A titanic owl foot pinned me to the ground. Its sharp talons held me no matter how I struggled. A voice shrieked, “Bremen, nightmare!”
Being shaken awake is usually enough to disrupt a dream. Nightmares powerful enough that you lash out in your sleep might need a little more. Once I heard Russet’s warning, I acknowledged the dream and, with the strength of that truth, chose to open my eyes. The dark of the burrow wiped away the terrifying vision of an owl I had never met.
“I’m okay.” I shivered. It’d been almost a full season since I had a dream that intense. All the worries of the foxes and the fear in the warren must’ve gotten to me. Shameful, but common enough. The images lingered and threatened to return if I fell back asleep; warned that I might not recognize the dream again. Or I’d forget the full callback. “Russet, by Prince Twilight, I’m okay.”
Slowly, Russet took his foot off my chest. “I couldn’t wake you. What happened?”
“I was Bremen—the fox that dad knew—again. Why did my dad pick him for my namesake?” My ears flattened against my head and I absently brushed my paws over imagined dream-wounds. They faded into a general unease. “It was the owl attack before he met my father, Sathe tearing at me—him—with long talons. He kept saying that stupid line, ‘Run, little fox.’ Of all my dad’s crazy stories, why does that one haunt me?”
“What did he say about foxes?” Lily was here; she must’ve been outside the burrow.
Russet deflected, “You know how dreams get. I mean, it was a long trip, and you were right about being exhausted. We should see about fixing the large room.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want you having another… whatever that was this morning,” she said. “Let’s get you both fed first, maybe show you around. We should ask Basil, our seer, about helping as well. He had a fairly dark vision in there after Bramble’s death.”
“Of course,” I said and yawned. While I could have used more rest, I didn’t want to return to the dream, and we needed to get things resolved quickly to get back for the start of the storyteller gathering. “There was a missing rabbit; has he been found?”
“No,” she said. “The watch is going a little nuts searching for him. Grazing times are out of schedule, since we’re trying to keep everyone under guard outside of the warren.”
I flattened my ears. We headed through a short series of runs in relative quiet, emerging onto the hill from under another large rock. The cold mist had given way to Lord Sun’s light, but the encroaching winter had stolen his gift of warmth. A cold breeze carried muted scents of early frost and lichen. At least the light pushed any lingering shards of the dream away as my vision finally had something to look at.
Without the haze, the rocks stuck into the hill seemed to be both heavy and frozen in place. As if they were sliding down the incline and stopped. Uphill, the tree-line was about where the slope ended and gave the impression the rocks were falling out of the forest. The name Rockspring fit the place. Too bad the threat of the foxes overshadowed the majesty.
In the light, Lily was a paw-height taller than myself and did indeed have a powerful digger’s build, dirt from her repairs between her well-worn claws. Her fur was the smooth shade of the bright morning glories in the field north of Hazelford, far enough from white to give a soft outline. I leaned in to sniff, matching the scent of her appearance with her scent when we first met.
She suppressed a wince when she saw me. “Sorry, Fig said you were a white rabbit. I didn’t realize you were, uh...”
“An albino,” I said, keeping my voice warm. “It’s okay, you weren’t expecting a true-white.”
“Yes, thank you. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Despite it being nearly mid-day, two other groups of rabbits were out grazing, with a trio of watch members keeping guard. The grazing rabbits were listless from exhaustion and overanxious from the stress of being so exposed; a few had trouble keeping their eyes and ears focused and had to be reminded to eat by the others. At least the watch was alert... too alert.
Their ears never stopped moving, jerking from one position to another as their eyes twitched and they shifted their heads to scan around them. Usually good things, but their actions were the panic of trying to find a threat that just ducked out of sight. That couldn’t be right; if it was, they’d be ordering everyone underground.
I recognized Mulberry from earlier and hopped over to him. “Is everything all right?”
He almost stamped an alarm before he recognized me. “Bremen! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He kept looking around, not even giving me one ear. “I can’t miss anything. This is the last group; we’re almost safe.”
