Deepwood Weald The primroses were over.

for @Muses or anyone really, but please no eating him yet?

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"He was small, with wide, staring eyes and a way of raising and turning his head which suggested not so much caution as a kind of ceaseless, nervous tension."

A clump of soggy moss hung limply from his lips, as if the taste appalled him. One ragged looking ear gave a twitch - then as a starling eagerly called through the trees behind him, up he went to perch upon his haunches, limbs tucked neatly against his hips. Big eyes, wide with an alertness indicative to prey, scanned the shadows — but not for long. The moss dropped without a thought. The ragged, yellow-streaked thing was off the next instant. It vaulted across the snow and through a thicket of frozen winter berries, turned heel upon an exposed stone streaked with ice, and plunged in to the dark of a burrow.

Or, well, that was the plan. The burrow was about six sizes too small though; the hare rammed its shoulders in and then, with horror, discovered that its long and sinuous hind limbs were caught out in the open. You'd think that after several years of this, Snowberry would be more graceful, or just generally smarter than this — but no. He remembered there being a burrow here because it had been his burrow. Years of stuffing oneself full of forage did wonders for the figure; although he had been losing weight for the past couple of months, not gaining it. Age would soon get the better of him.

Ah, but better I go out fighting! He thought as he squirmed, propping his hind legs and comically trying to pull free; I survived the Primrose War! Th' skirmishes of Elkmarrow! Even the all-consuming hellfires of the Sentinels! With a grunt and moment of sudden and unexpected deflation, he popped free and rolled backwards, exposing his belly to the world for a split second - and the many dark, singed hairs hidden there.

Frithrah! He shouted at the gleaming sun, and squint from his prone position upon his back through the trees. The buck squished at the ruined fur of his underbelly with paws coated with black and red burns— and then he sighed to himself, Suppose I ought to find myself a Lendri burrow instead, eh? 

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It had been the first time in days that she had offered to go beyond the pack borders and out into the wilderness. She had no agenda, no desire to do anything more than run until her limbs achedandd her lungs begged for repireve. Only then did she slow to a weary gait, blending back in with the snow and foliage.

She had expected her adventure to be mundane, blissfully boring, because she had suffered too much excitement in the past week or so. Being startled by a large rodent shot out like a cannonball from gods knew where was not on her plan for the day. She skittered off to the side as it squealed something in its strange little tongue, hackles raised and ears pinned. Her nerves were frayed, and she felt foolish for spooking so easily.

As the bunny fussed on his back, Muses found herself able to even her breathing and slow her heartbeat once more. It did not take her long to round on the little thing. "Why, you're all burned!" She mused out loud, shoving her nose close to the exposed belly, looming over the rabbit like a harbinger of death. Of course, she had no intention of eating the poor thing. Beneath his burned fur she could tell he was nothing more than tough, old meat. She was not desperate for food, and had a more refined pallet. Half cooked bunny could hardly be considered appetizing. Still, she was rather curious - what were the odds that this poor old man escaped the fires that had razed her former home?

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"He pulled out a burnet leaf and ate it slowly, concealing his fear as best he could; for all his instincts were warning him of the dangers in the unknown country beyond the warren."


He should have known better than to stop, or to speak, or to give any chance to the passage of time. To be caught on his back by a beast, no less! Snowberry was better than this — he was a crafty buck, an ex-Owsla member, a warrior! And here he was, having planted himself in a compromising position in the dark of the wood which he hadn't visited since -- since -- well! A long time! Horrible.

Snowberry was inviting danger, and danger came swiftly to him. It loomed over him so suddenly that for a split second, he simply lay transfixed with a dumb, half-lidded expression on his face. His paws were frozen in place among his belly furs, pinching then tight. Then when the beast of Inlé spoke (diving towards his belly with great speed, enough to make even this old man tharn before it), Snowberry seemed to spasm.

He brought his hind legs in close and released them, aiming a swift kick to the lower jaw of the great, giant homba; rabbits knew of wolves but not their names, you see. To them, all things fox-sized and larger were of the same ilk. This one, tawny though it appeared and at least three times as large, was just another damnable pest. Whether the old buck's aim was true or not, he flipped and flopped awkwardly against the silf beneath, and attempted to bolt.

Yet his paws were raw and sore, bloodied, untreated since his daring escape from the Sentinels. He did stumble — and in that moment, Snowberry's mind went blank with terror.
 

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There was no doubt about it; this strange old rabbit had certainly come from the forests of Donnelaith. For a moment she felt pity, her stomach sinking upon the realization that they had both lost their homes. In that moment, they were not so different. A swift kick to the face, however, ws enough to knock some sense into her. Three shallow cuts were etched beneath her fur, bright rivulets of blood staining the ivory whiskers upon her chin.

Muses reeled back a centimeter, bewildered by the change in pace. As the bunny struggled to right himself, the silly wolf gathered her wits, and reached forward again, jaws agape. This small food-creature was surely sent by the gods as a sign. If she could find a way to restore it's health, perhaps the gods would be kind, and reward her in turn.

Determined not to allow the opportunity to escape, she ignored the sting of her small injury, in favour of concentrating on the rabbit. She hunched over and attempted to pick the critter up like a cub, to hold him by his shoulders and nape so that he might dangle uselessly, no matter how much he would struggle.