”
In the story, at that night in the past, I was curious. But I knew the outcome, and I didn’t want to relive that meeting. I took a breath and held it until the anger was gone. I forced my ears to perk up and swivel forward. Shaking, I looked at Russet, who pretended to arrive.
“He waited until Russet was snoring before he approached. He was of an age you rarely see. So old, his fur was wispy strands of dark with frosted tips. He had one ghostly-white forepaw, and his eyes were black and clear, untouched by any fading. The regal, owl-like way he held himself projected confidence, and reminded me of my father. It was the kind of confidence that would make a rabid wolverine pause. Absolute, defiant, and chilling.”
Russet rested the pad of one forepaw against his chest and leaned forward. A gesture strange enough that my mind saw the old rabbit for a moment. Russet’s voice was a pale imitation of the rabbit’s tone, a cutting voice that knocked me completely off guard. “I assume you know me. Whitepaw, the one who taught your father how to tell stories. I am here for what he owes me.”
Sylvia stammered, “What was that thing you did? With your paw?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He just did it, like it was a greeting I should know. I was speechless. I hadn’t seen anything like it, or him. The name I knew. The storyteller who had stolen my father from his family. The monster my father had fled before arriving at Hazelford.”
I crept forward. “What does my father owe you?”
Russet turned and bolted out one run as I explained. “I never got an answer. He turned and ran. I was about to chase when Spike…” I trailed off with a sigh. Play scuffling during these stories was always the best with Twitch. Still, Russet ran back in the other entrance and body-tackled me from the side.
We did our best to make a show of the dance of tooth and claw, but my heart wasn’t in it. I continued, “Spike and an older shaggy rabbit attacked in unison. Twitch got them away from me. He was in rare form that night, holding his own against two well-trained rabbits. He did this,” I tapped the ground twice, “a quick code for go. Without words, he said he could handle himself and keep Russet safe. I went after Whitepaw.”
“But he was outnumbered,” Sylvia objected.
My voice choked. I had heard, ‘Why did you leave Twitch to die?’ I slumped, and Russet nudged me.
He said, “Bremen knew Whitepaw was a storyteller. It was a trap, but only Whitepaw knew his real objective. While Twitch was a stronger fighter than Spike and Chestnut, he didn’t want to hurt them if they were controlled by Whitepaw’s stories. Regardless, Twitch wouldn’t have told Bremen to go if there was any doubt he’d be okay.”
But Twitch was not okay. He was dead. Numbly, I limped back to the side of the den and slumped onto the ground. “But this is Russet’s story, not mine.”
“It took a while for me to wake; I really was exhausted.” Russet stretched and tensed. “Twitch was holding his own, but couldn’t stop his attackers without hurting them. I knew I wasn’t a match for Spike, but I thought I might be able to help with Chestnut.”
Russet slowly crept along the ground toward me, ears perked forward.
He wanted to get me moving. He wanted to show off for Sylvia and he couldn’t do the move without a Chestnut. I grumbled, but got to my feet.
“When I got close enough, Twitch got under the older rabbit’s forepaws and pushed up.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
In response, I stood on my hind legs, teetering back as if losing my balance. Russet leapt up and tugged my ear. As I fell backward, he flipped around me, making a show of stomping on my chest.
Sylvia gasped at the movement. “How did you do that?”
“Uh, Farrow taught us.” Russet gulped. “I’m not as strong or fast as the others, but I can fight.”
“And, uh, how did you not hurt Bremen?”
“Oh, that?” Russet lifted the leg he had on my chest. “I’m actually standing on my other leg. It’s tucked behind Bremen, so you can’t see it. I’m not putting any weight on him. In contrast, I had knocked the breath out of Chestnut and he passed out.”
Russet let me up and I flopped back where I had been. I had to admit that it was nice to see Sylvia enjoying the performance.
“Twitch and Spike were still fighting, evenly matched. He called out, ‘This is Whitepaw’s distraction. Help Bremen.’” Russet ran a paw over his ears. “So, I left Chestnut on the ground, got a Slumberthorn ready, and started after Bremen’s scent. I didn’t want to leave Twitch by himself, but if Bremen was dealing with Blackfeather’s teacher, he’d need me.”
