The nearly full form of the Lady Moon mocked me as Russet, Oakbud, Fig and I traveled. The Storyteller Gathering at Hazelford would start when she showed her full glory. In two days. At the time of the next fox attack. Home and friends would have to wait; we had to help Foxvale.

The Lady’s light was bright enough to illuminate threats, even filtered through the cloudy sky and the bare branches above. With their branches bare, the trees were little protection from the damp chill of the wind. A small blessing, the cold and wet leaves that covered the ground were silent as we hopped on them. The forest was likewise quiet, perhaps wondering if this night would be the first snow.

The only other creature we noticed was when Russet caught the scent of an opossum. While not much of a threat to four rabbits, we took a detour around them. This close to winter, they might be desperate enough to try something and we didn’t want to risk my bandage breaking.

The weather calmed as we got closer to the clearing with Twitch’s burrow. The slanted boulder rested in the center, offering shelter from the night. Twitch emerged as we got closer.

“What happened?” he asked, sniffing at my bandage.

“Step aside.” Fig grunted. “It’s not your concern.”

“It’s alright, Mapleleaf,” I interrupted before things got worse. “Mapleleaf didn’t trust weasels, but he agreed to stand guard with the rabbits who had escorted Twitch through our lands.”

Twitch frowned. “Of course. Let me tell them you’re here.”

King Oakbud hopped up to us. “Is this really needed?”

“Sir,” I said, careful not to use words that would change Fig’s story, “You know we’re here to talk to the weasel about the threat to our warren. Some of what needs to be said will be sensitive. Besides, Mapleleaf won’t be alone; there will be trustworthy rabbits with him.”

Oakbud lowered his ears, but settled down to watch the introduction.

A quick call from Twitch got Nero and the other mice volunteering to keep watch. I gave them a slight wave. Twitch tried to sound serious. “Bremen, I’ll let you introduce my rabbit-escorts.”

“We’ve been rabbits before,” Nero offered. “Anyone specific?”

I pointed to Nero and explained, “Mapleleaf, this is Crabtree. Despite his size, he’s a much stronger rabbit than you are, so try to stay on his good side. He can name the rest of the rabbits, if you need, but they’re all here to escort the weasel. They are good rabbits and are here to protect us.” To Nero I whispered, “If he gives you trouble, go easy on him.”

Oakbud followed Russet and Twitch inside. I lingered long enough to make sure Fig and the mice settled down before heading into the burrow.

“The bite is deep, but nothing tore,” Russet was explaining to Twitch. “I’m relieved, but I don’t like what it implies.”

“Me neither,” I added. “But there’s something else we should start with. Oakbud needs to know if he can trust us or not. Oakbud, like last night, if you ask any questions, we will answer.”

He flattened his ears. “I think I understand the basics. You tell a story; he thinks he’s in that story. The seeing mice as rabbits is a little farther than I expected, but I get it. I wonder, could my daughter do that?”

“Yes,” Twitch answered. “Although we only talked about it. I didn’t actually see her do it.”

“How much effort does it take?”

“A longer story,” I said. “My tale of almost freezing in the river was long enough, if told for that purpose. Although, you can have lesser effects with shorter stories. Also, it generally has to be a single storyteller and you can’t let up when you’re telling it. No pauses, or even long breaks. Even a deep breath can break the flow if done at the wrong time.”

“Any story?”

I tried to explain, “Every story changes those who hear it. Every storyteller wants to engage their audience and the listener’s imagination. They imagine what’s described. If the storyteller is good enough, they can almost see it.”

“Anyone can do this?”

“Some have a natural talent,” I said, “but any storyteller who devotes themselves to learning this skill can do so. For me, it took between my first winter and my second before I could do it consistently, and I inherited talent from both my parents. My father was able to do it his second spring; my mother accidentally did it her second summer. But not consistently.”

“The seer before Basil—Hue—could do something like that. Her visions were powerful enough that those nearby could see them. Not every time, but they sometimes wanted to... infect others. It’s actually how the old group of foxes died.” Oakbud pondered. “If this was a seer trick, would you tell me?”

“It is no seer-trick and I am no seer,” I said. “Seers are scary, touched as they are by something beyond, but they are rare. Stories are everywhere.”

Oakbud grunted and chewed lightly on his forepaw. He thought for a moment, then asked something I hadn’t expected. “Do the mice know?”

