A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf (Chapter 3)

So, I've been trying to find inspiration for my writing, which of course turns out to be boredom to take a hold of my mind. Seemingly mundane chapter in the story actually introduces you to a majority of the characters that are to be an integral part of the story as it continues (Spoiler alert: Squirrels)! I hope you enjoy this new chapter in The Blade of Highleaf story as it begins to grow and morph, taking new shape and new life before finally taking a hold of the world it was created for! Read, enjoy, and don't forget to share with people you think might enjoy!

As the sun began to peek up over the hillock in the East, stretching it's warmth across the land as it caressed the eyes of the sleeping, rousing them ever so gently. In this manner so to was Agatha roused as she quietly washed her face in a small ceramic bowl that sat next to her bed, the frigid, cold water splashed against her face by cupped hands shocked her into a state of immediate alertness. The earth around her had barely begun to heat up before she put on a rather loose fitting dress and then grabbed a leather corset that she had hidden deep away in her wardrobe. She giggled as she looked at the hardened leather, noting that it had more than once saved her from being torn apart when moving through the thicker thorn-brush along the river. With a sharp intake of breath she quickly went about tying the constrictive, borderline torturous device about her midsection. Glancing over to her mirror she could only smile at how great she looked. The dress was a deep shade of blue, the likes of which were more likely to be found on the petals of Blue Anemones than on a dress, and the light-tan shade of the leather corset accented the blue making Agatha look as though she were a much softer creature to behold.

Her paw snatched up her wooden comb and brushed back her raven colored hair with a smirk, dressing her usually flowing locks into a long ponytail that ran down her shoulder blades and ended at the middle of her back. She almost couldn't help but giggle at the thought of going through all this trouble to look presentable for children. Agatha quickly checked her look one last time in the mirror before climbing up the short staircase and into the dining room. It was still early, Agnar would not be up for a few hours more, but still the slumbering snores of Agnar's sleeping form as he lay in his arm chair did not surprise Agatha in the slightest. She quietly moved about the kitchen and larder, preparing a breakfast for her father and herself, a simple meal of oats, dried fruit, and of course a glorious selection of apples that she had picked just the other day. With a quick, breath of thanks to Lady Nature, Agatha quickly feasted, washed her bowl, then set out to preparing the same courtesy for her father, including setting out a cup of his medicine before sneaking out of the house without a noticeable stir from Agnar.

The street running in front of the Oakeye's Oak tree was hardly awake as only a handful of shopkeepers and others moved about this early in the morning. The sights and smells of life seeped into Agatha's nostrils as she began her slow stroll to the mayor's house on the other side of town. Her hands folded in front of her as she walked through the small town of Highleaf. The main street of Highleaf was actually a portion of The King's Highway, though it had formerly been dubbed The Long Walk (and to many residents of the township it still retained it's old name), the street ran North to South between the town's center, crossing the river and then moving into the woods that surrounded the small village. On the East side of The King's Highway was the Baker's Shop run by Mr. and Mrs. Poplar and their son, Darwin, the Eldermanes ran the Carpenter shop right next to that, and then there was the Town Hall and Pub, Agatha had only been in there a few times when her father had to help give advice to the rest of the town, but only knew that it was the permanent home of the town drunk: Simon. On the West side of The King's Highway was the Cobbler, Mr. Tammers, the general store owned by Mr. Applewood and his daughter Heather, the dress shop next to that owned by Alyssa and Melody Rainer, and in the center of the town stood the Jailhouse, Sheriff Barkhide's pride and joy.

The early morning sun caressed Agatha's face and gave her a bright smile as she slowly strode by the buildings and over the bridge marking the edge of the town's central point and moving into the outskirts. She continued walking for only a short while before she finally saw the tall roof of Mayor Middleton's mansion. While it was a sight to behold within Highleaf, many people had thought it garish attempt at showing off what little wealth the town had by building a Mayoral manor, yet the two-story palace was still built, and it's only rival in town was the Town Hall, and that was only thanks to the fact that the Town Hall also served as Inn, Pub, Meeting Place, and Dance Hall. The Mayor's mansion however was unlike any other building in town, for one, it was entirely built out of cut wood, and it had no attachment with the land around it. In example, the Oakeyes' Oak tree is in fact, a still living, breathing, and very much growing tree. In fact, it continues to grow every season and every season Agnar must trim the ceiling up to a comfortable height with a plane and ax. Agatha gazed at the white painted walls of the mansion as the full structure came into view and gave a heavy sigh, she could already see the outline of Lady Middleton staring out of the dining room window at her arrival on the thin winding pathway leading to the front door. As Agatha reached the door it swung open and she was greeted by the slender, annoyed, and heavily made-up face of Lady Middleton.

