The burrow was dark and filled with smells that were familiar to someone else. The cold of the ground nipped at his paws with a solidity the vision lacked. His whiskers could feel the stone above and how the alcove he was in was barely big enough for two. The opening to the main burrow was right there, but a rabbit was waiting just outside.

Konal tried to sit up, but his body felt wrong. Had it been so long since he was alive that he’d forgotten how to move? He didn’t notice he wasn’t a fox, or that he had taken my form.

The rabbit’s voice was familiar, like family. “Is it you?”

Lapine was not a language that the fox knew, but he understood the words. Perhaps some fragment of the rabbit inside was telling him what they meant. He had devoured me and, as the victor, had taken my knowledge. He shook his head to clear it of the vision. His ears flicked nervously. He was taking too long to respond; Russet would notice.

“Of course,” he lied, the words awkward and stiff. “The fox is here, but I’m in control.”

Russet poked his head into the side-alcove, ears flat with distress. He clawed some kind of code on the ground. Three scratches, then more, then another.

The rabbit that Konal was should know the code, but I offered a different response. The correct callback for a different situation. Konal insisted, “Russet, by Prince Twilight, I’m okay.”

Russet entered the burrow and gave Konal a nudge. “You’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

The reassurance was unexpected. Konal dropped to the ground with a shudder and put his paws over his ears. His brother—no, Fang was his brother; this rabbit was Bremen’s brother. The emotions came from within, but they were not his. There was also fear; this rabbit was a threat.

“Yes,” Konal stammered. “Thank you. We’ll face it. Together.”

Two ears pointed at Konal; Russet was a seer, or part seer, or something like that. Konal’s whole body tensed under the scrutiny. The only exit from the alcove was blocked and Konal remembered the small rabbit blocking him had thrown Bremen to the ground earlier that day.

“Don’t panic,” Russet said, backing up and out of the alcove. “Promise me.”

“Why?” Konal asked. “I’m okay. Uh, Russet.”

“Konal, we need your help.”

The words were exposure, being caught in the middle of a field without cover. His rabbit-body tensed, ready to run. His heart raced and he struggled to breathe. Thankfully, his voice—my voice—managed to hide the panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Behind Russet, a female voice interrupted. Her voice trembled, “Is it really Konal?”

Konal tried to object, to snarl a warning, but it came out as an angry grunt.

“I’m sure,” Russet said. “He gave the wrong code.”

The fear of a rabbit gripped Konal. Limbs heavy, it tried to freeze him in place. He pushed that fear away. He was a fox. His fox-body wouldn’t be afraid.

Both bodies existed; both were his. The vision could exchange them, he simply had to want to be a fox. It tingled, like a burst of running all at once, and passed over him. His body started as a rabbit and ended as a fox.

Konal went to stand, but found the roof of the now-crammed alcove was too low and pinned him to the floor. That choice was intentional.

“Stay away,” Konal growled as his fox-scent filled the burrow. He spoke in vulpine, but accidentally used phrasing meant for larger predators, not for rabbits, not for prey.

After the initial shock, the scent of fear from the rabbits faded. Good for you, brother. No, those were my feelings, not his. Besides, the rabbit was only brave because Konal couldn’t stand.

Russet sat up, ears forward. He spoke in a common canine pidgin, “Easier to talk as rabbit. Sylvia no speak vulpine. Please, do for me?”

Konal folded his ears back. The other rabbit had just wanted to talk.

“No.” He winced at the refusal; he had never said no to his brother before. He growled, a warning both to Russet and me. Russet wasn’t even my real brother.

“We need you.” Even in canine, Russet’s voice was filled with concern and worry. The connection Konal had with Bremen made sure he could hear all of it. “Stop Chimera. Free our brothers.”

Chimera. That name came from the vision. The strange rabbit seer had chosen it.

He wasn’t going to get anywhere as a fox. Yet, he wasn’t a rabbit and didn’t want to be a rabbit. Still, if Fang could do it, then he could. There was no way Konal would be outdone by his younger brother. He looked inside, felt I wanted him to talk to Russet, and that was enough. The odd sensation passed through him again. It left him drained, but a rabbit.