“No,” Twitch said. “They think it’s an herb we make.”

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?”

“They don’t want to join our order,” Twitch explained, “and they don’t need to know to help us or to get my help keeping badgers and raccoons away.”

Russet added, “We keep close tabs on anyone who knows what we can do. Stories have a very specific purpose, and we need to make sure that they’re not misused.”

“To bring hope to the warren. So we can live our lives and not give up. That’s why the foxes struck the storytellers first, why my daughter was lost.” Oakbud nibbled on his paw a little more. “What else can stories do?”

“Teaching.” Russet shivered as he spoke. “But teaching rabbits to hate or fight can be bad. Some of the most distrustful warrens are that way because of stories.”

Oakbud pointed his ears at Russet, but didn’t say anything.

“Blackfeather—Bremen’s father—once used a story to scare a watch member,” Russet continued. “He described a swarm of bees and scared Chestnut into jumping in the stream. Chestnut was understandably upset, but there wasn’t any proof that Blackfeather had done anything wrong. It was just a scary story, even if the descriptions were too vivid.”

“You’ve seen stories twist someone’s perceptions,” I said. “In Fig’s case, I told a story about how we escorted the king’s son to negotiate with weasels. He sees you as the king’s son, and himself as a guard. Twitch is just part of the story; Fig won’t realize we actually met with a weasel.”

“It’s harder to do that to a group, but it is possible,” Russet said. “I guess it could look like what happened to Snowbell. Afterwards, those involved might not even realize what they did was real. Typically, these last until something breaks the story, or it comes to a natural end. For Fig, this would happen when we get back to Foxvale.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Oakbud sighed. “But, except for what Bremen did to Fig, all that sounds normal. How can you tell?”

“It’s an extension of what a story is,” I said. “Even what I did to Fig, the only difference is the intensity. It’s simply how the listeners are engaged.”

“And the story you told me last night?”

“Was an attempt to teach.” I sighed. “The hope was to get you thinking about stories again. However, your objection that you were not being punished, could have been you putting yourself in the story. I can’t guarantee you weren’t affected; I can only say that wasn’t my intention.”

“Did you really save me from the foxes last night?” The words were flat, with all emotion restrained and buried.

“We did.” I took a slow breath and tried to keep my voice calm. “While we can change what is seen, you’d remember the story I told. When Fig recovers, he’ll think my story took up the entire evening.”

“You could have used your story to get me to trust you, to make me willing to wait until tonight, to make sure that I didn’t drive you from the warren as an agent of the foxes.” Oakbud’s voice stayed neutral. He wanted to see what I’d hear in his words, an accusation or a question.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I could have used the fact that the story was about us protecting each other to convince you we were trustworthy. Letting you imagine me vulnerable and freezing to death could have downplayed any threat I might pose. I can’t prove I didn’t. That is the danger. That is why my father asked me to forgive him and it’s one reason I asked you to forgive your daughter.”

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Oakbud lowered his body into a guarded crouch and held his ears close to his sides. He licked the paw he’d chewed, but even that slowed. Would he be able to trust his friends, his actions, his memories? Did he forgive Cinnamon for not telling him when she could? Perhaps he ignored all that and pondered if I had the scent of truth.

He slid his hind-legs back to lay on the ground, head flat. His ears were pinned back, a request for reassurance and grooming. We held still; these were thoughts Oakbud needed to face by himself.

He eventually sat up.

“I trust you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Curious, he looked around. “All of you can do that?”

“Twitch and I can, although Bremen can do it more reliably,” Russet explained. “All storytellers have that potential.”

“That’s what you warned me about. If I can’t trust, the stories will no longer keep my despair from consuming me. Every joyous occasion would be filled with the fear of manipulation.”

Twitch offered solace. “We know what makes a story special. We also know how to break the rhythm so it doesn’t have those effects. It takes trust, but that’s what storytelling is based on.”

A long silence followed. Oakbud shifted in the dark. Trusting one storyteller was one thing; trusting everyone who might ever tell you a story was another. “The stories will return for the rest of the warren. That is enough.”

I gave Oakbud a light nudge with my nose. “Stories hold our society together and it must remain so. Our order stops those who spread fear and harm others. There is a grand gathering of storytellers taking place in Hazelford soon. All the storytellers of the region meet to discuss what we’ve done and what concerns we have.”

