Gushi Montes

Chapter 1

The last rays of sunlight faded as night fell upon Narnia. The twilight deepened, and the sky, red from the sinking sun, turned into a dark navy blue, scattered with innumerable frosty stars. The moon set his full face and looked down, sending shadows away from the land.

A horse galloped madly through The Owlwood, his master deftly turning him to avoid the trees whispering in the wind. Urging the horse on with quick words, the hooded figure looked behind him. He had a fleeting glance of other men behind, swiftly pursuing him with swords and arrows drawn. He knew that there was no time left to spend; they had to run like never before or else face the fatal fate that awaited them.

“Wingfoot!” he cried, commanding his horse. “Remember your speed! Run on, Wingfoot! Run on!”

Wingfoot tossed his head and galloped faster, his hoofs pounding heavily on the hard ground. His mouth was foam flecked, his eyes wild with fear. He thundered on, aware that the heavy footfalls of other horses were becoming louder and louder with each second.

“Quick! Onward, Wingfoot!” yelled his hooded master. “They’re nearly upon us!”

Wingfoot hurried on, gaining distance. Yet, he knew that, no matter what he was, he could not run as fast as he used to. Still, there was some chance, and knowing this, he tried and ran faster.

Then Wingfoot heard a whir and twang as an arrow passed at his master’s side. Soon, the air was thick with arrows. He screamed a neigh, and turned his body, avoiding the arrows to protect his master and himself. His master drew out his sword and slashed at the air, splitting arrows that came too near them with perfect balance. Yet, it was only for a time. Arrows finally made their way to Wingfoot, deeply stabbing his powerful flank. Though he tried to keep galloping, Wingfoot finally stumbled as more arrows stabbed him. He let out a terrible scream as he and his master roughly collapsed to the ground.

He could not stand up. He was bleeding from the many arrows, though he was still a few hours away from death. Still, in the madness and pain of it all, he could see everything…

The arrows continued to fall. His weakening master struggled to stand up, an arrow pierced to his chest. From the ground, Wingfoot could hear his master’s heavy breathing, his master’s gasp as another arrow ran through his side.

The arrows stopped falling, and the footfalls of horses grew closer. Then the strange pursuers halted their horses and dismounted. Hooded and heavily cloaked, the men advanced toward his master. Though deeply wounded, his master held up his sword, ready to fight to the end.

“Did we not say that it would be futile to resist?” hissed one of the pursuers. “You should have listened to what we said, and followed what we asked of you.”

“And be a traitor to Narnia? Never!” whispered his master fiercely. “By the Lion’s Mane, you shall not have it!! I will not give in, nor be a pawn to your dark deeds!”

The pursuers hissed their strange sounds, clacking their mouths and stomping on the ground. They pressed closer to him. Wingfoot could see the glints of their swords, illuminated by the full moon.

“Ever you desire to be noble for glory,” mocked the dark pursuer, “May your desire be fulfilled as you die!”

The moonlight faded suddenly as a swift cloud passed. In the dark shadows of the trees, Wingfoot could not see anything. Yet, he didn’t want to see any more, as he heard the terrifying clashes of blades, the grunts and thumps of men, the short cries they muttered, and the sound of a man defeated, kneeling to the ground, breathing his last of the Narnian air.

Then Wingfoot heard the most fearful sounds of all: the strong stab of a long sword, the last breath of a man, then the gentle, muffled sound as something fell on the earth. And Wingfoot felt a slash at his heart, a cold dread running at his back as he realized his master was dead.

The pursuers shouted harsh cries of victory as they raised their swords in wild triumph. Some bellowed out loud words too horrible to be heard, while others stomped their feet heavily, beating in celebration.

But, as suddenly as they started, they ceased their cries. The ground slightly shook. One of the pursuers whispered urgently to another and before long, the pursuers mounted their horses quickly yet noiselessly. Still as quiet as ever, they fled, leaving Wingfoot alone in the forest. And Wingfoot’s gloom and dread turned into a different kind of fear; the mad fear that one has when one does not know what is coming before him.

