(It might be a bit long to read all in one sitting, I suggest copy-pasting this into a word document for later reading, or even just printing it out. Happy reading!)
As the cold wind licked across the windows of the small hovel in the old oak tree, Mr. Robinson poked at the fire in his fireplace with the pig iron poker held firmly in his fur covered hand. The cool weather was far from pleasant for the older hare, but the fire was warm enough to fill the hovel with a comfortable warmth. As he replaced the poker into it’s cast iron rack next to the stone fireplace, he turned and upon the surprising sight of his two children standing not but a few feet behind him, he jumped and shouted before calming himself.
“My word! You little heathens... What are you two doing up at this hour?” Mr. Robinson’s voice shook as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his cotton vest. His children simply beamed up at him from their spots on the floor, sitting on their haunches, his daughter, Alysia, clutching an old leather bound tome in her paws tightly. Her blue eyes sparkling at him from beneath her soft, fuzzy brown fur as one both of her long floppy ears draped down her back. Her nightgown matched her brother’s pajamas in a blue lily covered pattern which dragged behind her as she walked. Her brother, David, sat on his haunches next to her with his hands clutching one another in a pleading manner. His ears were far less cooperative than his sisters as his right ear stood straight up and his left ear had the habit of flopping over his eye, which he would swat away only to have it return to covering his face once more.
“Papa! Will you read us one of your stories?” they chimed in together, a harmonious ring of both high pitched voices filled the large ears of Mr. Robinson as he stepped forward and placed one large hand on Alysia’s head while tugging the book from her outstretched arms. “Oh? One of MY stories? I think we might be able to hear one before you go to sleep, but you have to promise me you will go to sleep.”
The two bunnies jumped with joy before scampering off towards the back of the hovel towards two large beds tucked away in a smaller alcove which was guarded by a steep set of stairs and a low ceiling that rewarded Mr. Robinson’s lack of attention with a solid blow to his skull. He grumbled a curse at the low ceiling before continuing further into the room. Both children had already buried themselves within the heavy blankets as Mr Robinson pulled a chair from it’s place against the wall and sat down on it between the two beds. His large rump caused the old wooden chair to creak noisily as he sat, eliciting a giggle from his children as he grumbled and shook his head as he mentally added the chair to his mental list of things needing repairs.
“So, you want to hear one of MY stories, hmmm? And which one would you little hellions like to hear, hmm?”, his gruff voice carried within the small hovel as he opened the leather book and read over a few lines on the page he had opened it to, listening for the answer of his children.
“We want to hear about Richard of Highleaf!” both bunnies chimed in at the same time, Mr. Robinson chuckling as he heard their answer and closed the book with a grin on his face.
“Oh, you want to hear a story about Richard of Highleaf, eh? Well, I suppose we can go through his venture outside of Highleaf before bed...” Mr. Robinson said as he scratched at his well-combed beard adorning his chin.
“Well, it all starts off on a warm, sunny, Summer day, many moons ago...”
Richard of Highleaf was not always known as Richard of Highleaf, the hero, but rather he was simply known as Richard “Long Ears” Camp. His soft grey fur shimmered in the midday sun as his abnormally long ears lay draped down his back and lightly dusted the ground with the tips. His dress was rather meager, even for a farmer in the valley beneath Highleaf, the city in the mightiest tree in the forest of Mirthwood, the capital of the land that stretched for miles known as the Kingdom of Arimus. His shoulders held up the suspenders that held up his knee high, badly worn trousers, a pair of dirt covered sandals adorning each foot as a bandana kept his ears swept back behind his body and out of his face.
He usually tended his land, watered his crops, and then would take a nap till it was time for dinner, but today he decided that the weather was just right for fishing. With rod over one shoulder and bucket in his hand, Richard clopped along the dirt road towards the river, his sandals catching every rock they could find and giving them a loud clack against them. Richard smiled up to the birds in the trees, the butterflies floating along on the gentle breeze, and flashed a big grin to the other creatures he passed. Just before he had reached the turnoff to the river, Agatha Oakeyes stepped in front of his path and shook her head at the young hare.