“Are you okay?”
“Herb left a few doses of Long Watch, burns like ginger,” he said. “We need to be sure the foxes haven’t changed their schedule.”
There are times when a conversation should be forced; this was not one of those. Russet, Lily and I took our time grazing on the sparse grass. We stayed close to Mulberry’s group; they had the extra watch-rabbit. During that time, Lily pointed out which entrances were real and which were false.
Without warning, Russet flattened himself onto the ground. “Bremen, blood-smell, treeline, closing.” He tapped the ground twice—a basic code for ‘go’.
I took off up the hill. I couldn’t smell anything, but Russet’s nose was never wrong. The other rabbits started and ran for the entrances. Lily shouted that the trees were dangerous, and Mulberry chased after me.
He got ahead, using a few acrobatic shortcuts I hadn’t seen, and cut me off. At the entrance to the forest, he sat, daring me to pass. I skidded to a halt.
He opened his mouth to say something when a small breeze brought the scent of blood to the both of us. Mulberry grunted. “Stay here!”
Like a trickster would stay away from trouble.
We both entered the trees and within a bound found the source of the smell. Someone had dragged a dead rabbit through the woods. I glimpsed leaves fluttering as whoever it was ran back into the forest depths. They looked about rabbit-size.
The body seemed only a day dead; there was only a slight hint of rot despite being a bloody mess. Even at a distance, I saw a deep bite on his midsection and a limp neck like he’d been shaken. Getting a little closer, there were deep claw marks over most of his limbs and his ears were shredded. If the killer was a fox, they weren’t hungry; only one foot was missing.
Mulberry gave another grunt. “I told you to stay!”
I pushed down the rising panic. “Is that him?”
“Yes, it’s Herb.” He stamped lightly. “Now, get back to the warren. You’re not safe here.”
Not the time to argue; I’d seen what I could.
A few watch members passed me on the way back down the hill. Fig gave me a glare, but said nothing. There was definitely going to be a round of questions over that; hopefully Mulberry would explain he found the body before the rumors got out of hand. Maybe we could find the foxes before it became an issue.
I met back up with Lily and Russet. Lily pointed both ears at me and tried not to ask.
“It was Herb, looked like the foxes got him yesterday,” I said, and tapped the ground once to let Russet know we’d talk later. “I’m sorry.”
Her ears flicked and she slumped to the ground. “I had hoped, but it’s foolish. We’re all going to die this winter.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I said and nudged her side.
“We’ve barely even seen them,” she said, not moving. “Basil had a vision of the first kill, his father. Then there was a group of young rabbits. They watched a fox pick them off one at a time, every four days. At least, that’s what the later ones said before they died. We thought, I don’t know what we thought. One of them was killed underground. We thought it was a trick; they were making it up. Foxes couldn’t get into the warren. They didn’t dig the tunnels out. It’s impossible, but they got in. And they didn’t stop; they just moved on to other groups, other rabbits.”
Russet and I looked at each other. This wasn’t something a cheerful story could fix. I said, “There must be something we can do.”
Slowly, she got back on her feet. “We should tell the others. Everyone’s worrying themselves sick from the stress.”
“Surely there’s some relief?” I offered. “We have a few days to find the foxes.”
“Maybe I could have felt that after the first time, but it’s been two seasons.” She sighed and hopped over to an entrance. “The next death is inevitable, and by the end of winter, we’ll all be gone. There’s no place to run. Besides, this is our warren.” With that, she headed inside.
We followed her through more tunnels that ascended into the hill. Another small chamber, with perhaps as many rabbits inside as were grazing, and another one or two settled in the entrance runs as we pushed past.
No one spoke. There were no stories or chatter. No one recounted their day or what they had found. The warren was only huddled together for protection; packed dense enough that the foxes couldn’t get inside.