“You are late, Miss Oakeyes, I specific-ally remember you telling MAYOR Middleton that you would arrive – and I quote 'right as the sun is in the sky'! Does that sun look 'RIGHT' in the sky?! No! It has almost been there for thir-ty minutes!” Lady Middleton's tone full of fury was ignored entirely by Agatha as she pretended to listen to Lady Middleton's northern accent attempting to stress words and add emphasis to words, but simply sounding as though she were stuttering.

“Yes, Lady Middleton, my apologies,” Agatha coolly spoke, attempting to calm the situation before her anger got the best of her on such a fine morning.

“Apologies?! And what, Miss Oakeyes would you honest-ily have to apologize for? For being late? Then most certain-ily you must apologize! I demand it!”

“My deepest apologies, Mrs. Middle--”

“Lady! I was the daughter of a Lord, I earned my title!”

“Lady Middleton, again, my apologies...” Agatha barely managed to hiss through gritting teeth before she continued with an instinctive scathingly sarcastic reply, “I'm sure your father is proud of your accomplishments as a Lady, Lady Middleton.”

There was a strong silence, tangibly awkward animosity between the two women as Mayor Middleton's plump form pushed his slender wife to the side and dispersed the anger, “AH! Agatha! Good morning, good morning to you! Have you had breakfast yet? I was just about to have a nice breakin' of the fast myself and seeing as the children are still all asleep-ing you and I can just have a nice chitty-chat!”

He smiled to Agatha and then turned to see his wife still standing in the doorway next to her husband, glaring angrily at Agatha before he cleared his through, “AHEM! Angelique, would you be a dear, and go make Agatha and I some buttered toast, maybe a bit of those sweet berries from the garden – What were the names of those again? So sweet – had this flavor...”

Lady Middleton turned her icy gaze to her husband now, the look of ultimate hatred flowing through her body and out her eyes directed straight towards Mayor Middleton as she answered him, “Scarlet Berries, you buffoon. I've told you a million times, they are scarlet berries, and every time you...”

Mayor Middleton took Agatha's hand in his and pulled her inside, ignoring what his wife had to say as he invitingly begged Agatha to come in, “Come in! Come in! We'll have scarlet berries and toast – how does that sound to you, Agatha?”

Agatha simply smiled to Mayor Middleton and nodded her head as she answered him, “I already ate, but as the kids are still asleep, I suppose there would be no harm in a cup of tea and a few 'scarlet berries'.”

The Middleton residence was actually quite well furnished for only having four people living in it, Agatha could barely count on her fingers alone how many paintings she saw in the main hall alone, moving from one room to another greeted her with a new experience of shock from the sheer value of the furniture that looked unused. Mayor Middleton did not seem interested in any of this as he continued to clutch her paw and lead her past the dining room and into the kitchen. The kitchen itself was a marvelous sight, easily twice the size of Agatha's main room at home, the sight of silver dishware and iron pots and pans adorning the walls and shelves almost sent Agatha into an overwhelmed stupor of awe. The only thing to break Agatha's anxious desire to examine the riches she had found was the clap of Mayor Middleton's hands in front of her eyes, “Agatha~! Wake up! Sit, eat, and enjoy.”

Mayor Middleton then gestured to a table sitting on the other side of the kitchen which seemed to serve as a table for the small family, each chair in this room looked well-worn and full of more spirit than the others she had seen. Agatha nodded and took her seat in one of the chairs, feeling the familiar contours of extensive use etched into the seat, and she instantly knew that this was the true dining room. Her fingers intertwined themselves as she laid them on the table and waited for Mayor Middleton to finish drinking his tea that was steadily pouring steam out into the air just above the soft brown liquid. Her soft brown eyes smiling as the Mayor looked up and flashed her a large toothy smile, “Now, Agatha, remember what I told you last night. Naturally, I know you will do well with the children, but I must ask that you be careful and patient with them.”

Lady Middleton seemed to be puttering about the kitchen in the background, apparently regreting or even muttering curses at her husbands decision to let Agatha in the house at all, but she stayed quiet for the most part, offering no words of protest as Mayor Middleton offered Agatha a cup of tea. The early morning cup of tea was soothing as Agatha placed her lips to the finely crafted ceramic cup. The taste of Jasmine swirled around her tongue as the soft hint of honey and cinnamon splashed against her taste buds. It was seldom that Agatha was able to enjoy anything quite as delicious as what she had just tasted, only ever to afford nothing more than honey or cinnamon for baking rather than to waste in a cup of tea. She simply returned the smile that Mayor Middleton seemed to be displaying quite eagerly. She wondered why he was smiling even with his wife so obviously angry with him, but cast the thought aside as her ears perked up to hear the thunder of something falling from upstairs.