Without a warning, Wingfoot heard the crash of bushes as the thunder of horse’s hooves echoed near him. He also heard what he thought to be the pattering of smaller feet near him.

Then, he heard deep, rich voices talking.

“We should have left earlier. Evil was to linger, and still lingers here tonight.”

“We left as soon as we could.”

“Not all of us knew that there was something wrong, even the king himself was not aware of it, until the last hour. And the king-”

“Can we have a torch, please?” piped a high voice of a different creature “It’s difficult to see in here in all this rum light.”

As the newcomers lighted torches, Wingfoot was able to see again. He now noticed the newcomers were a group of Talking Animals. There was a Mole, a Beaver and a Stag, not to mention two Owls and an Eagle. Among the Talking Animals, there were also three noble centaurs.

“Oh dear”

The Beaver waddled toward the fallen body of his master. A centaur with a brown beard followed. “It’s Prince Elric of Narnia… the King’s son.”

“He is dead…” The centaur’s voice faded away, as all the creatures bowed their heads down. And as if the whole Narnia understood, the trees stopped rustling and waving. All was still, and across the land, all was silent. There was no howling, nor wailing of any creature. No wind dared to disturb the silence, and the moonlight did not return.

Then the creatures straightened up and prepared to take the Prince’s body away gently.

“This is a bane for Narnia,” said the second centaur with a red beard “The stars have never been incorrect. What has been foreseen is now happening.”

“This has not happened for many years in Narnia,” mentioned the Talking Eagle. “Evil has thus set afoot again in Narnia, though I have not a thought on how it crept back.”

“Too true! Too true!” hooted the owls.

“Before we leave though, we must continue to scout. We may learn how the prince died”, ordered the centaur The animals sadly nodded and wandered around, while the centaurs continued to prepare the body of the murdered prince. Wingfoot now knew that these were the King’s trusted helpers and his fellow comrades. He tried to neigh softly to call the creatures, but before he could do anything, the Mole walked straight toward him.

“I found a horse!” cried the Mole, walking toward Wingfoot.

The third centaur, this time with a black beard, moved toward Wingfoot.

“Are you a Talking Horse?” he asked

Wingfoot nodded. He could barely speak now. He had no more energy to spare.

“Are you one of the horses of those who killed the Prince?” asked the centaur quite sternly.

Wingfoot shook his head. “No…I bore his Majesty as best as I could.”

“By the Lion’s Mane, it’s Wingfoot!” exclaimed the Beaver who ran as fast as he could toward him. “He wouldn’t abandon Prince Elric, Shadowmane.”

Wingfoot wished to greet him but the pain was too much. He could not hold out any longer. He closed his eyes and didn’t continue.

“We must get Linchweed. He remains the most skilled of all healers. Call the owls and tell them to summon for him here,” ordered Shadowmane to the two owls “Speed is needed, as time for Wingfoot is running out. Make haste” The owls nodded, flapped their wings and swiftly took to the air, flying across the sky.

“Now, we must bear the body back to Cair Paravel. Then we can prepare for the burial.”

“We have yet to do our most painful duty,” reminded the stag “Though the king may have foreseen it an hour beforehand, we still have to tell him that his son has passed.”

Gloom descended heavier upon the creatures as they looked at the wounded Wingfoot and the dead body of the King’s son. Hard as it was, they knew that the stag was right.

Chapter 2

The cold day had finally dawned with a red sun. The creatures were returning to Cair Paravel.

A lady stood looking out of the palace’s tall glass window, watching the slow procession make its way toward the palace gates. Tall and slender she was in her robe as dark and as blue as a summer’s night. Her hair was long and dark; falling over the mantle clasped around her neck. Her face was fair yet solemn, slightly careworn from years of hard struggle with the sorrows of her life. Yet, in ordinary days and times, a gleam of joy still shone through her face like a memory of her childhood, and thus joy and sadness, wisdom and strength were mirrored there.