It didn’t help. A few rabbits were incessantly grooming patches of their fur off. Some smelt like they hadn’t groomed at all. One we pushed past didn’t react, he was either too exhausted or too terrified to respond. There was teeth grinding, but not the soothing purr of a healthy rabbit. The deeper grind that Russet had when he fought his cravings.
Lily sat in the center of it all and spoke in a hushed whisper. “The foxes have taken Herb. The body was found. We have a few more days.”
“A few more days,” came a round of hushed whispers, yet the tension in the group stayed.
With that done, Lily continued past and out another run. At the next intersection, she sat and let out a long sigh. “That used to be King Oakbud’s audience chamber. After the last–after the attack before Herb, he deemed the main meeting room was too much of a risk. That was the rest of the warren. Once everyone’s done eating, I don’t know where we’re going to put them all.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand,” I offered.
Russet asked, “Is that why repairing the big room was so important?”
“I suppose,” she said. “If the foxes can attack anywhere, then there’s little reason not to use it. Maybe we should just stay outside, at least we won’t be overcrowded. Now, come on, there are a few others we should tell. Oakbud likely already knows; let’s check the sleeping kettles.”
As we traveled, I started to get a feel for the layout. The warren was a loose circle around the central cavern. Most of the runs either curved around, or went straight into it. The warren itself was sloped like the hill, and once that made sense, the runs felt a little more intuitive.
No one was in the kettles. There were too few scents; the warren felt gutted and abandoned, like a ghost warren emptied by a great sickness. I’d heard tales of such places, where the white blindness had spared no one. The tales always spoke of the horrible stillness and the hints of what happened. Perhaps that’s what Russet had seen in the meeting chamber.
Lily led us to a rather large burrow, the current herbalist’s workshop. It was filled with the smell of flowers, berries and tufts of grass, some drying, some rotting. Yet, no one was there.
“When Thistle was taken last spring, the position of head herbalist fell to Sylvia,” Lily explained. “She’s got a good heart, and Herb did his best to continue her training, but with all that’s happened, she’s overwhelmed.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Russet sniffed around. “Seems like she’s been unable to make herbs fast enough. And your stores are almost gone.” He grunted. “Maybe I can help with that?”
“I’ll relay your offer when I see her,” Lily said. “If you’re serious about helping with the main room, I’ll meet you there. Basil hasn’t eaten since Herb disappeared, so I’ll tell him myself. Between finding the body and new rabbits, it’s a lot of change. I’ll introduce you after he’s had a little time to process and eat. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Russet said. “Bremen, let’s get my bag.”
Between the basic understanding of the warren and Russet’s nose finding our tracks, we had little trouble getting back to the burrow. My thoughts kept drifting to the attacks.
The foxes had an elaborate trick worked out. Although calling it a trick downplayed how sustained and relentless it was. The four-day cycle was intentionally chosen, long enough to almost lose count, easy to miscount, and always present on the mind. Enough rabbits would know that it couldn’t be ignored, and while there was a long time between attacks, the relentless precision prevented the warren from getting comfortable. Maybe they were able to rest between the first few deaths, but once it became something that always happened, all anyone could feel was anticipation.
And none of that touched on how the attacks were even possible.
Russet nudged me when we arrived. “No one’s been here. Now, what are we hiding from Lily?”
“Oh.” I pawed my head to jostle that thought to the surface. “Herb’s body was dragged to the warren. I didn’t see who did it, but they were smaller than a fox.”
“Think it’s a fox’s-paw?”
“No, finding the body broke the tension the foxes wanted.” I took a breath and tried to keep things in perspective. “Maybe whoever found Herb knew that the uncertainty was hurting the warren. Maybe it’s Twitch. I didn’t want to say anything in case the watch wants to keep that part quiet.”
Russet nodded. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen Twitch, and there was so much blood. I didn’t notice anything in the scent I caught.” He chomped one loop on his bag and mumbled through full teeth. “Not worth the hassle of getting it on; let’s go.”
The central chamber was much easier to find. Any run that didn’t curve went straight to it, and even better, it was downhill; Russet had no trouble dragging his bag there.
