I followed Russet past our temporary burrow and along the tunnel to the forest. “Do you think Lily told Oakbud where we were? This could be an intentional trail.”
“I doubt it, but I can’t tell,” Russet called back as we wound our way down the run. “He’s got so much stress on him, the acrid smell is drowning out any other emotional scent. At least the parsnip he shared with the watch is covering the worst of it.”
The run traveled a few bounds, climbing up into the hill, before it curved sharply down and to the left. It went under one last boulder and emerged from that shelter onto the top of the hillside.
Lord Sun lazily hovered near the edge of the horizon, almost ready to begin dusk and his nightly rest. The smaller brush at the edge of the forest dotted the area, finding it difficult to take root among the rocks. Some of the smaller bushes found home in the gentle but increasing slope that lead back to the warren. The forest proper began only a single bound further up the slope, where the ground seemed almost level.
Russet crouched as he emerged and brushed his ears with a forepaw.
I closed my eyes and listened. The watch was nearby; Mulberry and Fig were talking about what to do with Herb’s body. It sounded like Mulberry didn’t want to leave it because predators had stopped eating the dead and Fig believed the body was far enough away that it wouldn’t cause a problem. We decided, like Oakbud, to quietly sneak away.
The trees were giant pillars that concealed the unknown behind a weave of almost bare branches. They cast long shadows, eager for twilight. We didn’t know where the predators lived, and it’d be impossible to tell if we were walking under an owl’s nest. Even in the fading light, my white fur stood out against the muted background. Worse, the gentle rustle of dried leaves sounded like so many cats stalking through dry brush. Yet, Russet continued, and I did not let him go alone.
When I thought we were far enough away, I asked, “Where’s the blood-trail?”
“Herb was dragged to the right of us. Oakbud is going in the same direction, but is keeping his distance.” He hesitated a moment and shook his head. “The spearmint is wearing off, but I can still tell that. It was Twitch, but his smell is a little off. It’s difficult with all Herb’s blood.”
One more bound and Russet froze. “Oh no.”
The scent caught my nose before I asked, badger. She shouldn’t be this far up the slope and she shouldn’t have turned away from the trail of blood. But she was, and she had.
We ran after the two trails. I tried not to feel excited. Strange visions and impossible foxes were the domain of seers. Rebuilding a hopeless warren was not an individual effort. But a badger, that was a way for a trickster to prove themselves.
She was pacing by a hollow log that was half-buried in the forest floor, uncertain which end Oakbud might emerge from. With a snort, she stood on her hind legs by the middle of it and scraped her claws on the side and top, testing if the log was soft enough to open or perhaps hoping to scare her prey out one end.
Unfortunately for her, she had her back to me. I leapt and flipped around, kicked her head into the log and landed above her on it. “Hello again. Sorry to interrupt, but I have so many questions.”
She swiped at me, but I hopped higher on the fallen log. It wasn’t laying as steep as the hill, but the incline forced her to clamber on top with me.
“No,” she said. She growled; her nose dripping blood at the front of a long row of teeth. “Your herb throwing friend has to get that rabbit away, doesn’t he? He can’t save you.”
“You wanted to avenge your friend.” I stood firm, let my voice be calm, let it invite her to talk. “Was that a trick?”
She snorted, splattering blood in my direction. “My raccoon companion was real. Is real. You seem strong, but what if I am ready to face these foxes? What if I will take them with me for her death? What if, when you fight them, your herbalist friend isn’t there?”
She lunged at me. Going up the log slowed her enough for me to jump to the ground. I landed nearby, not quite a clearing where the trees were a little farther apart and there wasn’t as much undergrowth. She might have twice my muscle mass, but I wasn’t done with my tricks.
I faced her. “I suppose I wouldn’t have a badger friend to help me. Unless you were offering?”
It was an absurd statement, and it knocked her off guard enough she climbed to the ground while Russet was getting Oakbud out of the hollow log. She tilted her head and looked me over.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t take them,” she said.
“I guess not.” I grunted and turned my back to her, then settled on my stomach. “I suppose I’ll just go home.”
The trick was simple, if difficult. Make it look like I’m getting ready to run to invite a pounce. Dig my front claws into the ground to prevent myself from moving. Use one, and only one, back leg to push forward, letting my whole body tense. And let her take the bait.
She knew I was watching her; rabbits only need the slightest tilt of the head to see behind them and my ears were pointed back. She knew something was wrong, but she wanted to see what I’d do. Too bad she was so intent on eating a rabbit; I bet she’d be fun if we were on the same side.