After a long moment, Mayor Middleton cleared his voice, “A-Agatha, dear, I know we had promised that you would teach my children to protect themselves, but... Ummm... There is one slight problem, you see... Well, ummm yes, well...”

Agatha giggled as she shook her head at Mayor Middleton's stammering, “Come now, Mayor Middleton, please, anything you have to say will not affect our agreement.”

“Errrr... Well, Agatha, I will say this as plainly as I can. Some of the other parents about Highleaf heard of your... Our arrangement and asked if their children could be included. Logically, I could not say 'no' to them, so... The children will be arriving...”

Mayor Middleton's voice was cut off as a loud knock came at the front door and some tiny, squeaking shouts came from the other side of the wooden walls and portal. Agatha's eyes grew wide as she imagined having to train an army of small children, all whimpering, crying, teasing, fighting, and yelling at, over, and about one another. Her chest tightened against the already tight corset and her breathing grew quick, but nothing prepared her for what she saw as she heard Mayor Middleton's voice pick up from a low mumble to an enthusiastic tone of authority, “Well! That must surely be our little ones!”

Mayor Middleton stood and as he did, so did Agatha as they both proceeded towards the front door, the squeaking voices grew louder and louder as Mayor Middleton turned the door handle and pulled the door inwards, opening the house to the crowd of small children that piled into the door.

A herd of assorted creatures, from mice to toads, squirrels to beavers, and even a young otter came waltzing into the grand hall of the Mayoral mansion, all talking at the same time as their parents politely bowed to Mayor Middleton and asked to come in. Mayor Middleton of course accepted the request with a large smile and led in much larger versions of the children. Agatha smiled at everyone as they entered, noting the people she had come to know from around town: Firstly, the Danberry's son, Evan, a rather portly young rabbit that took after his father more than his slender mother, although he were only about five years old, Evan was already as big as Mayor Middleton. Then there were the Elmworth twins, Adam and Ada, identical twin hares who almost no one could tell apart except their mother, the difference between them being the color of their eyes, Adam's being a soft gray, Ada's however were a soft blue. Then there was the LaCroix family's son, Edward, a rather short toad who had one of the most rambunctious and adventurous personalities for a toad. The Eldermanes brothers, Magli and Mogli, a pair of beavers whose most peculiar difference was that Magli was twice as strong and half as intelligent as his brother, Mogli. The Nobel's daughter, Sarah, one of the cutest young bunnies one might ever see this deep in the country-side. The young daughter of Mr and Mrs Lightfoot, Elizabeth was one of the older children there at the age of fourteen, her raven black hair hung low tucked behind her large ears. And last but not least was the Quickpaw's son, Newton, if ever there were a sneaky, sly, and devious young weasel, Newton would be it, and more than likely is as he takes after his father, Davis Quickpaw, the town drunk.

As the children filed in, so did Jack and Jane Middleton as they descended the stairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes as they stepped into the grand hall, only barely noticing the crowd of people in their house and giving a wide-eyed look of surprise to see Agatha Oakeyes standing in front of them with a pleased look on her face. Agatha could only imagine what might have been going through their minds at that very moment as she flashed them a warm smile to further provoke their confused thoughts.

The children all introduced themselves one at a time with a bow or a curtsy and one unappreciative wave to Agatha as she nodded to each of them approvingly, but as each child finished introducing themselves, their parents quickly absconded from the house and went about their own business save for one last little boy and his father. Oddly enough, Mr. Arthur Blacktail was the only one of the parents who waited to see the children begin their training, even as his own son, Peter Blacktail, clutched onto his father's bushy black furred tail. One thing about squirrels that Agatha had come to notice as that they have a certain unfaltering loyalty, and this trait was displayedin full form within their own family as Mr. Blacktail turned to his son and smiled, “Come now, Peter, ya've gotta tell the lady what yer name is.

Peter's face hid itself in his own tail as he softly muttered something that only his father heard, the older squirrel simply laughed at his son's remark before patting him on the head, reassuring the boy one last time as he spoke softly to him, “Now, lad, ya've gotta tell Miss Agatha yer name, and don't ya worry about where yer pop will be, because he's gonna watch yer first lesson before he goes offta work.”

With this bit of knowledge Peter seemed a bit more comfortable talking to the strangers in the room, in a rather soft yet resonant voice, Peter Blacktail introduced himself, despite still clutching his tail with jittery paws, “Mah name's Peter Blacktail, Miss Agatha.”

Agatha could only smile to the children as she gave them all a low bow and then righted herself, “I am Agatha Oakeyes, and I will teach you how to defend yourselves.”

