Rabbit
Chapter Three

Rating: R
Warnings: Sex
Summary: Curiouser and curiouser
Notes:

Henrik walked into the arboretum, carrying a ten pound slab of auroch, slowly approaching the massive form lying on his pallet, watching the rain. The medication had long ago worn off, and Rabbit was now quiet, aloof, and cold, disdainful of the creatures around him. Arrogance wafted off of him like perfume, and it took little imagination to determine what his opinion was of the meagre beings around him. He tolerated Jollie’s presence as she sat beside him, sketching something, but that was all. He did not give the impression of liking her.

“How’s Br’er Rabbit?” asked Henrik, seating himself on the grass beside Jollie.

“He’s in the Bad Alien box for trying to bite Simon. On a side note- he gets very pissy if you touch the back of his head.”

“Pissiness activator noted. Hey big fellah, look what I have, ooooh yum yum! Dead animal!”

Rabbit stared at the offering of auroch that Henrik presented him. He then looked at Henrik before nudging the meat away.

“Oh come on, it’s your favourite!” said Henrik. “Slab o’ dead moo!”

Rabbit huffed, then ignored him. Henrik sighed heavily.

“What am I doing wrong? Where’s Nikki? Isn’t this her forté, interpreting alien behaviour? Why won’t he eat? He accepts food from Chloe.”

“Well we don’t know what it means to him when you bring him food. You have to remember, he’s not human. And he’s a hermaphrodite. There may be a sexual aspect to you bringing him dinner. Maybe it’s not the meat he doesn’t want, maybe it’s you.”

“Great. I’ve been dissed. Well what happens when you give him the meat?”

Jollie set aside her notepad and pencil, then picked up the slab of flesh and offered it to Rabbit. He lowered his head and graciously accepted it. As Rabbit began cleaving his dinner into chunks small enough to swallow, Henrik sighed.

“So why would it be sexual if I gave it to him and not you?”

“Well… considering how well he can smell, it may be a scent thing. Assuming he’s never seen beings of one gender before, it could be he associates the feminine scent with offspring, and the masculine scent with sexually mature members of his species. And you are only six-two.” Jollie shrugged. “God knows I wouldn’t want some horny short-ass coming onto me if I was sick.”

“Well that’s just great. Is he capable of speech?”

“We don’t know but it seems likely, why?”

“’Cause I want him to learn English so I can tell him he’s not my type.”

“It doesn’t mean anything if you say it after you’ve been dissed. But getting back to our initial conversation, he definitely has very solid ideas on how things are supposed to be, which tells me that he lives in a community with complex social rules.” Jollie shook her head. “I just can’t figure out why no one has come looking for him yet. I mean somebody must be missing this guy, friends, family, a husband, somebody.”

“Maybe not,” said Henrik. “Maybe he was exiled.”

Jollie glanced up at him. “You think that’s possible?”

“Can you think of another reason why a creature with a highly evolved social structure would be living alone in a cave?”

Jollie shook her head. “Hope that’s not true, that would make me sad. I wish he could speak, he could tell us so much.”

“Maybe we can teach him,” said Henrik. He moved closer to the large creature. “Rabbit,” he said softly.

The green eyes shifted towards Henrik, the expression cold.

“Rabbit,” said Henrik again. “Rrrrraaaaaaab-bit. Can you say Rabbit?”

Rabbit stared back at Henrik, the cold, predatory gaze fixed on his face.

“Rabbit,” said Henrik.

Rabbit seemed to decide that he wasn’t interested in this game and returned to his meat, slicing it easily and swallowing down the pieces. He seemed far more interested in the darkening sky, watching it as he ate.

“Wonder what he’s staring at?” asked Henrik. “Hmm? What you looking at, big guy?”

Rabbit ignored him, watching the sky. He growled quietly when Henrik touched his back, but it wasn’t an aggressive noise. More like a half-hearted ‘get lost’.