But now, her face was streaked with silent tears, her sea-gray eyes hard. Her hands, trembling and tightly clutching the hem of her mantle, were white. She stood still, breathing heavily, as she watched the body of her brother being borne by the centaurs.

She had already heard that her brother was dead. On that frigid night, the owl flew past her window, bearing the news that her brother was dead. She didn’t want to believe it and did not rise, telling herself and trying to convince herself that it was just a dream.

Yet, she knew, though she didn’t want to accept it, that it was not a dream. And this did not fade away, no matter how much she wanted to. It was too harsh. First her mother, and now her brother…

She continued to watch the slow train make its way up the road to the palace, noting the bowed heads of the animals. Narnians in the way knelt or bowed their heads, while others cried and ran to herald the death of Narnia’s next king.

Suddenly, she felt a small, warm hand gently touching her shoulder.

“Lady Merwyn?”

She turned her head to face an old but wise woman. Her hair was silvery white, and despite her age, her eyes remained bright and intelligent. She was not bent, as old women are wont to be, but had an upright bearing as of one brought up to know the manners and services of a royal court.

“Lady Winter” nodded Merwyn.

“He has passed then?”

Merwyn nodded again. “Does my father know?”

“Your father was told this morning. He sent me to seek you, for he wishes to see you, Merwyn.” Merwyn’s brow furrowed “He wishes to see me?”

Winter stared back at her, her glance slightly reproachful “Have you grown so hard, so cold that even at this time of grief, you will not go to your father?”

Merwyn fell silent. She bowed her head “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “Where is he?”

Winter continued to look at her, this time with a faint hint of a sad smile “He is in the small garden to the West of the courtyard. There is time to see him, before they arrive.”

Merwyn looked up at her. She gave the elder a quick, small smile.

“Thank you, Winter.” she said. She left the hall, walking slowly toward the Western end of the palace with her head lowered.

Winter watched her leave. She looked away as Merwyn disappeared, but continued listening as the echoes of her steps gradually softened until she couldn’t hear it anymore.

Then, she looked out of the window and watched the procession, uttering a deep sigh.

Chapter 3

Four weeks before the death of the King’s son, the bright sun shone upon Narnia. The dawn broke and the day started, with the people and Talking Animals of Narnia going about their ways and business. It was a cheerful and peaceful morning, darkened only by the possibility of a mere drizzle of rain in the afternoon, but none thought the worst of it. The cool wind crisply blew through the land, and all seemed fresh and clean, uncorrupted yet by any foul thing.

In the lands of the West, there was a small valley where most of the Talking Hares of Narnia made their homes. It was a small but thriving place, where all depended on each other to survive. For though the last raid of rogues from Telmar was but more than five years past, most of the people and Talking Animals of the West were still healing, not the least of which was the small valley of Talking Hares. Their homes were easily remade but many of the hares who lived were injured or struck still by the memory of that horrible time. Thus it was that the Hares did not abandon any to sickness or despair.

On this bright morning, the hares were up and about in their usual ways. Though most were at work (collecting food and relining the paths were the day’s chief activities), neighbor passed neighbor with a cheerful greeting or a friendly nod. Leverets ran playing happily and enjoying the sun’s walking rays. All were contented, hopeful that more peaceful days were coming at last.

Atop one small hill, a Talking Hare named Moonwood who had unusually large ears stood under the early rising sun. Blinking, he sniffed the air and allowed the warmth of the sun to wash over him. He then carefully walked around the hill, ready to do the work that awaited him that day.