World Shaker

So, I missed my chance to post a blog post last week as I was busy with being lazy, so, in an effort I purposed myself to write the love letter of an old man to his wife. I don't much know how great it will turn out, but nonetheless it's a bit of work. Enjoy!

“You used to sit there, you used to sit in that very chair and smoke those cigarettes with the hearts on the filter. Smoking them, like you were kissing old lovers once more, like each one would bring you some sort of brief bliss from the squalor we lived in. The spark of your lighter bringing me from my paper to your face, my eyes staring with a sense of contempt before I would flash you the brightest of smiles. My eyes must've given me away quite a few times as I went back to my paper, they were tired eyes, eyes full of memories, eyes longing to forget, eyes longing to go blind to the world that we had created. You'd simply breathe in the carcinogens, holding them in your lungs as your shirt stretched fast against your breasts. I remember how I once lusted for you, once desired your form, once wanted to never stop touching such delicate beauty, once. Ah, but even now I can see that what we had is long gone. What was it you had said to me before? 'Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beholder'? I hardly remember what was said yesterday, it's hard to imagine I could remember something said all those years ago. I could remember seeing that sly smirk tugging at your lips, edging on a smile as you pressed your body to mine, urging me to dance in that old dance hall. My throat was so tight I felt like I would suffocate if I had done more than a waltz, but you opened me up to your devilish charm.

A sweet scent of roses, that was what you always wore, it was muddled behind the smoke, but it was there. Like a feather on a pillow, it was subtle, but it was there. Our first drink, sneaking in through the back of that tavern, my hands fumbling with my wallet while you had already downed every dripping drop of beer in your glass and had proceeded to drink from mine. We laughed as we walked home later, and then you stopped and we kissed in front of an old couple's apartment. They stuck their heads out the window and cheered us on as we giggled and ran off into the night. Your legs were so strong in those days, you ran everywhere, and when you weren't running, you were dancing, or skipping, or standing, or just walking. Anything you did would've made you a princess to strangers. I remember when you broke your ankle, the world crashed as you fell from the front steps, an earth quake happening precisely as you fell would've been insane enough for anyone to believe, but I was there.

You cried the pain was so bad, you cried so much that the blue sky turned an ominous black and the rain began to fall. I remember having to run with you in my arms to the hospital, you stopped crying as you clutched my shirt, but the rain didn't stop. Memories are great things...

Remember that time when you looked into the toy shop? Those children waved at you and we waved back, you smiled and it was as if those children had seen the most glorious thing they would ever see. That is what I see everyday I wake up to you. I remember the very words you said to me, the day you left, “and don't forget to smile, you grumpy bastard.”

The photograph I took turned out brilliantly, you would've been proud of the bowtie and suit I wore. But you couldn't have been. You weren't there to see it. The world seemed to be gloomy the rest of that day. There was even an awkward silence about the city, like everyone had already known what I did not. Now, here you lay, your body interred, your gravestone a simple marble monument, and the worst of it all is that damned cold nipping at my hands. The world is getting dizzy and so I guess it's time already. I've come to lay with you my dear, I've come to be with you in my final moments, because I can hardly bear the thought of being without you, even after all these years.

None of the people that I've met over my lifetime could make the world tremble, could make the clouds move, or make the rain fall. You will always be my world shaker."

An Ode to Chaos

Chaos, that fickle, uncoordinated, unanticipated, unappreciated concept of life that sheds light on even the most inane and inert of features of the world around us. And yet at the same time, Chaos continues to unfold, un-imagine, and undo everything, whether it be great plans, small ideas, a great building of man, or a small creature's hole in the forest. It strikes, blindly, without prejudice, and without it Humanity itself would not be what it is today. Chaos represents the growth and ability of mankind to learn, adapt, survive, and thrive.

I call this an Ode to Chaos, but really it's more than that, to me it's a jumble of chaotic words thrown at a screen at 2 am when the world is quiet except for the music blaring through your headphones, there's nothing to disturb you, there's nothing to stop you, and further more, there's nothing to do except to think. As Charles' Dickens coined in A Tale of Two Cities, and as I will use for my own illustrative purposes here: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Read, Enjoy, and remember, the world is a more interesting place thanks to Chaos. - Graue

Like a sycophant, that's the feeling, something that was not meant to exist.

Even in the world he seemed empty,

A gaping, gouging, gauging hole,

Something that gave the world a sight,

Something that gave them a fright.

Like a cackling demon perched upon the mightiest of shoulders, it was always staining each word with it's foul ocher.

His head hung ever lower with every thought,

The silk noose about his neck pulling taut,

A man no more, a man is such a dull bore,

He needed a new sight to see a new sandy shore,

When the world is black and meaningless, what constitutes conviction to it's inhabitants.