“Am I one of those concerns?”

“I’d tell them you know what we are. And, if you plan on joining us.”

“What?”

“If you ever decide you want to learn how to tell stories, all you have to do is ask,” I offered. “Otherwise, you can simply be a friend. You will be free to put your warren first and may ask us for help, as we may ask you as well.”

Oakbud looked between us. “Another time. There’s more pressing matters tonight.”

“Take a little time to think,” I said. “I’ll make sure Fig is okay before we get to those matters.”

I left them discussing the three-by-three storyteller’s code. I wasn’t sure if Fig might get into trouble with the mice and it was getting colder.

My breath was visible as I exited the burrow. In the shelter of the large rock, Fig was on his back with Nero resting on his chest. Fig objected, “Let me up, Crabtree. Please?”

The mouse squeaked. “Twitch is our host. You need to be polite.”

“Crabtree,” I interrupted, “don’t pick on weaker rabbits.”

“But, he said Twitch’s word meant nothing!”

“Let him up.” I tried not to laugh. Fig deserved better than this. “Mapleleaf, it’s alright. The weasels had a flood drive them from their homes. But, the waters are going down again. The head weasel likes to bet, and we’re using that to convince him it’s worth heading back.”

“Are you sure, Brem? What if you lose?”

“He’s tired, Mapleleaf.” I sat next to him and nudged him with my side. “He doesn’t want to win; he wants an excuse to go home. There’s no way we’ll lose. Now, it might take a while... are you warm enough out here?”

“There’s enough shelter from the wind,” Fig said, and looked at the mice. “I guess we can play pawstones or something.”

“Sounds good. Uh, Crabtree, do you know how to play that? You know, Mapleleaf can explain it.”

I waited for a nod of agreement from the mice before I headed back inside. It was warmer under the rock, but not terribly so. Oakbud and Russet were still talking about the code.

“How will I know if I did it correctly?” Oakbud protested, “That’s too many to count.”

Russet answered, “Just keep it in separate groups. Take it one group at a time and don’t worry about the total amount. We’ll let you know if you got it right.”

“I’ll worry about it tomorrow,” Oakbud grunted. “Bremen, was Fig okay?”

“Yes, but...” I settled in. “Fig said he ran into a weasel this morning, and that’s how he reopened the cuts on his nose. Basil confirmed that story, but... Uh, Twitch, did you see him? Are there other weasels in the area?”

“No,” Twitch said.

“Then I think he’s the fox’s-paw,” I said, “maybe Basil as well.”

“Can’t you just ask Fig?” Oakbud objected. “Before you accuse a loyal watch member, who has suffered for this warren, of working with the foxes?”

“Unfortunately, with how the story works, Fig would agree with any version of what happened I mentioned.” I sighed. “There’s no point in asking him tonight.”

King Oakbud grunted. His claws dug into the ground as he thought a moment. “Why do you think he’s a traitor?”

“I don’t think he’s a traitor; I think he’s a victim.” I took a breath. “Let’s go over what we know. Maybe I’m wrong. Russet, what were you able to tell?”

“When the foxes appear—in the warren, not sure if they do the same outside—they leave a sort of residue.” Russet gestured with his forepaws, but that didn’t help. “There was some kind of vision-gap or tear in the main chamber when we got here. I managed to clean it up with Lily, but after the attack, it returned. Originally, we weren’t sure if it was Basil’s vision of Bramble’s death, but that can no longer be the case.”

Oakbud asked, “Can visions do that? Summon physical things?”

“I have no idea,” Russet said. “This whole situation is something we haven’t seen before. Even if it is a seer, the visions will be consistent within themselves.”

“Speaking of seers,” I added, “Chimera used some kind of seer-order to get us to freeze. He did it again with Lily and myself this morning. It was stronger today; he ordered me to walk to him. I managed to resist, but it wasn’t easy.”

“And you think he’s doing this to Fig?” Oakbud asked.

“Yes.” I shuddered, and my shoulder ached suddenly. “He only wanted to bite my shoulder. He could have killed me or crippled my leg, but he didn’t. The only reason I can think of is that this bite might let him do that from a distance, or might make it easier for him to do it to me. My worry, and my thought, is that’s why Fig’s nose got hurt.”