“And where do you think you are going, ‘Long Ears’?” her maw snapped at the young rabbits nose only inches from her sharp teeth as he lowered his eyes to the dirt and began to make up a story about where he was headed, hoping to keep Agatha, the angry badger that she is, out of his hair. One thing he did not mind was how pretty Agatha was today; mainly the dress she had picked out had caught his eye, but he also enjoyed seeing the interesting ways Agatha would wear her hair; which today was tied into a pair of buns that sat just behind her sharp ears. Her facial fur a stark white striped maw with black streaks travelling from up her back looked like they had been painted on her fur rather than a natural occurrence.
“Lovely day, eh Agatha?” his soft voice carrying up to the badger’s ears as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head, “You’re going fishing aren’t you?”
“Fishing? Me? Now, what gave you a silly idea like that, Agatha?” Richard spoke, softly chuckling as he rubbed the back of his head with a free paw before Agatha touched the fishing rod he had gripped in his other paw tightly.
“Ah, right, kind of hard to miss that I suppose... So? What’s wrong with a rabbit going fishing? It’s not like I’m going to keep them...” Richard gave his excuses knowing that Agatha would hinder his progress if he didn’t give her a reason not to suspect him of slacking off.
“Did you get your chores done?” the broad chested badger asked, her throat giving forth a low growl as she spoke. Richard sank away from the hulking form of his badger friend and leaned back slightly as he rubbed the back of his head more with his free paw, a common thing he did when he didn’t want to be bothered. Agatha could already tell she would get no further with hounding her rabbit friend. She gave a gruff grumble of annoyance before shaking her head at the hare, turning towards the path to the river and leading him towards the beach. “If you’re going to be down by the river, you should at least have someone with you in case of currs. They seem to be out and about far more than usual this summer...”
Richard couldn’t help but smile at his friend as he followed the badger down to the waterfront, both of them checking along the banks for signs of tracks or intruders into their fine town, but found only traces of notable tracks. As Richard set up his fishing spot, complete with his wooden bucket serving as a seat, and his sandals laying beside that same bucket as his feet rested in the cool splashing water of the river; Agatha watched the hare cast his line and sit contentedly on his seat with not a single care to worry his mind. Richard however, had little to worry about, he had his farm, he had enough money to keep himself feed and warm in the winter, and most importantly he had no enemies. Agatha, as harsh, stubborn, and ever infuriated as she was, still was among his short list of best friends. She kept him in line, kept him on his toes, or so she liked to tell herself.
The soft mumbling of the waves of the steady river were lolling Richard’s eyes closed, but he still turned and flashed Agatha a smile from where he sat, not surprised to see Agatha’s body laying on the grassy hillock just a few feet away from him. Her head was propped against a tree trunk, her dark brown eyes watching as the fish swam around Richard’s unbaited hook. Richard smiled to Agatha who simply shut her eyes and let the sunlight bathe her face in it’s warmth. Richard simply returned his attention to the fishing line before he heard Agatha’s voice bellow from behind him soft enough that it would not startle the fish, but loud enough to carry over the river’s musical voice, “You would do much better if you put a worm on the hook... Fish are not intelligent, but they are more than smart enough to not bite a hook without a reason.”
Richard chuckled and pulled up his line, digging his fingers around a rock next to his feet and pulling it up to reveal a large juicy worm awaiting it’s sacrifice upon the hook in the name of Richard’s fishing enjoyment. The worm wriggled before giving up as Richard tied the worm about the metal hook and cast it back into the water.
The afternoon was a warm one, it drove both friends’ eyes to the point of shutting in a fit of weary napping, but Richard simply sat on his bucket, casting his line out and reeling in fish one at a time. It seemed like a decent enough afternoon, no real reason to have any worries, but there was still a strange ominous feeling deep within the Badger’s mind. She rolled over onto her side for a few moments, her leaf-green dress draping her body as she finally opened her eyes once more and noticed the dark shadows prowling about the far bank. Reaching as slowly as she could for a stone right next to her hand, she clutched firmly in her fist, almost crushing the rock into pebbles as she prepared herself to sit up and launch the projectile if needed to stave off any Currs that might make an attempt to have Richard for their meals. A minute passed without any action from either side. The shadows sitting, staring, all the while Agatha’s mind doing the same, watching, staring through slitted eyes, as her heart began to quicken, beating like that of the drums of the war bands she remembered from her childhood.