The chamber, if possible, felt even larger the second time. As we hopped into it, I could feel the sheer empty space around me. The pillars that connected to the ceiling seemed more like trees in an underground forest than rocks and dirt. It was large enough that the subtle air currents of the runs became a breeze that flowed through the openness. It was large enough that a wolf pack could comfortably sleep there, provided they could make it through the runs. In some ways, it reminded me of the bramble the Storyteller’s Gathering happened in, sheltered but open for stories.
Yet, the echoes of those cheerful times were rent by...
“Russet, I can tell something’s wrong, but I can’t tell what doesn’t fit.” I frowned and looked around. “It’s like there’s something in the silence of this place.”
“I’m not sure. Now that we’re here alone, I can make out something.” He tried to explain, “When I move or nod, I move air, and when that air moves past your whiskers you get an impression of where I am and what I’m doing. You don’t think about it, you only know that I’m nodding or getting closer.
“Part of me can tell there’s something here, but it’s like only feeling the air move without the rest. Maybe whatever remains is from the attack, maybe it’s from Basil’s vision. I had enough visions from Seerleaf that I can recognize the feeling, but without the herb, I don’t have a context.”
“Are you okay?”
“No, but I’m the closest thing we have to a seer at the moment.” He held his breath until he stopped shivering and let it out slow. “It’s not Seerleaf; it can’t promise to show me Truth. Maybe one truth, if it’s from the foxes appearing. I might need you to push me out of here again.”
“Russet, brother by blood if not by birth,” I said, “a hero looks after his sidekick as the sidekick looks after his hero. I’m here if you need help resisting your addiction.”
The talk of stories nudged him out of the downward spiral. At least for a bit. “You’re saying you’re the hero in this pairing?”
“More like the forepaws.” I sat back. “They’re more visible; they tend to go first. But we both know that the back legs do all the real work.”
“That isn’t better.”
I chuckled, and thankfully, so did he. “If you’d rather be the hero, what can you smell? Can you tell me what happened?”
Russet sniffed along the ground. “There are a lot of old scents here. Mine, Lily’s and yours are the strongest, of course. Going back, there’s the fox. It’s faint, but I can still smell him. Rabbit blood.” He made his way to one of the walls. “Lily tried to get the scent out by burying it here.”
He continued to sniff, wandering past a pillar toward the center of the room, following the scent trails. “Fig and another rabbit, male. There was a fight, not between them. The other, older rabbit and the fox. His fur, there’s some of it that was torn out. He smells a little like... Lily.”
“My father, Bramble,” came Lily’s grief-filled voice from behind me. I turned, startled, and she continued, “This is where the head of the watch was killed by a fox. Just over four days ago.”
“Lily, I’m sorry.” I hopped over to comfort her.
“I used to imagine that, when it was my time, I’d kick and bite and at least injure the fox. That I’d be strong enough to make them think twice about what they were doing.” She whimpered and leaned against me. “But if my father couldn’t even make one of them bleed, what hope do I have?”
“Lily, it’s okay. We’re here.”
“And what can you do? What can tricksters do against phantoms?”
“I’m not so sure.” Russet hop-stepped to his bag and dug into it. “Let me try an herb.”
I tried not to let my concern come through. I really did. “Russet...”
“It’s not Seerleaf! Seerleaf is a summer plant. There won’t be Seerleaf for two full seasons.” Russet shook, but pushed the need down. He drew something from his bag. “It’s spearmint in huckleberry, to enhance my sense of smell. For me, the residue of the vision is a break in the scent of this place.”
“Are you okay?” Lily asked.
“No,” Russet said, “but you can help. What happened before the attack?”
“Bramble had an argument with half the watch that day. He believed the foxes had someone in the warren telling them where to strike, and he wanted to change plans, catch the traitor off guard. The meeting was supposed to be here. My father arrived first and was attacked. Fig found him, missing his throat and torn beyond recognition.” Her voice grew quiet as she turned toward one part of the wall, her paw resting against it.