Moonwood closed his eyes and listened. All the sounds of the world near him vibrated in his ears. He heard all the noises and activity of the place, around his hole and in the valley. He listened to the sounds of the wood and to the mysterious roar of the waterfall beyond. He listened to the great babble of voices and he knew to whom they belonged. Of the cities of men and other communities, he closed his hearing to them, for he was forbidden to do so, despite his ability.

Though no noise escaped his ears, one sound held his attention. It was the sound of new voices coming into the valley.

Moonwood was startled. Although the Hares welcomed other hares and talking animals to the valley especially those who were left broken after the Telmarine raids, there have been no newcomers for a very long time. He opened his eyes and started leaping down from the hill to tell the other hares, but stopped when he heard another louder sound moving toward his direction. Turning his ears, he heard the sound of soft, limping feet and a soft whisper of words. He slowed his pace, walked toward the small dirt path in front of his burrow and looked at the corner.

Sure enough, he saw in the near distance a small pair of hares on their way toward him, one limping, and the other assisting it.

He waited for them patiently, though he could not resist a small smile. He watched their slow progress. When they were quite near, he gave a loud greeting. “Hullo, Mr. Fulnus! Hullo, Mrs. Nella!”

Surprised, the pair looked up and saw Moonwood waiting by the path. The two grinned and quickened their pace, finally reaching Moonwood.

“Hullo, Moonwood! We were planning to surprise you with a visit. Unfortunately, Mr. Fulnus here was stubborn enough to believe we could escape your hearing!” said Mrs. Nella, assisting the limping Mr. Fulnus who had nearly tripped on a weed.

“Hmph” mumbled Mr. Fulnus, sniffing at the air despite a few weeds still clinging on his broken foot. He turned, and said in a different tone “Quite a good day for visiting, really. The sun’s up and about and the weather is much better today than in weeks. Nella here though has been fussing too much with the cleaning.” “Well, with all the mess you’re making, you might just end up tripping and injuring yourself again.”

“What news do your ears bring you today, Moonwood?” asked Mr. Fulnus.

“Well,” said Moonwood, twitching his ears here and there, searching the sounds.

“Seems all is well, I expect. Everyone is happily working, and I have heard no fighting or dispute anywhere…”

“That’s good,” Mrs. Nella commented. “Must mean that Willy Fludge settled his accounts already…”

“And there are new Hares coming into the valley today, I think,” finished Moonwood.

“Hmm…” said Mr. Fulnus thoughtfully “Well, no harm in that I think. This valley’s always welcomed newcomers. How do they sound like?”

Moonwood listened again. “Not very loud, it seems as if they’re a small group. I can’t really tell. They remain mostly quiet, though I could hear their steps.”

“Silence, eh?” said Mr. Fulnus. “No matter, it seems all right. Still, we ought to report this to old Master Witkind and the other elders. The newcomers need to be helped in.” Moonwood nodded. “I was about to go on and tell him. I could spare some advice on carrots myself, though I’m no rabbit,” he added, thoughtfully.

“And no, papa, you will not go with him.” said Mrs. Nella as Mr. Fulnus was about to speak. “Master Witkind’s place is too far, and I don’t think you and I can manage it, especially with your crutch still in pieces. Besides, we need to pass by Babble’s hole for tea.”

Mr. Fulnus grumbled, but he nodded and cheerfully said “Pleasure seeing you today, Moonwood! Send a greeting to Witkind from Nella and me! Farewell!”

“Farewell!” called Moonwood, as the two hares turned and slowly made their way toward another path. Moonwood waited until they were gone from his sight (though he could still hear them very clearly), and then started on an opposite path away from his burrow, leading him through the valley toward the earthy hole of Witkind.