“So what are you drawing?” asked Henrik.

“I’m trying to sketch his tattoos, I want to see if we can learn anything from them. I got a good look at the one on his chest earlier when he was asleep. It’s quite elaborate. Here…”

Jollie turned the page to show Henrik the tattoo. It was an odd thing – a rabbit sitting uptight with one paw on a basket, seemingly greeting three horses crossing a body of water. The whole thing was framed by two trees.

“What is that?” asked Henrik. “What’s it mean?”

“No idea,” said Jollie. “It could be anything, a page from his personal history, a piece of folklore, a ward to keep away evil… hey, what do you think you’re doing, big guy?”

Rabbit slowly sat up, favouring his broken leg, green eyes fixed on something in the night sky. He filled his great lungs and let out a loud rising call, ending in a questioning noise. He listened, then repeated the call.

“Should we be doing that too?” asked Henrik.

“I wouldn’t.” said Jollie. “Especially since we don’t know what he’s doing, or why. I don’t think this is a sing-a-long.”

Henrik seated himself beside Rabbit, trying to see what Rabbit was seeing. Was he looking for a planet? A star? What was he calling to that…?

It almost seemed to wink into view, invisible one moment, then obvious the next, a whole gathering of stars drawing a scene in tiny silver dots.

“It’s a constellation. That thing on his chest, the rabbit and the three horses. Look. See? There. There are the horses, the rabbit…. And the full moon makes the basket. And the distant hills…. The trees rest on the hills, do you see it?”

Jollie stared, then gasped quietly as the image became clear to her. “I see it! I see all of it, the trees, the rabbit….”

Rabbit put his head back and let out the moaning rising call once more, then listened. Henrik heard nothing but the profound silence of the night.

“I wonder what it means to him?” Henrik asked quietly.

* * * * *

Little Yar* was making his Sia** despair. “But why, Sia? Why do we gather here?”

Snow Fire was in no mood for streams of questions. The grass was dry and dead, the prey had moved on, and he was reduced to using his blades on mice and snakes. The entire clan was out hunting, regardless of status, all but the very ill. It was a very hot summer, and fires had chased away most of the prey.

“Yar are you hunting?”

“I am, Sia, but I see nothing to hunt.”

Well there was no blaming the child for speaking the truth. Snow Fire lowered his head and set about using his formidable senses for more elusive prey.

“Has Fox Walking taught you nothing about Rabbit, and the horses?”

“No, Sia.”

“Very well, I shall tell you, but we must search while we speak. Prey does not catch itself.”

“Yes, Sia.”

Snow Fire sniffed, his white hair dirty and lank, dust coating his sunburned flesh as he pawed through the dried grass.

“Rabbit was once a great warrior and hunter, so great in fact it was he who taught Fox Clan to hunt the mighty auroch, and that is still a skill only we have. Many sought his company, desiring to bind with him and be his therlu, but Rabbit would have none of it, for he was too important.

One day, the Three Horses came down from the skies to beg a favour of Rabbit. They had heard of his greatness, and wished for him to guard the basket of fate, in which rests all that will befall every Thrayre-Iy++, the good and the bad, but Rabbit said no. What did he care about the fate of lesser elves?”

“Well he should!” said Yar, pouncing on a bug and eating it.

“Yes, he should,” said Snow Fire, using his knife to test the ground. “And that was what the Horses said, for they wander far and look down on all our kind, and make certain no clan has too much or too little. But Rabbit was haughty and knocked over the basket, and all fates escaped, and the wind carried them all over the land. And then Rabbit learned that none are too important to escape fate, for he saw his own lying in the grass.”

“Was it bad, Sia?”

“The worst,” said Snow Fire. “He saw then that one day he would be crippled, and old, and he would be forced to do one of the most shameful things a Thrayre-Iy can – hunt with weapons other than the ones our wise gods gave us, because he can no longer hunt with his own strength. And Rabbit was ashamed, and begged the Horses of Fate to forgive him, and spare him from this great humiliation.”