A soft speck of weakness drips upon his forehead,

urging his neck to crane and raise his eyelids of lead,

Would it be that he was to be delivered or would he be dead,

Cringing forever as the second drop hit and he cruelly fed.

A million voices speak, a million more scream, a million more whisper, a million more sing, yet none are really heard.

Adulation, degradation, conflagration, initiation, subjugation

Words abound to give meaning to that which has no dictation,

Elation abounds but none to grace my lips as I catch the rain,

A tender hand on mine calms the storm, ends the old pain,

Insatiable appetite for the sated, the peaceful striking at the peace keepers, illumination for the blind, and all of this for no one that wants it.

Murder in the Woods

Well, this week and last week have been interesting so far, but alas, nothing that would amaze or astound, or even provoke certain thoughts or emotions, which of course leaves me to simply give a poem of some length and not much creativity. Enjoy!

In humblest light did that raven call,

As if to speak of the dangerous fall,

He said it hurt those that felt it not,

There was none to see who was caught,

The Bear had more to say on the matter,

He had smelled that it was the hatter,

Who did show him the clue to who had done,

The terrible deed done against the seeing one,

And yet the lame duck was the rescuer,

For he could climb the trees without skewer,

But what was an oddity to the fox and cow,

Was not why it was done, but how,

Squirrel said he hear the criminal in the breeze,

Despite being born without ears or tease,

Rabbit caught the culprit but stuttered him far away,

Boar was there to watch it all, but he is the one who in blood lay,

Turtle had given chase to the fiend but all was lost,

For here today hawk was forced to pay the cost,

And in that softest of whispers from horse did lie,

As the lark did hear the song and heave a sigh,

All were accounted for except the one who was sought,

For who suspected that the snail had been bought?

Laid to rest that poor beaver was at the babbling brook,

As the quail gathered flowers to mourn those murdered by the crook,

Although the one to escape the dreaded gallows was not of the wood,

But rather he was the flighty young sparrow with only his ebon hood.

A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf (Chapter 2)

Well, I've been a bit pre-occupied with things this past week, but funny enough I've managed to push out another chapter. Anywho, in this installment of "A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf": Agatha must find out what Mayor Middleton has to say about her encounter with the Middleton children! Now, enjoy the exciting conclusion of A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf! An adventure of cute furry animals! Enjoy! (This time, there is much more consistency within the character names and such... Hopefully better than last chapter.)

Agatha Oakeyes could hardly believe that Richard had the time to fish with Autumn drawing so near and Winter only a stone's drop away after that, but she knew that he had other ways of making money. Rumors poured into her mind, memories of gibbering gobs and flapping mouths from when the hare first came to the town. Some spoke of words like: "sellsword" or "assassin" even one child had gone so far as to concoct a story of a hoard of gold sitting in the basement of his hovel. Granted, no one had ever set foot inside Mr. Richard Camp's hovel, nor did anyone know where he was from, nor how he came to live in Highleaf, nor even how old the hare was. With a neatly trimmed face, groomed whiskers, and a fine color to his fur, one might assume he was barely in his thirties or even twenties, but that was hardly the case, Agatha herself assumed the hare to be at least in his late thirties, but was not closed to other assumptions.

As Agatha marched herself down the winding cart road towards the center of the village, the soft breeze picked up, blowing against her striped face as the leaves chimed in to sing her a merry tune. She sighed as she heard the dreadfully loud shouts of the mayor and her father as he neared their home. A massive live oak tree that had found itself half-buried in the side of a hill was prime housing for her father and her, the leaves still a verdant green in the evening sun made the badger smile as she stepped up to the solidly wooden door, turning the knob and pulling it to her though netted Agatha the full brunt of the rage enclosed.

"Damn you, Agatha!!!” screamed a portly hare looking grey than the sky does on most rainy days. A one-size-too-small silk vest pulled tight around his belly doing little to flatter his rotund belly, and a fuming tobacco pipe sitting in the corner of the hares mouth reassured Agatha that it was indeed Mayor Middleton of Highleaf.

"Yes, Mayor, how can I be your 'humble servant' today?" Agatha said in her most sarcastic tone she could muster.

"This is the last straw! You struck my children!"

"Someone best! They go around like sneak thieves along the river and they might get gutted by curs!"

"That very well may be, but my children are not yours to punish!! This is the last straw! Time that you dare harm my children!! The constable will be spoken to about this!"