He sniffed at the ground, following an imaginary trail. “Two rabbit trails, Bremen and an older rabbit, lead me deep into the night woods. The trail turned to the left, curved back, but made sure not to cross itself. This was designed to delay Bremen and anyone following him. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d miss a turn and the trail would be lost. It went through hollow logs and briars, skirted close to what seemed like a badger den, and when I finally felt I was getting close, it settled into one place.
“My heart sank. Bremen and Whitepaw had sat and likely talked. Without fighting, they parted ways, with Bremen heading back toward Twitch and Spike.” Russet’s ears flicked around nervously, as his attention darted around. He turned away from Sylvia and me. “I was gripped with a cold fear. Had Bremen talked to Whitepaw long enough to hear a story? Frantic, I went to chase him down.”
I made a light mock-stamp on the ground. Just heavy enough to be felt in the den. This was the part Russet wanted me to hear. Or was it the next?
“I hadn’t gone a full bound before he stamped.” Russet spun around, focused fully on me. “Whitepaw.”
I repeated the gesture, paw on my chest, leaned forward. “You must understand, Bremen would have killed me.”
“Quiet!” Russet cried, taking a step back. “I couldn’t let him get into a rhythm. Desperate, I thought if I rushed him, he wouldn’t be able to talk. But he only needed three words to strike.”
“Seerleaf would help,” I said, almost bored. “You could be certain what I did to your friend.”
Russet turned to Sylvia. “I have no idea how he knew. Spike didn’t know, Chestnut definitely didn’t know, but Whitepaw... Whitepaw saw it in me. He saw inside and found me broken and wanting.”
“A shame,” I added. “Twitch fighting not one friend, but two. Or, maybe, you’re the one who will fight them?”
“My confidence left me.” Russet curled up in a tight crouch. “I recognized his words as poison, but his logic was correct. I needed to know, and he would not tell me. Yet, he was mistaken.”
Russet lunged at me, causing Sylvia to start. I let out a confused gurgle as he poked my shoulder with a bit of twig he had in his paw. “I had to be certain Whitepaw didn’t leave. He looked shocked as I jabbed the Slumberthorn into his shoulder. I don’t think he expected me to be strong enough to use it while filled with doubt. I didn’t stay long enough to see if it took. I just left him, herb flowing into his blood, and bounded after Bremen.”
Russet turned to mock-bound away as I slowly collapsed. “My doubts continued to gnaw at me. Whitepaw hadn’t told a story, but he had. In the little he spoke, he gave me two. One where an enthralled Bremen injured our friends and one where I was the victim who hurt Bremen and the others. Two possible outcomes that jabbed hard at my addiction.”
I scurried around Russet and sat back on my haunches.
“I wasn’t prepared for what I found,” Russet whimpered. “Spike and Twitch were unconscious, next to each other on the ground. Chestnut hadn’t moved. And Bremen was standing over Twitch. He was out of breath, but I didn’t know if it was from the run or from the fight.” Russet skidded to a halt and tentatively asked, “Bremen, what happened here?”
“Spike was about to kill him,” I responded. “I barely got here in time.”
Russet took a hop-step closer. “I thought Twitch could handle Spike.”
“Apparently, Whitepaw can tell a story to make someone stronger?” I said, shuddering at the thought. “He didn’t say that, just implied a lot.” I hesitated, then added, “How long did you talk with Whitepaw?”
“Not as long as you did.”
“Russet, it’s me.”
“You talked to him. How can I be sure?”
“Uh, do you remember we tracked the wolf with Twitch?”
“No! No stories.”
Russet’s rejection, distant as it was, even as part of the act, struck me in the gut. I stammered, “The first thing you said to Corbin was, ‘There’s another crow.’”
“You’d still remember it!” Russet paused and turned to Sylvia. “About then, Bremen realized I had a second Slumberthorn. I was going to knock him out and sort things after.”