“And what if I do help you?” Konal demanded. “You’ll only send us to Death.”

The touch of Russet’s nose caused some confusion. The feelings of alienation and anger faded for a moment, leaving a hole in Konal’s gut. He pulled away from the strange comfort.

“Bremen knows me and you know him,” Russet said. “We don’t abandon our friends. We will find a way.”

The familiar voice, the hope it brought, offered to fill the hole, but Konal refused. He slumped, paws over his ears, but those feelings were from inside himself even if they were mine. He swatted at them in his mind. “I trusted a rabbit once. That vision was my reward.”

“No one deserves that,” Russet offered. “Surely any outcome we can offer would be better?”

“You don’t understand,” Konal grumbled.

Sylvia interrupted, “Then tell us what happened.” Her voice shook from fear and worry, but she did not let it break. “Please. You were there; we weren’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Konal let out a grunt. “You’re both going to die.”

“We might.” Sylvia didn’t back down. If anything, her voice surged with resolve. “We didn’t choose this. But Chimera is killing my warren. I can’t afford to be paralyzed by fear.”

Konal sat back and frowned. While two rabbits couldn’t fix things, it had only taken only one to make the vision. He sighed. “I still don’t think it will help.”

It was Russet’s turn to argue. “We don’t know anything about Chiron. Why did he become Chimera? Why this warren? Why would you trust a rabbit? To be honest, we don’t know much about you either. If we’re going to trust you, we’ll need to learn.”

“Trust me?” Konal scoffed. “I killed your friend, and I’m holding your brother hostage.”

“You saved your brother,” Russet corrected. “And, yes, you hurt us when you did. But it is a storyteller’s way to forgive. If you don’t believe that, then know that we don’t have any other options. We need you, and understanding is the only way we’ll be able to work together.”

Konal folded his ears back. Russet could not have forgiven him; no prey could forgive a predator. The only reason they cared about Twitch was that the weasel was prey. Twitch had lost his predator’s soul, but Konal wasn’t like that. Still, something in Russet’s pleading reminded him of Chiron. The sweet and innocent fox who Konal had first met.

“Fine.” Konal began, “Originally, it was my brother and me after our mother died.” For a moment, Konal could see the wolves chasing her as she led them away from her pups. He snarled inwardly and knocked me out of that memory. “I looked after Fang. Even after he grew bigger than me, I was still the better hunter.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“We were by ourselves for the spring and summer, before we met the others. Talus and Chiron were young and on their way to being a bonded pair. Still, Fang liked Talus from the start and suggested the four of us start a pack. I–I was...” Konal closed his eyes. His past self was so stupid, blinded by stupid feelings. Yet, I didn’t judge and the other rabbits waited patiently until he continued. “I was taken by Chiron. I told myself I wanted my brother to be happy, but we were fooling ourselves. I mean, they were good pack members, we got along well. But neither of them were into either of us.”

I looked at the memories again, offering to help tell the tale. Konal mentally swatted me away.

“At first, Chiron was simply an inexperienced hunter, and he grew more skilled as I taught him. Until, maybe a moon before winter started, he changed. He’s never spoken of what happened. All he said was one too many rabbits got away. After that, he was obsessed with the warren. It was a good food source, true, but to hunt only rabbits was insane. He was tolerable for a while...

“It was a brutal winter. Food was scarce for everyone, and the predators competed more and more for less and less. Eventually, a pack of wolves lured us into an ambush. I got my pack to safety, but my back leg was bitten. I was surrounded and couldn’t run. But one of the younger wolves said I must not die there.” Konal closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory. He thought he was dead then; maybe it would have been better if he had died. Why had he told these rabbits about it?

Sylvia nudged. Despite knowing he was a fox in rabbit’s fur, she groomed him for comfort.

“Rebel is a friend of ours,” Russet said, also nudging Konal. “Maybe he thought you could help us now? Or he had a vision of it. He is a seer.”