Chapter 4

Old Witkind, being a rabbit (which, unlike hares, lived in holes and burrows) and one of the most important elders among the Talking Animals in the West, had his home conveniently hollowed out at the middle of the valley. The low and large burrow was often used as a meeting place by the elder rabbits and hares to hold council, although it was usually busy with rabbits coming in to conduct business with Witkind (who ran a successful trade on carrot collection). Strings of carrots of all varieties hung from the ceiling, while thin, long wooden shelves containing broken green glass, small ceramic pots, dried herbs, and other odds and ends lined one rounded wall. Leaning on the other wall was a flat, smooth wooden circle, which Witkind laid down on the floor whenever a council among the hares and rabbits was to be held. Small wax candles meant to be lit during councils were set around the burrow.

Moonwood hopped carefully down the path as he neared the burrow’s entrance. Hearing the murmur of voices much louder than usual, he hesitated to enter, but old Witkind himself came outside, looked around and, seeing Moonwood, immediately greeted him.

“Hullo Moonwood!” he said in his raspy voice. “I was just going to call for you. The council of elders is meeting at the moment, so no one can come in. We are discussing a rather difficult matter…” he said, suddenly looking very grave. “…and we were hoping to include you in today’s council to ask you about certain things.”

Moonwood was slightly surprised, but he only nodded his head and said “I do not mind, I will attend then if the council needs me.”

“That is well. Hmm…by chance, have you heard what the council has been talking of?”

“No. Though I could, I did not listen to more than what I should. It is, after all, against the rules set on me.”

“Good,” answered Witkind. “Can you spare then this morning, and attend the council now?”

Moonwood shrugged. “I suppose I could, though I was on my way here to say that there are a bunch of new hares coming up the valley. They may need some help.” “Ah.” Witkind said, looking troubled.

“And, well, I was also hoping I could ask you for a word or two on certain carrots I gathered.”

Witkind smiled slightly. “Well, then, we may talk longer after the council.” He looked up at the sky, and watched a cloud as it lazily floated by and covered the warm sun. Turning his gaze away from the cloud, he frowned and then said “A word of caution though, Moonwood: What goes on in this council is, of course, not to be known by anyone else, except the final choices made by the higher elders. These will be announced, as custom goes.”

Moonwood nodded “I have no trouble keeping myself silent.”

Witkind said nothing in reply, but his expression remained grave. He was silent for a while as he looked around cautiously. He then spoke in a low whisper. “But that was just a mere warning. Moonwood, to put it quite plainly, you must be wary of what the council may decide on today. I fear that what may come of it may not be good, especially for you, as their decision does concern you and your unusual talent.” Moonwood stared back in slight disbelief. “I’m sorry master Witkind, I don’t think I understand as well as you should expect,” he replied. “I am aware of all that commotion over my gift, but really, I’m just a mere hare who goes about his own without minding the business of others. And the uproar that happened over my gift has passed years ago and ended with the contract of laws the elders set on me. Since then, nothing has happened much.”

Witkind sighed deeply, then spoke in a lower whisper “All of the hares in these parts have accepted your gift for the last few years now, and I daresay we can’t do much without your help, especially the newcomers that we have been known to welcome and heal from different horrors. Yet, due to the mistrust over what you have and how you use it, the council of elders agreed to give you strict rules and orders not to misuse your gift or use it against the good of the other hares. And I am glad that you have followed them well. However, many elders and other hares aside still fear that your gift of hearing is dangerous. Yes, Moonwood,” he continued with a wry smile. “There are actually many hares who believe that it is time for you to stop using your gift, and are thinking of ways for you to stop. The contract of rules is not perfect, and as you know quite well, it was dealt out unfairly in many parts.”

“That doesn’t seem news to me, sir. But I have not broken the rules or laws that have been charged upon me, despite the difficulties. I do not-”

“I know, Moonwood, I know,” Witkind interrupted. “I know that with your gift, you have the ability not to listen to the secrets that may have been whispered among the burrows and hills. I see that you have used this ability possibly even far more than you have used your gift of hearing itself. I, too, am aware of what has happened to you in the past, as these events were part of the reason why we charged certain rules over you and the others. Since then, you and the other hares have managed to live a little more peacefully, though you took the worst out of it. Yet, there is no way of making other hares see what you have done rightfully, particularly with the incidents over Willy Fudge’s accounts and other small but delicate matters.”