Agatha heaved a sigh as she listened to the usual rant of honor, dignity, and order, her eyes rolling in their sockets till they fell on the weathered face of her father. Agnar Oakeyes, once the mightiest warrior in the Kingdom of Arimus, Lord Grand Marshal over the armies of the King, The Badger known as Diremaw, widower, and now aging legend was to be added to his most recent of titles. The old Badger was even bigger than Agatha, standing a foot taller than most hares would with ears high, but his body was stooped from age, his brown eyes had long since lost their blood lust, and had grown into a soft shade of maple. While Agnar may have been growing older he had never stopped growing wiser or stronger, but he hid those facts well, save for the wisdom, which he shared to all that would listen. Agatha even remembered the time when Prince Hagen, now King Hagen came to have tea with her father, discussing what they should do concerning an issue with diplomatic issues.

Agnar heaved a sigh and clapped a large paw on Mayor Middleton's back. His paw dwarfing the poor Mayor's body as the old badger spoke in his softest, yet most authoritative tone, "Charles... We've been through this forever; we both know that if you simply talk to me about the situation, then I can insure that this never happens again."

Agnar turned his steely gaze from Agatha's eyes, glaring almost like a bear staring down a predator that had wandered into his cave. It sent a cold shiver down Agatha’s spine, but still they both maintained their emotions, despite Agatha knowing that her father was far from pleased. Mayor Middleton sighed heavily as he began to pace about the small breezeway just inside the doorway of the Oakeyes home. His lips sucking and puffing out clouds of smoke before finally he spoke again, “Ahh…I’m not mad at Agatha, Agnar, it’s just that I don’t know what to do anymore…”

Mayor Middleton turned his gaze back to Agatha, heaving another sigh, his grey eyes now soft and placid rather than filled with rage as they had been moments before, “Agatha, it’s not that I don’t want you punishing my children, nor do I want you to not teach them a lesson…Hell! I want you to get those hellions in line, but Agatha, my wife is the one who keeps telling me that you are dangerous…”

Agatha hardly knew what to say; this was the first time that Mayor Middleton’s wife had ever been brought up in conversation concerning Agatha’s relationship with the Middleton children. Even Agnar appeared to be taken aback by this new turn of events, but the old rabbit continued as he took his pipe in hand, running a furry finger along the pipe’s extravagantly carved stem, eyeing the smoking tobacco stuffed in the horn of the pipe like it were something mesmerizing. The silence was thick, tangible, and very awkward as the three stood in the Oakeyes home with no one intending speak first till Agnar spoke up in his soft yet booming voice, “Charles, tell me what you want done and we will do well to repair any hurt feelings, Agatha, if need be, will apologize and make reparations.”

Agatha’s gae shot to her father as her face took on a look of shock and disbelief as her jaw dropped open then snapped shut before standing tall, she was a clever girl, clever enough to know when she needed to shut up and take her medicine and when to protest or speak her mind. A trait, her father said, that she got from her mother. Her dark brown eyes turned a placid and calm gaze towards Mayor Middleton before Boeing her head, "I submit to any decision you make of my punishment."

While it was quite often that Mayors would pass judgment upon crimes in most small communities, Highleaf was far from small, but not at all big. As Mayor Middleton had put it in one of his long winded but ever poetic mid-summer's festival speeches, "We meager people of this humbly-meager township do well to see the failures of the metropolis and the greatness of the hamlets". Highleaf had its magistrate and it's judge and even it's guardsmen, but it was no match for a city the likes of Pinewall to the East or even Dun Moraspian in the North. King’s Peak was the closest of cities with major authority, but even that was a two day hike even when taking the shortcut through the Deadwoods to the North-West. Mayor Middleton put the mouthpiece of his pipe back between his lips, sucking softly on the wooden tube as he thought for a long moment before looking back to Agnar with a strong gaze.

“Agatha Oakeyes, I hereby sentence you to serve as tutor and lady-in-waiting to my children for the next two months. During this time, you will serve them with all the patience of your lineage and hopefully teach them of the necessity of manners and respect.”

Agatha could feel her heart begin to race as she gripped tightly at the air by her sides, her fists clenching around invisible, incorporeal clubs that she wished would manifest physically for a moment. Her anger subsided almost immediately as her fathers calm, collected voice filled her ears, “Hah! A wise man’s punishment if I ever heard one, Charles! Both sides benefit from the other, but no one really loses anything save for her sanity! Bwahaha!!”

The old badger’s booming laughter filled the house as the aging hare nodded with a satisfied smile, “Oh! But it will be even better than that. Agatha, dear, I’ll pay you for every day of work, I promise you that… You’ll not come out of this experience empty-handed, but I want you to also try and teach my children some… Errr… Self-defense…”

Agnar’s booming laugh fled the house as he turned his gaze back to the rotund rabbit, “Are you certain of that, Charles? Agatha’s not unprepared or without knowledge of fighting, but don’t you think it a might bit early for your children to learn the ways of war?”