“Chiron wasn’t the fox I thought he was,” Konal managed to continue. “Instead of being grateful for saving his life, he ridiculed me. When it became clear that my leg would never fully heal, he challenged me for leadership of the pack. Destroyed, and unwilling to hurt him, I relented. Chiron was free to take out all of his frustration on the warren. He wanted to exterminate them. Had it not been the middle of winter, we—Fang and I—could have left. Even Talus was unsure.”

“That’s horrible,” said Sylvia.

Russet added, “It must have been shameful to regret saving him. But he was your pack. What else could you have done?”

Konal grunted. “I should have demanded to know what the warren did to him; we could have talked through it.”

“If it was that simple, you’d have done it,” Russet said. “It’s too late to take a different path. Make the most of the one you’re on.”

It was harsh, but true. Konal let the anger pass in awkward silence. “Chiron kept assuring me that we were friends, that he knew what was best for my brother and the pack, that he would take care of me. But he only cared about the warren. After a moon, deep in the winter, I couldn’t stand it anymore. When the three of them went out hunting, I wandered from the burrow.

“There was a lone rabbit waiting for me. She asked if I was in the pack destroying the warren. I said I was. She asked if I wanted it to stop. I said I did. She asked if I could lead them to the cliff above our den.” Konal flattened his ears in shame. “I said I would.”

Sylvia asked, “You wanted to stop the killing?”

“No.” Konal shook his head. “I don’t know what I wanted. I knew it would never be the four of us again. Chiron had changed, and he would not change back. I should never have trusted her.”

Once again, Sylvia groomed Konal. This time, he accepted the comfort. He was weak. He had been weak. He steadied his nerves.

“Getting them to the cliff was easy,” Konal said. “I bit my shoulder, lightly, and left a thin trail of blood in the snow. It was a slow climb. By the time I limped there, my pack was right behind me. Fang ran up to comfort me. I told him to leave, that it wasn’t safe. He didn’t understand. I remember Chiron scolding me for leaving a trail to the den.”

Konal whimpered at the memory and slumped on the ground. Bremen felt right behind him, offering strength. Sylvia lay next to him, offering warmth. Russet touched nose-to-nose. The rabbits needed to hear what happened, and Konal refused to let the memory win.

“The vision hit suddenly. I didn’t know what it was at first, I’d no experience with seers. Everything became so vivid, like all I had seen and felt up to that point was a pale reflection of life. The snow, the trees flushed with... color.” Konal hesitated. He hasn’t said that last word, Bremen–I had. “Then came the sensation of falling. Even though we were on the ground, touching the snow, it pulled us, called us over the cliff.

“Fang was the first to lose. I lunged toward the cliff, tried to catch him with my jaw.” Konal batted his head with a paw. “I couldn’t catch him. Watching him fall, even with my eyes closed, he kept going over the edge again and again. There was no surviving it.”

Konal refused to cry. Not in front of prey. Not in front of these rabbits.

“I shouted to Chiron that it was a rabbit. He never questioned how I knew, not all the time we were trapped in the vision. He thought the rabbit had injured my shoulder. I wasn’t trying to save him, or myself. I wanted to avenge my brother.

“That was all the strength I had. When I went over the cliff, it felt like distance no longer mattered. Falling endlessly. I didn’t feel my body hit the ground. Suddenly, the vision got stronger and Talus came over the side of the cliff with that cursed rabbit in her jaws. But the vision didn’t stop, and Chiron wasn’t able to resist the rabbit’s death throes. We were trapped. Falling.”

Russet nodded. “Hue—the seer—sacrificed herself to save the warren. It was needed, but it wasn’t right.”

Konal forcibly composed his emotions. He sat up and groomed himself, licking his paws and running them over his head and ears. It was a rabbit gesture, but he could forgive himself for needing it. He was Konal. He was still a fox, no matter what body he had. That was enough.

“I told him,” Konal grunted. “If we kept pushing the warren, someone would be a hero. He refused to listen before, and in the vision, there was little point. It was… beyond time. Beyond such things. Until the other rabbit arrived. He said his name was Basil, and that some bullies had chased him into an abandoned den and wouldn’t let him leave.

“I attacked him. He was a seer and I was done with them. But he ordered me to stop. Some power behind his words made sure I did.”

“We’ve seen Chimera do that,” Russet observed.