“Such as this meeting,” a deep voice interrupted. Moonwood and Witkind quickly turned to see a hare with dark fur walking toward them.

“Ah, Pifus,” said Witkind, hailing the hare warmly. “Moonwood, this is Pifus, elder of the Eastern Woodland .”

“Good morning, Moonwood,” said Pifus, who bowed his head in greeting. “The elders call on you to join the council now.”

“Right,” Witkind nodded and Moonwood started off towards the burrow. Witkind and Pifus, however, fell behind, and walked slowly behind Moonwood as they talked softly.

“Have they decided?” asked Witkind.

“Worse,” replied Pifus gravely. “They’ve already put down the decision. All that is left is for each one to agree on it.”

Witkind sighed. “Oh well…best to get this over with. I sure do hope they don’t destroy the contract of laws”

“It would be hard to tell, for I’m not so sure what each of us will decide. But I share your side, Master Witkind. This is nasty business.”

“Here comes the storm,” muttered Witkind bitterly as he and Pifus reentered the burrow.

Chapter 5

“The council now calls on Moonwood, Hare of the Western Mound” announced an important looking light brown hare as Moonwood slowly walked toward the center of the ring of elder rabbits and hares. Silently watching Moonwood suspiciously, the hares and rabbits sat around the flat wooden circle set on the ground for the council and waited for him to take his place. The small wax candles, lit for the council, flickered, sending shadows to crawl on the rounded walls.

Then the head elder, a large, proud, gray hare named Fastulf, rose on his hind legs and said, “We thank you for coming to the council today, Moonwood, and we apologize if it might have disturbed your tasks for the day. There are certain serious matters which the council is considering, and we wish to hear your thoughts, for, as Master Witkind might have told you, your gift closely involves the council’s decision of the day. Don’t be frightened, though, Moonwood,” Fastulf told him lightly. “We just wish to ask you a few questions, and then tell you of our final decisions, as we may change a few of the terms we set on you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Moonwood saw Witkind and Pifus exchange worried glances, but he ignored this and only replied, “I am at the council’s service.”

Fastulf continued. “The first question we have to ask you is about the tasks you are bound to do for our community. As according to the contract, you were meant to help the council keep peace in the valley by listening and identifying any disturbances from the outside. This task was made known publicly to lessen the uproar and chaos that occurred when your unusual talent was discovered, was it not?”

“Yes,” replied Moonwood, clearly remembering his everyday routine around the valley.

“The contract of laws set on you also allows you to listen in on the goings within the valley, though with limitations. You are not allowed to listen in or meddle too deeply within the affairs of the others. Neither are you allowed to listen to sounds too far beyond the valley. These terms were made clear to you when they were set?”

“Yes,” agreed Moonwood.

Fastulf’s eyes narrowed. “Was it also made clear to you that any report (correct or otherwise) the elders may receive about anything that may involve your breaking of these terms would result to certain consequences, as it is difficult for us elders to guard how closely you follow these terms?”

Moonwood heard Witkind wince softly. It was one of the more unfair terms that the higher members of the council set on Moonwood. Witkind and Pifus objected to it on Moonwood’s behalf, but the term was sustained, and Moonwood had no choice but to accept it for his protection…

“I am aware of the term stated,” replied Moonwood impassively.

Fastulf then said “This then is our problem, Moonwood. For years, we remained surprised to not receive any such report. However, last week, numerous complaints of your meddling in various small matters were sent to us. Just yesterday, we received the longest report yet which detailed your involvement with fixing Willy Fludge’s accounts.”

Moonwood was taken aback. “I am not aware that my assistance in fixing Willy Fludge’s problems was considered as meddling too deeply in the affairs of the hares, for I was asked by Willy to help him.”