There was a pause in the room, Agatha was still looking between the two old men, seeing who would speak first in the silence of the house, Agnar simply stared into the old hare’s eyes, and Mayor Middleton simply stared back.

“I think it best… These days, with the Wolves coming down from Hound’s Hill, I doubt that anyone would be safe without even a basic knowledge of fighting… Seems like everyday we are drawing closer and closer to war…”

The rabbit’s voice was cut off by a gruff cough from the old badger as he raised a paw to his old friend, “Of course, Charles, she will teach them and keep them safe for now, but now’s not the time to get into the worries of old foxes. What time shall she begin her work?”

As if coming out of a daze, Mayor Middle ton shook his head and looked up to Agnar’s hulking frame one last time before stuttering out a reply to his question, turning his head to Agatha as he spoke, “I expect her… you over promptly at ten, any later and I might be forced to take this matter up with the magistrate.”

Agatha nodded her head then bowed low to Mayor Middleton, “Of course, Mayor, I will be there as the sun is right in the sky.”

Mayor Middleton turned and patted Agatha on the shoulder just as she began to right herself, smiling to her as he passed and lit his pipe with his free hand, “Agatha, I thank you for this. You are a much better person than I could ever be.”

Her eyes flashed a soft glint of annoyance over shadowed by understanding before smiling to the hare, “You do me great honor with your words, I simply hope that I live up to them.”

With that, Mayor Middleton said his goodbye to Agnar and flopped his large feet out of the house, Agatha taking the sudden departure as her chance to heave a sigh of relief and turn back towards her father who was breathing heavily.

“Father?!”

Rushing to his side, Agatha held his paw in her much smaller hands and looked into his eyes as his other paw crossed over his chest, “Urrrk… Damndable rabbit… His yelling about the Magistrate and my baby girl got my heart pumping… Fetch me some water, Honey Suckle.”

Agatha smiled at the nickname, knowing that if her father used her nickname rather than her real name it meant he was far from being angry or upset with her. She quickly walked towards the rather deeply dug cavern of a room that served as the kitchen and pulled from a shelf a clay pot with a leather handle strapped around it’s lid, noting that it’s contents were almost completely full as she brought it into the dining room where her father sat in a large arm chair, “Father! You haven’t been taking the medicine that Father Andrew prepared for you!”

The old badger scoffed at the mention of medicine, patting his chest with a fist before letting out a cough, “This badger is strong enough to take on five hundred wolves without breaking a sweat! He doesn’t need medicine, he need battle!”

Agatha rolled her eyes at the stubborn nature of her father, knowing that she had inherited this dreadful side of her father and mother with double it’s effectiveness as she pressed the jug of medicine into the large paw of her father, “Drink up, you old fool, that’s what you told Father Andrew when he was here last time, and what happened?”

The two looked to each other and spoke the exact same thing at the exact same time, “He gave me medicine.”

Both badgers chuckled at their awkward relationship as Agatha gently rubbed a clawed paw through her father’s thick grey fur on the back of his arm, “Come on now, Papa, you have to drink the medicine… For me.”

Now there was a moment of silence as father and daughter smiled at one another with the love only such devoted of fathers have for such caring of daughters and vice-versa, till Agnar heaved a heavy sigh and smiled, “Aye, you know, Honey Suckle, you remind me more and more everyday of your mother. Ancestors rest her spirit. I hope you find a good man one day, one that will take better care of you than your father did of your mother…”

Agatha’s paw caressed her father’s paw, consoling the old badger as she shook her head, “Now, now, none of that, you old fool, you know what happens when you start crying…”

Agnar raised the jug of medicine to his lips and tossed it back into his mouth, drinking the bitter juice with a disgusted look contorted across his face as he attempted to shake the taste from his mouth by shaking his whole head. Agatha giggled at her father before patting the back of his paw and turning back away from him, wiping her eyes free of the tears that had begun to gather just in her eyelids.

“Agatha, I want you to teach those children everything I taught you, but I want you to do one thing… I want you to teach them The Way of the Sword; I fear that teaching them The Way of the Stone will only get them hurt if they do try to learn it…”

Agatha turned on her heels, staring at her father with a look of slight disbelief as she heard her father coddling the two hellions of Highleaf. “Are you sure? The Way of the Stone will be much easier…”

Agnar’s booming voice rose up as he shot a silencing glance to Agatha, “Do as I say, Agatha!”

Agatha took a step back, bumping her backside against the wooden table in the center of the room as she stared up at her father’s hulking form before he continued what he was saying earlier, “The Way of the Stone is for us Badgers, only we are strong enough to handle it, but Rabbits… They are weak, better suited for arrows and swords than for maces, axes, and hammers. Now, off to bed, Honey Suckle.”