Russet hopped over to sniff. “It must have been horrific. And no one saw the fox get in or out?”
“Basil had a vision when he entered the chamber.” Lily kept her voice even despite her grief. “He relived the attack from Bramble’s perspective, but he couldn’t tell how the fox got out. Only that it was here.”
Russet pawed lightly at the air. “A vision wouldn’t leave this strong a residue. Or shouldn’t. Unless... the vision didn’t leave him with actual wounds, did it?”
“Basil’s visions aren’t that powerful.” She frowned. “One confirmed the attacks were to happen every four days. One saved Snowbell, but another was taken in her place. And there was a panic. We—a mob from the warren—killed her as a fox’s-paw, even though she was innocent. It was so shameful. We no longer ask him to predict when the attacks would happen.”
I winced. Rabbits are like any animal; we can hurt our own, drive each other away. Stories provide unity; they could have redirected the panic to something useful or diffused it. And, clearly, Foxvale was without stories.
“But you asked about the attack,” Lily continued. “Fig and Mulberry examined everything. If there was any evidence of where the fox went, they’d have found it.”
“Any physical evidence,” Russet said. “Basil could have noticed... Unless he was overwhelmed. Experiencing that must’ve been exhausting. Besides, visions aren’t easy to control and impossible to stop.”
“Thankfully, his visions aren’t as problematic as our last seer. Her visions were strong enough that even those nearby saw them.” Lily shuddered and crouched defensively. “But she passed before I was born.”
Russet settled on the ground. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s see what I can smell. If there’s an exit the fox used, I’ll find it.”
Some rabbits don’t have a strong nose; they don’t understand how the scent of blood is like a wolf’s claws scraping the ground nearby. The stronger the scent, the closer the claws.
Russet collapsed as he ate the herb. His breathing became shallow as every scent in the chamber jumped closer, the hidden hint of blood becoming an immediate threat. Even with our presence nearby, his instincts screamed that a predator, dripping from its last kill, was closer.
He forced himself back onto his feet. “There–There was a great meeting. Everyone was in the chamber, and then they left.” He timidly sniffed, making his way along the invisible trails. “After that, the male rabbit, Lily’s father—it’s so clear—entered. He paced back and forth... and stood here.” Russet looked around and circled the confrontation from the past. “He was, yes, angry at first, then afraid.”
With a lunge, Russet pressed close to the ground. “The fox appeared in mid-lunge. Front forepaws landed first, then back legs. It’s like it came from the hole in the scent. Like it’s a scar in what’s real.”
I ignored my own fear and hopped up to Lily. I leaned against her; her needs kept my fear at bay. This was a dusk story that young, foolish bucks told each other under the full eye of Lady Moon, when she gave enough light for predators to find us.
“I’m sorry Lily.” Russet’s voice shook, as haunted as a seer’s. “The bite was deep along the midsection, then the–Wait. Bramble got his nose. Fox-blood. They can be injured. That’s why Bramble’s throat was ripped. It’s why he was thrown but not shaken.” Russet laughed, but it was the sound of madness. “No exit. The fox left as he arrived; into nothing. Fig came in. Maybe immediately, maybe later. He could have noticed the fox. He didn’t leave to get Basil. A new rabbit, not from the meeting, arrived. Maybe. It’s so long ago and different scents fade differently. Mulberry and the rest of the watch arrived later; I’m fairly sure. I can smell how they searched for the exit, and how the body was removed.”
“Fig would have said something if he ran into the fox,” Lily said. “He would have told Sylvia at least. They’re cousins and fairly close.”
“I believe you. But it gives us a place to look.” I tried not to grunt or gulp, even as my limbs felt heavy and cold from fear. I tried not to think of an actual phantom fox or a vision that could summon one. Such things simply did not exist. Like Lord Sun, they were legends, tales to brag about and ways to thrill kits.
I pushed those thoughts aside; getting upset wouldn’t help us. “Russet, can you do anything about the vision-scar or whatever it is?”