“He seemed as shocked as I was. I guess Hue’s vision made him stronger. He asked if we were strong. We said we were.” Konal frowned, thinking. “Basil looked at Chiron and smiled, like one of us showing our fangs. He said that Chiron hated the warren and offered... I think his words were: ‘I wish to be strong like you. To set you free, I offer my body for yours.’”

“A dangerous deal,” Russet said. “One that whatever power behind the visions granted.”

“I’m not done,” Konal growled. “He said, ‘I will be a chimera, a mixture of animals, a predator in prey’s guise.’ And with that, he hopped into Chiron and they vanished. In time, he called for Fang, then Talus. They hunted their rabbits for bodies. Then it was my turn.”

There was regret. Konal had not expected to feel guilty, but it was there. “It was either him or me. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go back to that constant falling.”

As the trauma welled up again, the memory slowly pulled Konal over the cliff. Inside, I lunged. Fearing an attack, Konal tried to avoid me, but it was too late. I caught him. For a moment, trapped in the memory, I held his paw and didn’t let him fall. It wasn’t what happened, but it disrupted the memory and stopped the flashback.

“Are you okay?” Sylvia asked.

“Sorry,” Konal said as the memory faded and the physical world returned. “It’s still recent.”

Russet frowned. “There’s no doubt Chimera is Basil. That’s how he uses Basil’s seer-trick to command, why he uses it to control his own pack, and maybe why it’s stronger than it used to be. It’s a seer’s fear tempered by a predator’s bloodlust. Maybe Basil was driven mad by the joining, or Hue’s vision. They could both be victims, drowning in each other’s hatred of the warren.”

“All I care about is getting my brother away from them,” Konal said. It wasn’t the full truth, but at the time, he believed it.

“And what of Talus?” Sylvia demanded. “Doesn’t she need help as well?”

“I don’t know,” Konal said. “It’s not like she’d leave unless Chiron leaves with her.”

Russet tapped his foot. “We should free Fig and Cinnamon as well. If there is a way, we will allow you and Fang to make your choice. Still, we agree that Chimera needs to be stopped?”

“Yes,” Konal reluctantly admitted. He sighed. “The idea that I could be trapped in a rabbit’s body makes me sick, but I didn’t claw my way out of that vision just to die again.”

Once again, Russet nosed Konal. The gesture stirred hope, but Konal rejected it. These rabbits would send him to Death once the threat passed, and they knew that he knew.

He forced himself to nudge Russet back and lied. “I will help you beat Chiron. If it frees my brother, I will go quietly.”

“We need all four of you together.” Russet asked, “Do you have any ideas?”

Thinking, Konal pulled thoughts from the rabbit’s memories. It was easy, too easy, to recall Bremen’s half-formed plan. “They’re likely planning something for the fourth day tomorrow. I’ll talk to them and try to figure out what. I can meet you at the warren after. Where should I try to get them?”

“Outside your old den is best,” Russet said. “Maybe we can clean up any residue of Hue’s vision. You can promise them a chance to kill Oakbud; Cinnamon is his daughter, so he’ll be willing to do almost anything to save her. So long as it’s after sunrise, we’ll be ready.”

Another part of the plan came to Konal’s mind. “The Seerleaf will be done by then, and you’ll need it for whatever you plan to do.”

“Yes,” Russet admitted. “If it works, Death will show up to claim your pack. Maybe we can bargain with him for your freedom. That’s the best I can offer. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Konal grunted. “Let’s do this.” At least these rabbits were honest. Still, what rabbit would have the courage to face Death for a fox?

“Bremen, do you trust him?”

Konal was caught off-guard. All this talk of trust and honesty was a ploy, and he had fallen for it. I knew Konal didn’t trust them and knew Konal was unlikely to follow their plan. Konal tried to chase me through the brambles of his mind, but was unable to find me.

This was it, he thought. I would tell Russet of his lies and they’d kill him. Konal didn’t want to fight his way out of the burrow; he didn’t know if he could fight in this rabbit’s body. He wasn’t ready to die.

Instead, I answered, “Yes, brother. Konal’s story ends well.”