The silence was suddenly broken. The council members murmured loudly among themselves, and the candlelight flickered madly. Moonwood’s ears twitched in nervousness. He heard an odd sharp ringing as he tried not to listen to the elders’ heated exchange of comments.

Fastulf, however, remained calm “Silence in the council,” he commanded softly but coldly. The silence returned, yet it seemed to Moonwood that it was more ominous than before. He looked around and noticed Witkind and Pifus. Both were thinking deeply with bent heads.

“Moonwood? If we may continue?” asked Fastulf.

Moonwood nodded his head.

“Let us leave this matter at rest for now. We then turn to ask you about the coming of newcomers in this valley, as you have the task of telling us when new hares are about to arrive. Do you think that the hares who are living here already have any troubles in welcoming them here?”

“Well, no, I don’t suppose so,” replied Moonwood. “I myself do not find it wearisome to allow new hares in, and only a few, I think, would rather that there were no new hares at all.”

“And yet the last few groups of hares that arrived have caused a little more disorder than the usual?”

Moonwood recalled all that he heard in the past months carefully. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “I am not so certain, though it does seem to me that indeed there were a bit more of disputes recently.”

“Did the recent coming of new hares and rabbits deplete the valley’s food supply more than usual?”

Bewildered, Moonwood wondered at the question. He found it out of place and unimportant, a small concern that was unrelated to his tasks. He shook his head and said “I do not know, Master Fastulf. I have not heard of any such instance, as it is not part of my tasks. Perhaps the gatherers would know more.”

The murmuring broke out again. Fastulf, however, did not silence the council, but only lifted his head, and said “That would be all the questions, Moonwood. Thank you for responding to the council’s summons. Although you may leave now, the council will inform you of our decision regarding what consequences will be administered with regard to the reports we have received, as according to the contract. The council thus reminds you that you declared yourself aware of this term since the time of the contract’s implementation. You may leave.” Fastulf gave Moonwood a swift nod, then sat back on his legs, then turned to Witkind and said “Please escort Moonwood outside and tell him of when we will pass the decision.” He then turned to talk with the council elder beside him.

Witkind rose, nudged Moonwood with his paw, and together they left the dimly lit hole, now filled with the babble of the council elders breathlessly discussing Moonwood’s answers. Outside, a comforting gleam of sunshine shone on the grass, and cool gusts of air brushed against their fur. A few sparse flowers that dotted the path to the burrow nodded in the wind.

Moonwood shuddered and gave sighed aloud. He felt strange, as if he had been expelled out of a dark, choking forest that chewed him and spat him out. A mixed feeling of dread and relief washed over him. He shook his head and tried to relax.

Beside him, Witkind gave out a long breath. “I had expected it to be worse, as I thought they’ll already decide on changing and abolishing the contract, which is the only thing keeping matters safe, at the present. Well, we’ll see Moonwood. I don’t suppose the punishment they’ll decide will be too harsh, as the reports were never really too serious. However, some on the council wish you harm, and I advise you still to be wary.”

“When will I know of the decision? And what were those questions about the newcomers all about?” asked Moonwood.

“I still can’t say,” answered Witkind. “I must be getting back. I’m afraid I can’t talk over carrots and crops with you today, Moonwood. The council looks as if it will spill over to the afternoon. Be back here three days from now, at night time. Then you will learn of the council’s decision, the whole pronouncement regarding the newcomers, and whatever you may need in your supply of carrots. Farewell!” He gave Moonwood a swift smile, then quickly turned back, leaping toward the hole.

Moonwood tried to relax again, twitching his large ears. He heard a bird, miles off away somewhere in the valley, chirp a cheerful tune. He heard the rest of the Talking Hares going on with their business happily. None seemed to think something wrong was about to happen. He tried to shrug off his fear. Unsuccessful, he rubbed his paws, and slowly started off down the path, back to his home in the western mound of the valley.

To be continued…