“And did they?”

“They said they would forgive him if he did as they asked, and guard the basket of fate, and await their return every century at the Gates of Time, where first the Thrayre-Iyre came to this land. They warned him it would be a lonely vigil, filled with sadness, but the people Rabbit had helped said they would not let him wait alone. Every century they too would return, and praise Rabbit, and thank him for keeping his solitary watch over time and fate.”

“And that is why we gather in this plain and hold the great festival?”

“That is why, child. That is why.” Snow Fire sighed heavily as his knife struck nothing more than an empty burrow. Off to his right he heard his youngest child pounce on something.

“Sia! Sia look!”

Snow Fire turned his head, eyes widening as he saw his small child deliver the killing bite to a large rabbit.

“Yar where did you find that?”

“It crept out of the burrow while you were digging, and I caught it! I caught a rabbit, Sia! Open it for me!”

Snow Fire did, using his blades to cut the rabbit open, awarding little Yar the liver, heart and brains for his accomplishment.

“You shall be as great a hunter as Rabbit one day,” said Snow Fire. “But hopefully less lonely.”

“Oh I will never be lonely, Sia! I have you! Let’s show my rabbit to Aie****!”

Together, little Yar and his mother loped back to the village with his prize.

* * * *

Rabbit called for three nights from his pallet in the arboretum, then finally gave up when the image in the night sky was no longer clear. He seemed depressed, and when Gina gave him a rabbit to eat, he listlessly carried it in his jaws over to a large plant and laid it beneath the spreading leaves with an air of sadness and respect before creeping back to his mattress, staring out the window into the night.

“That boy is depressed,” said Geoff.

“I think someone stood him up,” said Henrik. He looked at Geoff. “How about it? Wanna take a little trip north, see if we can find out what happened to all the other big biting hermaphrodites?”

“Gee I don’t know if we should. A couple of big handsome guys like ourselves? What if it’s mating season? It wouldn’t be fair to the competition.”

“C’mon, we’ll take the landrover. He’s on foot, how far could he have gone?”

It was a week before Henrik and Geoff returned from scouting the area, travelling further than even a truly determined hiker could have gone on foot. They saw no sign of villages or any sort of habitation; just miles of plains, rivers, and low foothills.

“This is getting creepy,” said Geoff as they returned to the base after their sojourn. “Where did he come from? How many miles did he travel?”

“I don’t know,” said Henrik, stepping out of the vehicle. “But he could have been travelling months to get here, years even. All we know is he’s alone. Hi Gina,” he said as he spied her walking towards him.

“Hi. Any luck?”

“Nothing,” said Geoff, taking his things out of the small jeep-like vehicle.

“How’s our boy?” asked Henrik.

“He’s good. He’s healing up nicely. Still a bit down but he seems a little happier. And while you were gone we had some excitement.”

“Figures,” said Henrik. “What was it? Zombies? Dinosaurs? Orcs?”

“Nikki found a village not twenty feet from the base.”

Geoff and Henrik stared in shock. “Run that by me again?” said Henrik.

“We found a village,” said Gina. “Nikki noticed something in the ground, and started clearing away the dirt and there it was, the ruins of a hut. She got Simon and Jollie out there to help and sure enough, there’s a village out there.”

“That’s kinda cool,” said Geoff.

Gina motioned for her friends to follow her into the common room, where they could sit and talk in comfort.

“It gets better,” she said, going to the cooler to get each of them a beer. “I ran a DNA check on that skeleton, and he’s related to our boy.”

“Distant ancestor?” asked Henrik.

“Mother.”

Geoff coughed beer in all directions, while Henrik stared in shock.

“You said that skeleton was fifteen hundred years old!!”

“It is. And I did an analysis on the tattoos our boy has. The oldest is the raven on his left hand. The ink is over four thousand years old.”