Agatha lowered her gaze from her father’s and gave a nod, “Yes, Papa, good night.”

Agnar heaved a soft sigh of weariness as he watched his only daughter descend the ladder next to the entryway down to her room under the roots of the live oak, “Good night, Honey Suckle.”

Many miles away, in King’s Peak, trouble seemed to already be brewing as the moon rose high in the night sky, King Peter VI, the Swift, lay in his room, his head resting upon a pillow of the finest of silks as his grey fur was cloaked in the wolf skin blankets of his royal bed. His dreams plagued of terrible sights: of villages burning, his citizens being slaughted by wolves, but even worse than that, he also dreamt of his youngest son, Demeter, running for his life. The old Fox-King trembled and shook before finally jolting awake and looking to the heavy pine doors of his bedchamber, his wife, Scarlett starting awake just as he did comforted him with a nuzzle of her head against her King’s neck, her soft voice whispering soft words to him as he breathed heavily, “It’s nothing but a dream, my King, nothing at all but night terrors…”

King Peter sat on the edge of his bed and heaved a heavy sigh before looking up to his wife’s face, “I’m sorry, my Queen, but it just all seemed so real and so frightening…”

There was a moment of silence as the two embraced one another, the moon filtering in through the slender window granting enough light to see the worry in King Peter’s eyes before his wife buried his head in the fur of her chest and whispered softly into his ear, “Tell me what was so frightening in your dream, my love.”

King Peter thought a moment before pulling his head from his wife’s loving bosom and stared her in the eyes, adoring those beautiful green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in any light at all, the reason he had fallen in love with her in the first place, and smiled.

“I dreamt that my kingdom was burning, that my citizens were being slaughtered like sheep, and that my Demeter was in danger.”

Queen Scarlett giggled as she stared down into her husband’s blue eyes and shook her head, “Who in all of Esterel, would dare strike at the Kingdom of Peter Arimus the Swift, the sixth of his name? We are the mightiest in the land, our armies could strike at any point we choose in a matter of days.”

King Peter’s brow furled as he lowered his gaze to the stones just past his wife’s body, his mind thinking diligently at the thoughts that had been produced by his dream before looking back up to his wife, “The Wolves of Hound’s Hill.”

It Was Just a Pillow

Last week I was off visiting my nephew and enjoy his company so I never was able to sit and write, so I just may post multiple posts this week as a sign of good faith. For now though, I give you a bit of un-rhyming, unhappy prose that I've titled: It Was Just a Pillow

It was just a pillow.

A cotton filled, cotton bag, with a cotton cover around it. Admittedly it was longer than normal pillows, a body pillow, but it was no body... It was just a pillow.

I knew it wouldn't be excited to see me, sad to watch me leave, kiss me good night, shout at me when I made a mistake... It was just a pillow.

I knew it wasn't going to cuddle with me during movies, or wipe the tears from my eyes, it wouldn't hold my hand, or eat dinner with me by candle light... It was just a pillow.

Every night as I laid in bed, I would reach for that pillow, that almost human thing, and I would pull it close knowing that it was just a pillow.

Even when I coughed and groaned, as sickness took hold of me, I pulled that pillow to me ever so tight knowing that it was just a pillow.

Even as the storms came and made me whimper in cowardice, I clutched the pillow ever tighter, knowing that it was just a pillow.

Still I wish it could be more, I wish my pillow could speak to me and sing soft words. I wish my pillow would hold me in it's arms as I cried. I wish my pillow would listen to my woes and offer advice. I wish my pillow wasn't just a pillow.

I wish I could sleep without wondering what my life will bring. I wish I could dream without looking into the fears of my heart. I wish I could dance with a lover as the world ends. I wish for once I could just let the world in. I wish my pillow wasn't just a pillow.

But none of that will ever come to pass because it's nothing real. It has the luxury of not feeling my punches, hearing my screams of frustration, I didn't want to see it as such, as just a beaten cotton bag, but my heart still broke knowing it was just a pillow.

A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf

So, I had this random thought the other night whilst trying to figure out what I should write for my second blog post, and an idea, like lightning, struck my brain. Very few fantasy books out today are like the classic adventure novels that we had in school. This story is inspired by Brian Jacques, one of my personal favorite authors. Any of his fans out there that read this, you will obviously pick up the similarities quickly, but I assure you, this all my own words and thoughts. I could never steal from Mr. Jacques, let alone try to copy from such a great writer and pass it off as my own. So, here is the first chapter of "A Hare's Tale: The Blade of Highleaf"! Leave comments (I'd love to see what you think of it!), share with friends, subscribe, and promote my words to the world!! - Graue

(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.