She went with the leap, mouth open to bite my neck and going for a little height to prevent me from bolting forward. I pushed harder against the ground with my legs, front claws digging in to prevent the lunge forward from my back foot. The timing needed to be perfect.
My other leg pushed up in a slight hop. Once my tensed back leg cleared the ground, my whole body lashed back and up like a coiled snake. I kicked her under the jaw, slamming it shut and crashing her teeth into her upper gums.
I recovered first and settled on the ground, grooming myself lightly. She recovered slowly; her mouth bleeding a bit. Hopefully, the stiffness in her jaw would counter the taste of blood. She looked me over, perhaps wondering how many more of those kicks I could do. I did my best to fake confidence.
She let out a low growl of pain, but it turned into more of a sigh. “Your name. If you flee instead of killing them, I will track you to the end of the land.”
“Bremen, son of Blackfeather. If you need to find me, the wolf pack north of here knows my father, as do half the predators to the south.” I grumbled; even death threats were under the shadow of my father. “Do you wish to share your name?”
“My name is for other predators. I have no name to give prey, even dangerous prey. You may have hers.” She slowly got to her feet. “The friend you are avenging is Melanie.”
As she walked off, Russet and Oakbud approached. The king hopped ahead. “What did you say to the badger?”
“The foxes are saving the warren for themselves. Her friend was killed by them for attacking a rabbit,” I said. “Someone really hates this warren.”
“Yes,” Oakbud said. “So, why are you here? Not to fight badgers.”
“A friend asked us for help,” I said. “We thought you might be meeting with him.”
“I suspect I might.” Oakbud looked us over in the last vestiges of the light. “Let’s see if he’s here.”
Oakbud led us further into the forest. There was little underbrush for hiding from an early owl or a late hawk. The canopy was slightly bare, leaving only shadows that looked more and more like predators as the sky darkened. Russet and I kept our ears perked, but the only sound was our paws crushing a thin layer of dried leaves and needles.
Please understand that I hadn’t seen Twitch in two seasons, my third summer and fall. Our fathers were friends since before we were born. We grew up together, and regularly sparred against each other. It was one of the ways we bonded. It was a memory of childhood that rose to the top of my thoughts.
When I spotted him, I pounced.
And landed in front of him, stunned.
Twitch had always been thin. He was a weasel, and they were simply smaller than rabbits. He had light fur, like dry earth on a well-worn path, with a soft, white underbelly and a long slender tail. Those were still there, but that’s where the childhood memory broke.
He looked gaunt and sickly. His once soft fur was unkempt; still groomed, but minimally. His face was full of pain and sadness, sunken eyes and drooping ears. At least those ears perked up when he saw me.
Until Oakbud tackled me from the side with a solid head-butt. I rolled with the impact as the king knocked me a few lengths. He stayed with me and pummeled me about the head with a series of cuffs. He was seeking submission, and I gave it to him.
“Wait,” Twitch objected. “We used to greet each other like that. He didn’t know and wasn’t thinking it’d be inappropriate here.”
“Fine,” Oakbud said and let me up. “I thought you said they’d be here by the full moon at the soonest.”
Russet said, “Rebel took us north for a day, and we traded another day of travel from a bear. I patched up an injury he had.”
“What?” Oakbud shook his ears in disbelief.
“We got lucky.” Russet tried to explain, “We knew him from an outing when I was, um, chasing Seerleaf the summer before last. I’m clean now. But, we met that bear on the way. This time, he was hurt, and worried that the injury would fester while he hibernated. So, we patched him up, and he took us much of the trip.”
“Wait,” Oakbud tilted his head. “What’s Seerleaf?”
“It’s an herb that makes you a seer until it wears off; it’s highly addictive.” Russet paled a little, nose turning a touch white. I wanted to rush to him, but he didn’t ask for help.
I coughed. “Let’s get out of the open. This won’t be a short discussion.”
Twitch’s burrow was only a few bounds further, in a small clearing.
In the center was a huge boulder with a slanted top. One side stuck into the ground and from there, it rose at a steep slope until it was taller than a full-grown stag. Even as the light faded, I could make out layers, with moss and paw-wide holes along the side, making little paths. Under the tall side was an opening, dug into the dirt, just large enough to squeeze through.
Twitch called into one of the tiny holes, “Nero, I have guests. Can you and your brothers stand watch for a while?”
Three small dark-furred mice scampered out from tiny breaks in the rock. One of them asked, “Still having fox troubles?” His brothers climbed the rock and took positions near the top.