“Bullshit,” said Geoff. “Are you saying he’s four thousand years old?”

“At least, yes.”

“Bullshit. He can’t be.”

“Well why not?” said Gina. “There are plenty of animals down on Earth that live for centuries, perhaps even millennia, who knows. But I’m telling you Rabbit is at least four thousand years old, and there is every indication the reason he is hanging around here is because this is where his village was. It’s also possible the reason no one came when he called is because there is no one left to come. He might be the last of a dying species.”

“Oh we gotta teach this boy to talk,” said Henrik. “Can you imagine the history he can teach us?”

“We can’t rush him,” said Gina. “Rob is working with him right now, redoing the tattoos.”

“And how does Rabbit feel about that?” asked Geoff.

“He seems to consider it quite the pick-me-up, breathing new life into old ink. Oh, and… we’re pretty sure we have figured out why he doesn’t like strangers touching the back of his head.”

“This is gonna come under the heading of too much information, isn’t it?” said Geoff.

Gina laughed. “Quite likely. You see we found very, very old scars back there. They were very faint and almost gone, but we found them. Blade marks.”

“Someone try to bite his head off?” asked Henrik.

“No they weren’t that deep. In fact they seem to have been quite shallow, and… accidental. They were on his lower skull and upper neck, and quite likely happened while a larger member of his kind was holding him from behind while he was bent slightly forward…”

“Love nibbles,” said Geoff.

Gina nodded, grinning widely. “Exactly. Love nibbles.”

“From a bigger one of these things?” said Henrik.

“Considerably bigger. The blades are at least twice the length of Rabbit’s.”

“Wow,” said Henrik. “Don’t think I would want to mess with that.”

“Wonder what this place looked like when they were all alive?” mused Geoff quietly.

* * * *

Yar was young and wild, and making his parents despair over his behaviour. While it was true that most youngsters in the throes of their first cycle were difficult to control and drove their parents to distraction, Yar was a special case; he had chosen to have his first cycle during the gathering of the Clans to greet the Three Horses. Five hundred thousand Thrayre-Iyre gathered in the great flat expanse that had once many thousands of years ago been an inland sea, and Snow Fire’s youngest child was somewhere in the middle of it, exploring his sexuality with as many of the visitors as he could.

The family was desperate to find him. Snow Fire was three days from giving birth, and his beloved therlu Stone Horse had badly broken his leg the week before. Spirit Fox, the second eldest of the trio of children, was back in the family yurt, pregnant himself and two weeks overdue, lost in the shame and depression that came with having given himself to a faithless lover. Silver Bird was ill with an ailment in his chest and lungs, which meant Yar was the only one in the family able to hunt and care for them. For five weeks now, Yar had hunted relentlessly for his Sia and ehre***, made poultices and healing teas, and fetched and carried for his Aie, all without a word of complaint. But this morning when Yar had awakened, Snow Fire could tell from long experience that Yar felt his blood aflame in his veins, and his spirit was like a wild horse trapped.

Snow Fire watched his youngest child, listened to him huff and softly growl, gazing out of the yurt. His heart sank.

‘Oh not today, not now, he is too young to be in cycle and we need him…’ Snow Fire spoke softly. “Yar.”

Yar did not seem to hear his Sia. He raised his head and tracked a thousand new and exciting scents, heard songs and sounds he had never heard before, and the warm late spring day was beckoning to him. He was in his ninety-fifth year of life, and the summer day when he caught the rabbit to show his Aie had passed eighty years ago. While that seemed young to his Sia, it was more than old enough.

“Yar,” said Snow Fire again.

“I will not be gone long, Sia,” said Yar quietly. “I… I am going to hunt.”

And that was it. Yar was out the door and gone, and none of his family was in any condition to go catch him. Snow Fire sighed heavily, and chanced a glance at Spirit Fox. He could only hope Yar had better sense than his elder ehre.