“Are you going for the–”
Russet didn’t let me finish, although this time, his lunge was exaggeratedly slow. “It was the same move I used on Whitepaw. Drawing the herb with one motion, leap forward with it as an extension of my claws. I remember it got as far as touching Bremen’s fur.”
I steadied my nerves. When the second twig brushed my fur, I turned away from it, and kicked Russet’s legs out from under him. Similar to the move he used on Chestnut, Russet ended up on his back, with my foot pressed on his chest. I panted, wheezing from exertion and memories. “That’s what he wants, to keep us fighting and hope we kill each other.”
Russet whimpered, “Bremen, what if he put those words in you?”
Reluctantly, I took my foot off of Russet’s chest and backed away. At the time, I couldn’t remember why I chose to do what I did. What conviction had told me it would be okay.
“Bremen looked a lot more confident when he let me go. These are the words he has forgotten; the reason he needs to keep going even though Twitch lost his life. Bremen, do you need me to say them?”
I nodded.
He took a deep breath and stood tall. His stance mimicked mine, and tapped into the strength of those words, the belief behind them that I could no longer recall. “There is a time when you either trust or you don’t. No amount of proof will change your mind. There is a time when the reasons you give are only excuses to hide your real fear. As each one is disproved, another will take its place. I will not stop disproving them and I will never give up on you.”
Russet hopped over to me and nudged me firmly. “It took me a long time to understand those words. I am normally a rabbit of reason. I like to think things out, to know for sure, to have proof. That is why I couldn’t beat the Seerleaf.
“But there are some things you can’t reason. Some things you simply have to feel, to know in your heart. Bremen and I had been friends since childhood. Even under the effects of a story, he would find a way not to harm me. He always found a way. Even if I wasn’t sure, I knew any doubt was only an excuse.”
Russet was wrong; those were not the words that I needed to hear. No, I needed the words that came after. I laughed, the helpless laugh that happens when one knows their fate, yet still attempts to stand against it. “You understood perfectly. You said, ‘This is our world, not his.’”
Sylvia looked between us and tilted her head in confusion.
The numbness in my heart retreated as the nuances of the phrase returned. “In our world, you treat everyone as a friend, even predators—even those who have wronged us. The fear can’t stand against feelings of trust and the presence of those we care about. With predators and enemies, we act as friends until they show otherwise. We offer help when we can, but try to be wary of the dangers. Most times, the effort is wasted, but sometimes, like with Twitch’s father, we find those who need friendship.”
I didn’t add, even if it gets them killed.
Sylvia nudged Russet and me. We offered each other support and trust. Our world. The world Twitch asked me not to lose. I still hated Konal, still wanted to beat him in the dream. I was still outside of that world, but it had not been lost.
Eventually, Sylvia asked, “So... What happened? Was Whitepaw captured?”
Russet frowned. “Twitch recovered shortly after that. He confirmed that Spike had gotten the better of him just as Bremen returned. Twitch stood watch over the unconscious rabbits as Bremen and I went to where I stabbed Whitepaw. All that was left was the scent of blood and badgers. We were not prepared to track him further, and we could not confirm if he was dead.
“The real issue happened later, when Spike and Chestnut woke up.” Flopping on the ground, Russet tried to imitate what we saw. “Actually, we didn’t realize Chestnut was awake and had been for some time. He opened his eyes, but didn’t move. He didn’t react to seeing Bremen or to us asking him if he was okay. Not even when we nudged him with our forepaws.
“Spike was more responsive, probably because he’d been with Whitepaw less time. When he awoke, he just curled into a ball. When we pressed him, he started mumbling, ‘He’s telling my story.’ He just repeated it, barely above a whisper, over and over.”
I let Russet talk. The time for play-acting was past.
“Eventually, Bremen had an idea. He held Spike’s ears up and started insisting, ‘You’re a storyteller. Tell your own story.’ Slowly, life came back into Spike’s face. Prince Twilight’s arrival let us know it was a new day and our friend was back. It took him a few days to fully recover, and it was almost spring before he stopped narrating his own life. But he was safe and healthy and back to himself.”