“Fig’s been injured a few times since this spring. The nose injury is the most recent; he was bit by a coyote early spring, and when he got bit by the raccoon, that was on his back leg.” Oakbud added, “I’m not sure I’m ready to accept a fox-seer. Even if that is what it looked like.”

“Predators can be seers,” Russet said. “The wolf we tracked as kits is a seer. It’s why Rebel was exiled from his pack.”

“I guess.” Oakbud frowned. “Could it have been a story?”

“Fig would have reacted strangely if I tried to fascinate him when he was already in a story. And a story couldn’t have bit my shoulder this morning.” I frowned and flattened my ears. “Fig’s been injured a lot. Has anything else happened to him?”

“He took Bramble’s death very hard,” Oakbud replied. “He’s the reason Bramble was in the main chamber.” He grunted. “I’ll admit it’s possible he’s been manipulated. I don’t like the idea, but we don’t have a lot of suspects.”

“I don’t like it either.” My foreleg itched a bit. “If Chimera was actually stronger on each fourth day, that would explain the cycles. Which means you might not be able to trust me past tomorrow.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Twitch coughed. “So, you mentioned some storyteller involvement.”

“Yes.” I shook my head clear of the melancholy. “I was about to start a story when the vixen pinned me. Before I passed out, I managed to scratch out the help code on the ground. I didn’t see who or what knocked her off of me; I just ran.”

Twitch said, “There aren’t any other storytellers that I know of. I guess that could imply Cinnamon might still be around. Or it could have been a coincidence; the badger could have helped you, or something else that hates the foxes.”

“That’s not enough to go on right now,” I grumbled. “Oakbud, did you have any luck finding out about the foxes who died?”

“A lot, actually.” He sat up. “It was four winters ago, when I was coming of age. The foxes harassed us for at least a moon and killed a lot of rabbits. I was only two seasons old, but I do remember there was talk about how we could deal with them.

“That’s when Hue, our old seer, came to my father. Looking unwell, she said she had a vision of her surrounded by foxes up on a lonely cliff in the forest. She said they wouldn’t bother the warren after that. She left and neither she nor the foxes were seen again. A day later, two owls came to the warren and told us she sacrificed herself.”

“A seer’s vision from four winters ago?” Russet shook his head and flicked his ears. “I've never heard of a vision that lasted beyond a day, let alone after the death of the seer. Still, tell us about her.”

“Her name was actually Fennel, but her visions contained an extra aspect of sight that she called hues. Because her visions could spread, she lived in the forest most of the time.”

“Maybe she lived here,” Twitch offered. “Remus mentioned that his grandfather had rabbit visitors. But he only heard stories from his father; it was before he was born.”

“I’m not sure if it’s the same thing, but old Gruff thought her visions would only spread every four days.” Oakbud explained, “He wasn’t sure if it was exactly four days, or if four days meant it was a while between them. I... if it was every four days, there could be a link to the current foxes. Or they could be avenging the other foxes.”

“Or they’re ghosts,” Russet whimpered.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Oakbud countered. He hesitated. “Are there?”

“I’ve never seen one,” Russet admitted. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t be real. Even if not, the owls will know where the foxes died. If there’s a link between the two groups of foxes, that’d be a good place to start.”

We looked at each other uncomfortably; there was no point in guessing about myths and legends. “Twitch, do you know the owls? If they reported it to the warren, they were likely there.”

“We spoke briefly,” Twitch said. “The fox’s behavior is so strange that they want to understand what’s happening. If we agree to tell them what we uncover, including how the foxes are getting into the warren, I’m sure they’ll tell us what they know. Plus, they trade herbs.”

“We’ll meet you tomorrow morning and head to their nest,” Russet said.

Oakbud spoke up. “We should also try talking to Fig and Basil. Basil might have lied to protect Fig, even if he doesn’t know what’s going on. Fig is one of the few rabbits who stood up for him while he was being picked on and Basil’s been very protective in return.”

“We can look into it,” I offered. “Oakbud, can you keep the warren together tomorrow? Having everyone in a group is still a good idea. Even if Chimera can call individual rabbits away, maybe they could be prevented from hopping off.”

“I can.” Oakbud sighed. “Do you really think these are ghosts?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Once we figure out how they work, we will stop them.”