“Well look at it this way,” said Stone Horse, noticing the glance. “It’s his first cycle; chances are he will not get pregnant.”

“No,” growled Snow Fire, “he will just acquire a reputation as a…”

“As a very welcoming individual,” interjected Stone Horse.

“He is too young! He’s not ready for the responsibility of finding suitable lover!”

“My love, calm yourself. He will go give his heart to some skinny kid like himself, they will vow undying love to the moon and stars, and in three weeks he’ll be asking us what he was thinking.”

Snow Fire knew his therlu was probably right, but he did not want to take a chance. Spirit Fox had defied his parents and run off with an outcast from Wolf Clan, and had crawled home four months later, badly beaten, abandoned, and pregnant. He had chosen a lazy coward, one with two families already, and both sorely neglected. Fortunately Spirit knew the only rational thing to do was come back home and make amends with his family, but when he tried his coward of a therlu attacked him. Beating one’s pregnant therlu was one of the worst crimes an Elf could commit, and the commotion attracted some of the Elves in the area. They gave the abuser a taste of his own medicine and sent him on his way before bringing Spirit Fox home. One of them, a weaver named Dragonfly, had been bringing Spirit rabbits to eat, and Snow Fire hoped Spirit would return his affection. He could do far worse than a gentle weaver. Snow Fire sighed heavily, and looked towards his eldest child, Silver Bird.

“Go find Yar, child.”

Silver Bird coughed heavily, wiping away a small trace of blood. “YUCK! Not me! What if he’s…?”

“Then wait until he’s done, either way go get the brat.”

Silver Bird rolled his eyes, then left the family yurt in search of his brother.

* * * *

Yar meanwhile was doing his best to spread good will among the clans. His virginity was a fond memory of the distant past, lost somewhere between Rabbit Clan and Swan Clan, and he was currently flirting shamelessly with the warrior of Dragon Clan. At least he was until the warrior’s pregnant therlu+ launched himself out of the crowd like an enraged wolf and tore several holes in the youngster’s hide. Point taken; he had to be a bit more careful about his choices. Bleeding and dirty and only slightly daunted, Yar paused long enough to see if anyone looked interested. Three young Elves were absolutely fascinated with him, but they had the skinny gangly frame of youths, and Yar was not interested in youths. He liked the older Elves. His eyes would go only to the massive, scarred, and tried warriors, instinct telling him he wanted a great hunter and protector for his children. Not that he was old enough for children or binding, but he would be soon enough. Instinct told him to search outside his clan, just as it told him what he wanted in a lover. His personal tastes, however, told him he did not want anything too young, too skinny or too ugly.

He was a picky slut.

A handsome young Elf made a polite inquiry, and Yar shot him down with a most disrespectful gesture, to the amusement of all who saw. Then Yar’s head shot up, and he breathed deep a wonderful scent; old and powerful and masculine, and just right. Yar bounded off to find the one he sought, and was not disappointed.

The Elf was lounging on an array of woven mats before his yurt with a handful of companions, all marked with the tattoo of the Bear Clan. He was massive; truly huge and impressive, a glorious example of his race, with long black hair falling loose around his broad powerful shoulders. He was scarred, and looked as if he had driven off many a large and menacing predator from his group. He had not only the tattoos of a warrior, but the almost never-seen tattoo of a Great Elder; an Elf from the Faery Realm over ten thousand years old. This Elf had not been born here; he had come through one of the Gates between this world and the Realm of the Gods.

Yar wanted him. Wanted him for his own; wanted him as he did not know he could want anyone. He did not care if he himself was young; this was the Elf he wanted. Yar approached slowly, submissively, ages upon aeons of instinct telling him how to play this game. He was young; he had no status, not even a name. He could not even claim to be fertile; this was his first cycle, and not all Thrayre-Iyre could bear. An ancient creature such as this had likely fathered four or five families; he might even have status enough to have more than one therlu. The only thing Yar had going for him was potential; potential to grow and become something worthy.