With all the swiftness she could manage she bolted to her feet and let loose the stone she had clutched tightly till then at the bush just in front of the shadows, hearing a dull thud as though she had hit flesh as a loud, high pitched voice pierced the quiet river bed, “OWWWWW!!!”
As she threw the rock, Agatha could already feel her body bounding towards the other bank of the river as quickly as she had ever ran grabbing the first patch of fur she could see from behind the bush and pulled it up to eye level. In her grasp though, hung a young hare whose ears were being pulled on by a much larger male rabbit. “Let go of her!” the male rabbit shouted as he tugged on her ears even harder, eliciting a loud shriek from the young female hare as she was now the tugging rope in a tug of war between two powerful arms.
It took Agatha a moment to finally recognize the two long-eared rabbits as Jack and Jane Middleton, the son and daughter of the town’s mayor, and without much warning she let them both loose and watched as they tumbled backward over one another. Richard's voice could be heard laughing heartily at the sight of the two young bunnies tripping over themselves as they tried to stand upright while Agatha loomed overhead with arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes glaring through narrow slits at the two mischievous hellions.
"Jack! Jane! You two little ruffians get home to your mother or I'll take you both over my knee! Don't you realize how dangerous it is in the forests with all those mangy Currs about?" Agatha's booming voice lecturing the two bunnies, but doing little good. The two bunnies scrambled to their feet and bounded off towards the Northern side of town, their fluffy tales peeking from under their trousers as Agatha nodded to her good job of putting the two most spoiled children in the town in their place.
One thing that could be counted on when one entered the village of Highleaf was firstly: they were going to witness at least one act of mischief or mayhem from the Middleton children; and secondly: that Agatha was the only person in the village willing to stand up to the two brats as well as their father. Anytime the two children crossed the line around Agatha, she would take them both over her knee, and sure as clouds are white, Mayor Middleton would come to Agatha's home and the two would fight over parenting skills till the late hours of the evening. The Mayor had threatened many times to send Agatha to the local magistrate, but always the matter was resolved by the end of the night. Surely though this time would be no different.
Agatha looked down to the hem of her dress and heaved an annoyed sigh as she lifted her skirt and crossed the river for the second time. It hardly mattered that she had lifted her skirt though as Agatha had already made her dress wet with rush through the river only moments before. As her feet stepped onto the reasonably dry soil she continued up the river bank to Richard, whose face was still adorned with a laughing smile, his lips still spewing the raucous laughter with as much restraint as he could muster. Which after having seen Agatha Oakeyes tiptoeing through the water with her skirt raised like a prissy church mouse marm, one would have very little restraint left to keep themselves from laughing. Agatha growled from deep within her throat at the laughing hare, "keep laughing, boy-o, and I'll toss you right into the river!"
This of course made Richard laugh even more before slowly regaining his composure. Breathing heavily as he had now completely forgot about the fish pulling at his line and simply pulled the line and his catch out onto the beach. Tossing his collection of fish into the river except for the last small bass, which he handed to Agatha with a grin, "Sorry, Agatha, no harm intended, but I just couldn't help but laugh because you know that Mayor Middleton will most certainly pay you a visit."
Agatha snorted at the hare's reminder of her regular meetings with the father of the two most spoiled children in the entire kingdom, but it hardly mattered at this point.Even now, Agatha and Richard were steadily hiking back to Richards farm house, the badger's arms still crossed across her chest as her eyes scanned the tree line for any more dangers that may lurk within the shadows of the leaves. Richard however was simply strolling, his lips pursed as he whistled a merry tune as his feet swept him rather quickly done the dirt road before him. As they neared the shoddy wooden fence surrounding Richard’s single field of carrots, corn, and potatoes, Agatha turned to Richard and gave him a quick nod, “Well, I got you home, I must be getting back to mine...”