Russet slumped his shoulders and ears. “Unfortunately, that didn’t work with Chestnut. He was not a storyteller, and we suspected he had been living with Whitepaw for several seasons. As Lord Sun reached his peak, we realized we were going to have to drag him back to the Blackwood warren.”
Sylvia’s voice shook. “Did he recover?”
“He was completely unresponsive; even when Twitch bit him, he made no move to defend himself or get away,” Russet said. “This time, Spike gave us the idea. It was an effort for him to talk at that point, but he managed to suggest, ‘Spike says narrate the other rabbit back.’
“It was worth a try. Bremen whispered to him, ‘Chestnut was a good rabbit. He was hurt, but he was strong enough to follow us back to the warren so he could get help.’
“Chestnut started to react. As the character was described, he became responsive enough to follow us back to Blackwood.
“Chestnut was looked at by the head seer of Blackwood, as well as Farrow. By Blackfeather and his mate, Sundew, two amazing storytellers who lamented that their old acquaintance was so hurt. By my parents, Tansy and Ginger, two of the best herbalists in the area. There was talk that since Spike had recovered, we could try to teach Chestnut how to be a storyteller. Yet, Chestnut had no imagination, and could only repeat stories as they were told to him. He could not make new ones.”
Sylvia shivered and flattened her ears. She managed to ask, “What happened to him?”
“About a half-day travel from Hazelford, near where storytellers meet in a grand briar, there live two mavericks.” Russet’s voice was neutral, a cold statement of facts. “One of them is a member of our society, a role that lasts a moon. The second maverick is Chestnut, who lives a simple and happy life. Each morning, he is told a story about how he functions day to day. Each day, the storyteller makes sure he is taken care of. Chestnut is happy, even if the life he lives is not his own. Sometimes, when he’s feeling more like himself, he is taught how to tell stories. In the two seasons he’s been there, his ability to tell them has not improved.”
“Is this what you are?” Shaking, Sylvia demanded, “Is that what you do?”
“No.” Russet shook his head. “Whitepaw never taught Blackfeather how to crush another like that, and none of the storytellers who have joined our order have known. We suspect only Whitepaw knew that ultimate secret of storytelling. While it is an extension of what Bremen or I can do, we lack the instinct and desire to harm someone in that way. That is what we stop; that is why we watch ourselves and other storytellers; that is why we make stories a force for good.”
“I can’t be sure you aren’t using me.” Sylvia remained silent for a long while before she continued. “Just a matter of faith. When you were sick, you cried out for your friends. Even in such pain, you were focused on their well-being, not your own. That is the rabbit I first saw. That is the rabbit I believe you to be. That is the rabbit who told me the truth, so I could make an informed choice. I trust you.”
Russet nosed her fur. He was crying. “Thank you.”
“What happens now?”
I spoke up, my voice almost as strong as it was before Twitch’s death. It lacked something, but it would be a while before I realized what. “Russet, how long will it take you to prepare the Seerleaf?”
“Not long.” His voice shook as he answered. “I have to make sure the dosage won’t kill me and separate it properly. And it will need to rest until dawn.”
Sylvia asked, “Is there another way?”
“Unfortunately, we need a seer,” Russet answered. “This was started by a vision and will need one to end.”
Sylvia offered, “If you need, I can use it.”
“No,” he insisted. “I’m the only one with enough experience with Seerleaf; it has to be me.”
“Okay.” Sylvia nudged Russet reassuringly. “How can I help?”
“Your presence will keep me here.” Russet leaned against her. “You’ve been able to call to Fig on a number of occasions. In addition, we’ll have other herbs. I won’t be able to use them if I’m lost in the vision.”
Sylvia’s voice actually had hope. “And Bremen, what will you do?”
“I go back to the dream.”
It took a moment for what I said to sink in. Russet asked, “Are you sure?”
“Konal will be there when I next sleep. It’s best to face him on my terms.” That helpless laugh returned. “Maybe I can learn something useful; maybe I can relay that to you if he wins.”
“Or,” Sylvia said, “we can wake you if he’s too close to winning.”
“Yes…” I grunted. “If I’m going to beat him, I can’t run from him like a rabbit. I have to hunt him like a fox.”