It wasn’t much. But as his Sia always said; “If you don’t ask, you will never know.”

Swallowing nervously, Yar approached, submissive and demure, acknowledging his complete and utter lack of status, and asking permission to draw near. The three youths he had dismissed earlier were openly laughing, clearly thinking Yar had bit off far more than he could chew. Yar himself was fully prepared to be either dismissed or fed like a baby, and the great ancient warrior’s clan seemed amused at the antics of the young Elf. But no one came forth to chase him off, and after a few moments the huge old warrior actually bothered to get up off the ground and walk over to the long-limbed youngster.

The honour was not missed by Yar, who demonstrated the fine manners his Sia had taught him by dipping down in a respectful bow, awaiting inspection by his elder. He was considerably taller than Yar and a truly imposing specimen. He was certainly old and wise enough to know what condition Yar was in, and Yar closed his eyes and winced mentally. This elder would know instantly what Yar had spent his day doing, and with multiple partners. Such antics might be overlooked due to his youthful age, but wanton behaviour was not an attractive trait.

Yar waited, letting the older Elf examine him, hoping he saw enough to keep him interested. He heard one of the Elves lounging with the Elder make a comment about getting his bed wet, and Yar blushed with embarrassment. The Elf gently nipped his ear, and Yar blushed a little more deeply, this time with excitement. He had the old fellow’s attention, and so far no pregnant therlure were coming out of the crowd to rend his flesh. Yar turned slowly, coyly, as if gently warding him off, and was thrilled when the Elf followed, both moving in a slow, graceful dance.

“I’ve breeches older than him,” said one of the old Elf’s friends.

“Mind your manners,” said a second. “If Wolf wishes to have his bed wet, that is his business.”

“That child’s Sia will have something to say about all this I’ll wager.”

“Well if he wants a piece of the one to deflower his baby, smells to me he’ll be going after a lot of Elves.”

Yar straightened up and huffed. He may have gone a little overboard on his first cycle, but there certainly wasn’t a line up! Only two… or three… okay seven. But it was a clan gathering. He could plead he was on a diplomatic mission.

Wolf nipped his neck, and Yar abruptly turned on his heel, showing his hecklers his back. The elders howled with laughter at his cheek, and Wolf seemed amused. Yar began walking, and Wolf followed.

They moved slowly, gracefully, oblivious to the others around them, making their way to the edge of the mighty crowd. Elves stepped out of the way, respecting the pair as they forged their new friendship, but watching with curiosity as the massive Elder slowly and persistently paced after the youngster.

They made their way out of the crowd, and Yar began moving a little more quickly, wanting to show off his strength, and test the interest of his suitor. Wolf increased his speed as well, and being as large as he was he had no difficulty keeping up. It was a little intimidating, and Yar hastened his step.

By the time they made the small glade twenty miles away they were far from the gathering, moving at a dead run, darting and weaving so fast it was a wonder they did not crash into the young white trees that grew there. Wolf was fast and he had much strength, and Yar, an untried youth, was becoming exhausted. He was beginning to make mistakes, and Wolf had almost caught him three times already. Yar was desperate to find a place to stop, and when he saw a likely spot he darted into it. Surrounded by high trees and blossoming vines, he halted, panting hard, his body trembling with the exertion. He wondered if he had done well, unimpressed with his own stamina, doubting he had impresses the older Elf with his speed and agility.

When he realized later that night his courtship chase had taken him just over twenty miles, he understood why Wolf had chosen him. It was an unheard of distance for one of his age, and had earned him what he desired.