“Yes,” replied Twitch, “I doubt they’re anywhere around, but there might be a badger.”
With that, Nero took position with his brothers. Not the best of security, but we’d get plenty of warning if the badger showed up. With one last look at the forest, just to be sure, I followed my companions into Twitch’s burrow.
The entrance had a short tunnel, only a length or so crammed between the rock above and the hard ground below. From there, it opened into a good-sized chamber, perhaps large enough for two wolves to lie down, but not stand. Tiny air currents came from the walls, hints of a maze of small exits for the mice. There was another entrance that seemed to go out the other side of the rock, and two side alcoves.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The whole place smelt like Twitch, a warm familiar scent that reminded me of younger, better times. Even in that welcoming feeling was an undercurrent of illness. No, it was hunger and stress. I guess he couldn’t scavenge properly this close to the warren or with the fox threat.
Still, there was a protocol and questions to ask. I clawed lightly at the ground and made a simple code that said I was a storyteller. Three times with my left paw, three with my right, and finally, three more with my left. Twitch did the same, followed by Russet.
Oakbud tried to calm down, but was starting to ramble. “I know Cinnamon trusted you, and you tried to help by helping Herb out, but I’m in a weasel’s burrow, surrounded by mice. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
Twitch tapped the ground once to let us know Oakbud didn’t know the code.
He was a king, so I tapped twice to ask if we should tell him.
Russet and Twitch tapped twice in agreement.
“You were speaking to the badger; that’s not impossible, Mulberry knows a few languages, but it’s mostly raccoon and rat. Nothing that dangerous, but you also spoke to a bear.” Oakbud fretted, sulking on the ground, ears pinned back. “You can’t be fox’s-paws. I’d already be dead. And you didn’t eat Herb, but you could have.”
I hopped over to Oakbud and nudged him firmly with my head. “Hey, you’re safe. We’re here to help; all of us. Now, take a breath and ask questions, whatever you’re ready to know. We will answer honestly, and as completely as we can.”
It was a test, both of curiosity and respect. Plus, he was a king; being back in charge should help calm his panic.
Oakbud sat up and composed himself. “Okay. I guess I should thank Twitch for finding Herb and risking his life bringing him to the warren. It is a dark time that confirming a death brings solace.” He took a moment to grind his teeth before finding his first question. “Twitch asked for your help, and clearly something is happening here. I guess, let’s start with the here. Where are we and why are the mice looking out for us?” He may have asked the group, but his ears were pointed at Twitch.
“Cinnamon used this place as a burrow away from the warren,” Twitch said. “She knew the mice here and introduced us. I no longer eat prey, and I agreed to keep some of the larger predators from using this place. I don’t think they’d have trusted me without Cinnamon.”
“And why did she trust you?” Oakbud shook his head. “How do you know each other? Do they know Cinnamon?”
“Because all of us are storytellers,” Twitch answered the first question.
I answered the next, “Twitch, Russet and I are childhood friends; we grew up together.”
“But Bremen and I have not personally met Cinnamon,” Russet finished that round, and added, “But we have probably met her teacher, if she learned from someone south of here.”
“You’ll answer my questions,” Oakbud grumbled; he was catching on. “Just my questions?”
“For now,” I said. “Until you say you’re ready for more. Ask as much or as little as you’d like.”
“How could you grow up together?”
“My father always lived near the Hazelford warren, and it just seemed natural to know a few rabbits growing up. Our fathers were friends,” Twitch responded. “Although, outside of our families, no one in the warren knew.”
Oakbud glared at us. Even though it was finally nighttime, enough light from Lady Moon made its way through the entrances to give soft outlines. He sighed. “You’re not talking about normal storytellers. What are you?”
I explained, “We are the stories that hold the warren together. We think of ourselves as a secret society. It’s mostly rabbits, like Cinnamon, and other storytellers.”
“I heard as much from my daughter, but she was killed before she explained,” Oakbud snapped back. “How are you involved with the foxes?”
“We didn’t bring the foxes here; doing so would be against all we stand for,” Twitch answered. “Our secrets can’t make a fox fit where they shouldn’t. Your daughter and I were trying to figure out what was going on, just like she told you. When Cinnamon disappeared, I continued investigating with Herb and then with your help. I also reached out to Bremen and Russet.”
It was a lot of information; we let Oakbud gnaw through it to find what he needed. “How did you know they could help?”