Richard interrupted the badger with a flashy grin as he pulled the rather large rock bass from his hook which still hung from his line and tossed it to her. Agatha quickly raised a paw to catch the slimy fish, gripping it by it’s tail and nearly dropping it twice before holding it with her claws.
“A beaut of a fish, for a beaut of a badger, eh? Well, good evenin’, Agatha.” Richard called back as he turned about on his heels and proceeded into the farmhouse. Sure enough, the sun was beginning it’s slow slide into the darkness of night, crossing the tops of the trees, and in the distance the bells of the church mice could be heard ringing in the far distance, signalling the end of the work day for their own workers. Richard simply stepped into his house and pulled the door to behind him. Now, as with everynight, he was left to his silent hovel of a house, dug into the side of a hillock, on the border of the outer township. Here, in his home, he could live the life his neighbors knew nothing about. With a deft paw he pulled a chunk of flint and tender from his trouser pockets and struck a light to a candle that rested on the wall next to the door. The spark grew into an ember, the ember into a flicker, and the flicker into a flame.
That small flame would not have been much light for most, but to RIchard, it did well enough as it shown off of the gleaming surfaces mounted on each wall, reflecting back into the center of the room off of swords, breastplates, and shields that he had gathered over the course of his life. Some of his own making, some of others, some with stories, some waiting to create a story of their own. It was here where Richard of Highleaf would sit, every evening and would read his books, sharpen his swords, polish his armors, and practice his swordplay, knowing that were to ever need it again, he would certainly be able to use it. Yet he still hardly looked at his display pieces, knowing that he had hidden his best arms and armor for safekeeping.
Richard took the candle holder which firmly held the lit pillar of wax in it’s brass confines and carried it to the dining table in the middle of the hall where his gleaming armory was displayed. His home of course was of simple design, like most rabbit holes, Richard built his home around this center point ten feet below ground. The room he now stood in had enough of a ceiling to offer even Agatha or her father, Tibernius, a wealth of headroom to stand in. The table sitting in the middle of the hovel had been built by Richard himself inside the rabbit hole, filling up a good portion of the room and making the room virtually impassable except were one to skirt the edges. North of this room was the kitchen with a simple wood burning stove that emptied out just under the treetops, it had no doorway between these two rooms and was only separated by a short wooden wall with a counter that looked out into the dining room. To the East was Richard’s bedroom, this room not quite as large as the main room, but still large enough to offer a snug fit to a beaver. In his bedroom was only a chest where he stored his clothes and the rather large wooden bed with a leaf-stuffed mattress, cotton pillows and blankets, and a single skylight that would wake him at exactly sunrise every morning. To the West was Richard’s study and drawing room. Both of these rooms were identical to the bedroom in size, decoration, and comfort, but both were separated by a small hallway between them which was only about two feet high and a foot wide, a stoop even for Richard. WIth the entrance to his humble abode looking to the South, the only rooms unaccounted for were the basement which could only be accessed from the kitchen and his bedroom, both accessible by ladders that took the rabbit several feet deeper into the earth. This was the home of Richard of Highleaf, it was no mansion, but it was his home.
Richard walked into his kitchen, pulling from his larder a half-loaf of bread and carrying it, the candle and a bottle of wine back to his study where he retired for the evening. Entering his study, the rabbit sought the immediate comfort of his heavy, velvet armchair that sat directly in the center of his study, a desk was at the chairs back taking up all but enough space for two more rabbits and a small chest of drawers containing maps, letters, and a few scrolls containing contacts from all over the kingdom. As he sat himself in the armchair and took a bite from his bread, a swig from his wine bottle, and finally opened his book he had left sitting on the arm of his armchair he could feel the weight of his earlier adrenaline rush lift from his shoulders. Agatha had scared him far more than even he thought possible when she rushed across the river and straight to the bushes. She had been reckless, but the fact that she had tried to defend him made him smile slightly. His mind entertaining the thought of a rabbit courting a badger, but quickly dismissed the idea and returned to his book, but just as he took a second bite from his loaf of bread there came a knocking at his door, heavy, loud knocking.
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