Wolf drew close, gently testing his lover, and Yar surprised himself by finding more strength. He bolted, and went over the natural hedge enclosing him like a deer. Wolf went straight after him. Yar ran, darting, dodging, moving at an incredible speed. Then he made a mistake; turning by accident into a natural enclosure of brambles and fallen trees. He spun and was about to bolt out of the dead end when Wolf was suddenly right there before him, and there was no place to go. Yar fought him, and the two battled like wolves, but only for a few moments. The race was over, and each had proven himself to the other. Yar felt himself pinned heavily face down to the ground and penetrated. It was not the upright binding stance; they did not know each other well enough for such commitments. But Wolf had won his prize, as had Yar, and he relaxed beneath the huge body, giving himself willingly as he felt his elder’s blades on the back of his head. He sighed and smiled, the expression almost smug.

They made love, then went to a pond to wash themselves before seeking out wild garlic and other herbs to eat, eventually going after a bee hive, and the sweet honey. Yar would never dare approach a hive, but Wolf was virtually impervious to the enraged bees, bringing his young love a large chunk of the honeycomb. They shared their stolen loot, licking honey off each other, then heading back to the pond to wash the sticky substance off. While in the pond, Wolf approached Yar once more, and took him gently, holding him in his powerful arms as he penetrated him. Yar gasped, closing his eyes, letting himself be held, gasping and panting as Wolf thrust slow and deep.

* * * *

It was late in the day, and Yar’s cycle was fast wearing off. It was his first, and false, as firsts usually were, and of no real duration. Besides, he had found his suitor; there was no need to continue looking. The pair dozed in contentment among the white trees, until something began to nibble at Yar, rousing him from his nap, reminding him that something needed doing…

He sat up abruptly and gasped. “I left them! I ran off and left them! I did not even bring Sia his breakfast! I am horrible beyond words!”

Wolf sat up and yawned mightily, exposing a daunting set of blades. “Nonsense, I am sure your Sia is just fine.”

Yar began hunting for his clothes, tears in his eyes. “No, he’s not! He’s due to bear in just a few days, and so is my ehre Spirit Fox. My Aie broke his leg, and Silver Bird has an inflammation of the lungs. I am the only one able to hunt and… and I ran off and left them! You must think me very irresponsible and ill behaved.”

“Well,” said Wolf, “it was not the most considerate thing I ever heard, but perhaps not so hard to understand. It must be very hard, being the only one in the family able to hunt, and having to play healer as well.”

“It is,” said Yar quietly. “And I confess I was angry about it, though I said nothing. What could I say? It was not their fault, they are not lazy cowards who will not hunt, fate simply conspired to have everyone either pregnant or ill at the same time. And then I went into cycle.” Yar sighed heavily. “There is nothing for it, I shall have to bring them meat, and apologize.”

Wolf smiled. “May I hunt with you?”

Yar smiled, blushing faintly. “I would be honoured. Thank you.”

Wolf rose to his full impressive height and stretched, then looked for his clothes. “Well I am the reason your poor Sia has gone without being fed. I should apologize as well. And it would be a chance for them to look me over.”

Yar pulled on his boots. “Were you considering staying with our clan for a while?”

“Oh, I was thinking about it. Now let us set to business. It shall be a long run carrying meat.”

Yar blinked. “Carrying? Oh no, we could not carry what I intend to hunt. I have a family to feed, not to mention other members of the clan who are ill or pregnant. I must bring something large.”

“Child it would take an auroch to feed all those mouths.”

“Indeed it would.” Yar finished dressing and scented the breeze. “And one of the great smelly brutes is right over there.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “You are not serious.”

“I am,” said Yar, giving Wolf a curious look. “Do your people not hunt them?”

“Nay, they are dangerous, and far too large to carry. It would take weapons to bring down such an animal, and only cowards hunt that way. Cowards, or the infirm.”

Yar swallowed, and said shyly; “Perhaps my Elder would permit me to teach him?”

Wolf looked amused. “My child if you can bring down an auroch I shall fall to my knees before you and declare you a Faery Being, for I truly do not believe it can be done.”