“We needed tricksters so that the foxes would be exposed. They’re good at investigating and getting into trouble. This is more than convincing an overeager predator to move on, but I trust them to come up with a solution.” Twitch gave me a nudge with his nose. “Besides, Bremen has the soul of a fox.”
“What?!”
I pulled my ears over my face with my paws before pushing the embarrassment aside. “My father, Blackfeather, was also an albino. He always believed he was a crow, reborn as a rabbit. Since I was the only albino in the litter, he decided that I was a departed fox friend of his, reborn as a rabbit. I’m not really a fox.”
Oakbud went back to grinding his teeth; a firm gnaw. It sounded like my father’s disappointment that I did not believe him. The idea was ridiculous, but with the fox attacks and the seer-vision-thing Russet found, fewer things felt impossible.
For the first time in a long time, the silence after I spoke felt like it needed to be filled. “I’m not a hare of Diomedes.”
“Huh?” Oakbud flicked an ear in surprise. Hopefully, he knew that myth.
“Four hares cursed by Lord Sun with the souls of predators for eating rabbit-flesh?” Russet offered. “Souls of a fox, weasel, wolf and owl?”
This time, the silence did not let me fill it.
“In the version I know, Prince Twilight turned them into dragonflies, so they could only eat bugs with their never-ending appetites. But that’s only a legend,” Oakbud finally said, breaking the tension. “I prefer to trust what I see, not rumors.”
“Thank you.” I nodded.
“Regardless,” Oakbud continued, “before she died, Cinnamon hinted at this society. That it had some predators in it, like Twitch. You don’t seem to be cannibals, so– What can you do?”
Russet cut off my response. “That’s not something we can just say.”
“Why not?”
“Because fear would follow.”
Before Oakbud reacted, I clarified. “It’s not as powerful as herbs or visions, but when properly applied, it can be as effective. We keep it to carry the burden for others and you have enough on your shoulders already.” I took a breath. “I know what it’s like to be curious; I can only assure you that it has nothing to do with the foxes.”
“Do you think I’m too weak?” Oakbud grunted. “You’re in my warren because I gave you permission to stay.”
“It’s not about weak or strong,” I said. “It’s about hope and trust. About trusting the warren to protect itself and keep the fear away.”
“We have no hope; the warren hasn’t had stories in two seasons,” Oakbud countered. “My daughter died for this hope. Tell me.”
The technicality that he hadn’t asked a question was ignored. We recited for Oakbud, “Though friends may die by fang and claw, the warren lives on through hope and stories.”
“At the most basic level, what we can do twists trust into fangs and claws. You see how the warren is now; no hope, no life, no stories. There are those who can’t handle our secret and are left as shadows of who they once were. When the fear passes, the stories come back for others but not them.” They were my father's words, his objection to my first request to join. “I ask you, take a day to consider. Telling you won’t help us find the foxes.”
Thankfully, there was more I could offer. “As king of the warren, you are allowed to know who we are without knowing the what. As king, you want to take every burden onto yourself. Yet, as a wise king, you also know that is not always possible. You are upset; we are tired from our journey. Let it rest tonight and we can discuss it when we are calm.”
“I didn’t ask a question. If I were wise, I would have realized that.” Oakbud gave his ears a half-turn away from me and did not press the issue. His voice betrayed a slight resigned frustration, but he dealt with it by finding something he could address. “What can we do about the foxes tonight?”
“Russet and I heard some rumors.” I asked, “What do we actually know?”
“Something is not right about them,” Russet said. “Bremen and I looked about the main chamber. There was a… gap left over from a vision. I guess it could have been from Basil, but it seemed darker, more like an absence of something. It must’ve been strong to last for days, more powerful than any seer I’ve seen.”
“I agree; they’re not ordinary.” Twitch nodded and added, “They attack every four days. That’s not an act of hunger. None of the mice, rats or other animals in the forest have been hunted. Only a raccoon was killed and she died because she attacked a rabbit. There was an announcement to the forest that only rabbits who attempt to flee may be hunted. I wasn’t there, but when I asked a bird who was, they said there were two foxes.”
Oakbud continued, “Physically, they are foxes. The wounds on all the bodies are too consistent. I’ve seen rabbits mask their scent with herbs, but this–there’s no way those injuries could have been faked. Trust me, we checked for over a moon. I can’t imagine a rabbit doing this.”
“Yet,” I said, “these attacks aren’t just hurting the warren, they’re torturing it. An outsider wouldn’t care if the warren suffered, especially not for this long. And since the foxes don’t live in the warren, there has to be a reason that relates to a rabbit.”