“Maybe.” He pondered, waving his forelegs in the air. “Life chips away at the unnatural. I can try to fill it with normal. Covering its lack-of-scent with mine. Like knocking dirt back into a hole.”
I wanted to laugh at Russet, dancing around, forelegs flailing, making little hops to get the top—and it was silly—but I kept thinking about the foxes. If a vision could summon a fox, or there was something else at work, it opened questions about my soul I did not like. My father said I was Bremen, that I actually was his fox friend reborn as his son. Yet, reincarnation was as absurd as... Well, as what may have actually been happening.
Lily did laugh, but grunted as her thoughts took a dark turn. “A fox from elsewhere. Is such a thing possible?”
“My mother once spoke of a demon that a powerful seer called forth,” Russet said, still bouncing. “But, I dismissed that as allegory. It’s true that each seer is unique and some have very specific talents. But, that’s more likely to be always knowing when it’s going to rain, or old Blossom, she always knew an attack was coming three heartbeats before it occurred. Always three heartbeats; never more, never less.”
Whatever Russet was doing was helping. In the silence that followed, the lack-of-scent seemed smaller.
“It’s almost a good thing this place has been nearly abandoned,” Russet said when he finished. “While the spearmint is still active, let’s get the last of the blood scent. Lily, I’ve got some Witch Hazel in my bag. It’ll work a lot better than burying everything.”
Russet’s witch hazel mixture was contained in a round bulb-like flower. From what I understood, he mixed a few different types of treated bark with sap and added wormwood and willow to remove the scent of blood. Russet began by dabbing a few drops of the clear liquid on any splatters of blood that only he could smell, and he had Lily add some to everywhere she had tried to bury the scent.
Quickly, as they worked the mixture into the earthy floor and walls, the atmosphere lightened. There was an edge to the room before, a blood scent that had lingered outside of consciousness. With that gone, and the unknowable scar fading, warmth returned to a chamber used by generations of rabbits to meet.
Russet admired their work. “That seems good. We even have a bit left over.”
“Thank you,” Lily said. “Both of you. I’m not sure I fully understand what you were able to do, but I can feel the difference. We might even be able to use this for meetings again. I think I might keep what you discovered quiet for now. I’m not sure how I feel about everything.”
“Plus, if there is a fox’s-paw in the warren, we need to use that information to draw him out,” I offered. The suggestion was met with ears turned away.
“I will leave you two to your investigation.” Lily gave me a slight nudge with her nose. “Let me know if I can help further. Hopefully, you’ll have a few days before you’re in danger.”
Thankfully, Russet’s cravings didn’t resurface, and he was able to summon enough willpower to leave. I wasn’t sure if congratulations would have helped; I think he wanted to put the incident out of mind for a while. We headed back to our burrow.
The emptiness of the warren still tugged at me. This was a warren without hope. More than that, hope was used to highlight fear. Lily didn’t want to shout that the foxes could be injured because even that small hope would tear the survivors apart when the next death occurred. The safety of the warren had been compromised so deeply, the survivors were sick from fear. Every four days. The empty gap filled with only the dread of what would happen.
“On the way here, I hoped that this was a trick by a rabbit. A sharp rock used to fake an attack or something. But, if it isn’t...” I sighed and grunted as we traveled. “If it’s from outside the warren, it would have to hate rabbits, and these rabbits in particular. If it’s from inside, why? This isn’t a grab for power. They’re not deposing the king to replace him. I can’t see the narrative. At least we have things to ask Fig and Basil. Maybe ask about grudges–”
“Wait.” Russet dropped to the ground and sniffed. The burrow was just ahead. Could someone be waiting for us? Could it be Twitch with apologies for leaving Herb’s body suddenly? Was it the fox’s-paw with warnings of doom? A divine messenger, ready to explain what we’d have to do to lift the warren’s curse?
He tapped his back leg twice and crept forward. I followed, and pulled alongside him as the run opened up near the burrow.
Russet whispered, “King Oakbud passed by very recently, heading out the exit.”