I didn’t say that I’ve seen rabbits tear their own warrens apart for spite. Jealousy, lust, intrigue, these things affected rabbits as much as anyone. Perhaps more, since we’re so social.
“Sir,” Russet asked, “what notable rabbits are, uh, left?”
“There’s myself. Lily is the head digger. She got that position about a moon ago, when Queen Cotinus died. I can’t imagine anyone hating her, though.” Oakbud sighed heavily. “Head digger, and a better head of the warren than I could ever be.”
After a moment, he continued, “The runners have been decimated and absorbed into the watch. As of two attacks ago, Fig is in charge of what’s left of them. He’s the strongest rabbit in the warren; he’s been clawed and bit, even had his nose bloodied by a raccoon, but he doesn’t complain. Mulberry is his younger brother and Bramble was secretly grooming him to be head of the watch. He connects with other rabbits better, inspires more loyalty.
“We have no storytellers; even before Cinnamon was killed the foxes targeted anyone who even attempted to tell stories. The most recent was Herb, and he only tried underground where a fox couldn’t have observed. Then there’s Basil, the seer for the warren, and Sylvia, the herbalist.”
I spoke up at that. “She got her position because Thistle died. Who hasn’t gotten their position because of a recent death?”
Oakbud pondered, “Myself, although I have taken on more of the responsibility of leadership, and Basil. Basil wasn’t born when we lost our last seer. He was the only kit who had visions, terrible things of pain and blood he barely remembered. When he came of age this spring, he had a little more control, but they drain him.”
“I can’t imagine a king destroying his own warren,” I said, thinking out loud. “Unfortunately, that means they’re saving you for last. At least, that’s how it would go in a story. I guess Basil could be in on it—”
“Or next,” Russet’s voice interrupted. He shook a little from his realization. “They’re taking the warren apart.”
“Which leads us back to someone inside the warren or who used to live in the warren. The foxes could be called here by a rabbit. But what could a warren rabbit have to trade for something this relentless?” I frowned; that notion seemed uncomfortably close to something a storyteller could do, except for the attacks underground. “Unless there was a predator or outsider who was humiliated by the warren?”
Oakbud shook his head. “We have few visitors, and none left on bad terms. Except for the foxes, we haven’t had the need to drive any predators off since I’ve been king. That one badger came close last winter, but nothing else took this much interest in the warren. How long can a fox hold a grudge?”
“Foxes don’t live that much longer than we do,” I answered. “So, if you can’t remember an insult, they wouldn’t either.”
“There was a group of foxes that died before my first winter, when the warren was still known as Rockspring.” He sighed. “There was a story about it, but I think everyone who knew it was killed. I could ask if anyone still remembers. It’s unlikely, but maybe these foxes are related? Although, why wait so long? Still, asking around will give me something to do.”
The four of us got quiet for a while and collected our thoughts. Russet broke the silence first.
“If we could figure out how the attacks are being done, we’d know who was doing them,” he offered. “Basil is our best lead there. He either caused what I saw in the meeting chamber or saw what did it. We can talk to him about his visions tomorrow morning.”
I nodded. “Why don’t I do that? Russet, you meet with Sylvia. See if you can help her with the preparation of herbs for the watch or for us.”
“The watch has been low on herbs for a while,” Oakbud said. “Syl hasn’t finished her training, and any help there would make a big difference. I felt bad stealing what stores Herb left with us, but I suppose he can’t use them now.”
“If there is a traitor, he’ll try to get us killed next,” I said. “If he’s stayed hidden this long, I don’t like our chances of finding him.”
“Bramble was talking about that before he was killed,” Oakbud added. “There has to be someone.”
Russet offered, “It’s possible the fox’s-paw isn’t a rabbit.”
“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” the king replied.
“I’ve talked with most of the animals in the forest,” Twitch said. “They fear or hate the foxes, but none of them can get in the warren. I’m not sure what else to do.”
Oakbud scratched lightly at the bottom of his chin. “If you’ve got connections with the local predators, can you see how complete that threat is? If we could move freely through the forest, we could investigate more easily.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “Oakbud, I’m sure you’ll be busy tomorrow with the warren, but we’ll meet up tomorrow night.”
Oakbud thought for a moment and looked us over. He spoke slowly, choosing his words. “Before we go back, I have one more request. If you’re a real storyteller, I could use some hope.”
I answered a question he didn’t realize he asked. “I’m a real storyteller. Not as good as my father, but not bad.”
He flicked his ears in response, a weak gesture that begged for succor. “Tell me a story.”