“It can,” said Yar. “Hunt with me. I shall show you.”

Wolf followed the youngster, watching as he dropped into a silent hunting prowl, circling the massive bull who was feeding alone upon the plain. Yar motioned for Wolf to flank the mighty beast, and the two prowled close. Then, just as they drew near, Yar rushed it. The great animal turned and ran, but in the wrong direction. Yar headed the beast off and altered its course, sending it towards the gathering, and his clan.

The pair chased the bull, weaving a deadly dance with the beast, having to dodge angry swings of the mighty horns, keeping the increasingly desperate animal running. At long last they reached the gathering, and Elves dodged out of the way as the two hunters drove the thing towards the Yar’s family yurt. Chunks of mud and grass flew from the deadly hooves, blood running down its shoulder from where Yar had bit it, the dark hide gleaming with sweat.

“How in the name of the Gods are you going to stop it?” called Wolf.

“Like this!”

Yar leapt on its neck, grabbing the massive horns and twisting its head. Auroch and Elf fell heavily, rolling over and over, churning up grass and earth until both lay still on the grass in a heap mere feet from the door of Yar’s family yurt, the auroch with its neck snapped. After a moment, Yar stirred, picking himself up and shaking himself off. Wolf gaped in astonishment, and watched as Yar threw back his head and uttered a moaning howl to let his clan know he was home, and had provided meat.

Wolf stared, as did most of the Elves in the area, who likewise had never dreamed of bringing down one of the massive hairy bovines, fearing their long horns and pounding hooves. Yet this youngster had slain one - alone. Yar shook himself again, stunned from his fall, then looked towards Wolf. He laughed as his lover dropped to his knees and proclaimed him to be Argent Moon, mighty hunter of myth and legend, who would bring home whole dragons to feed his babies. Yar laughed, but the compliment made him so happy it brought tears to his eyes. He pounced on Wolf and kissed him, then looked up as he heard his Sia call his name. Obediently, Yar went to Snow Fire, taking his hands and kneeling before him.

“Sia I am so sorry, please forgive me. I was wrong to run off when you needed me. Look, I hunted for you; I hunted for the whole clan. Say you forgive me, please.”

Snow Fire stroked his hand over his child’s hair, his mismatched eyes fixed on the enormous Elf he had seen running the auroch with Yar. He was old, and wise. It was likely he had raised families before, and would not be inclined to flee responsibility. He was a good choice. Little Yar, it seemed, was not so little anymore. He had run off, true, but had come back with food, and with a suitor more than worthy of him.

“Hush, my baby. You are more than forgiven. Rise, Yar. You fled this yurt a baby, but you have returned an adult. Fox Walking will prepare the auroch, for you must prepare to be named your adult name.

“Named!” shouted Silver Bird and Spirit Fox in unison. “How come he gets a name? We are older than he!”

Snow Fire gave his children a glare, and the two fell silent, knowing full well why they had not been named, having neither the age nor an accomplishment worthy of such a thing. Yar slowly stood up, looking surprised. He glanced at Wolf, then at his Sia before lowering his head and meekly stepping aside to let his Sia meet his chosen. He watched as Snow Fire slowly approached Wolf Hunter, reading his history on his body. He was Warrior of the Bear Clan, Great Elder from the Faery Realm, therlu of Mist Rising, now deceased, Aie of no less than one hundred and forty three children, all currently alive and accounted for. Odd that he did not seem to have borne any children, but that was none of their business. He had fought bears, wolves, great cats, and, Yar noted with amusement, too many fierce house spiders to count. Likely his children had awarded him that title. Wolf knelt in respect to the Sia of his lover, knowing full well that if Sia did not like him, he would be sent packing. But Snow Fire did not send him off.

“Rise up, Warrior. I am pleased to see one of my children has sense enough to pick his suitors wisely. But I feel compelled to ask, how did he attract the gaze of one such as yourself? With your status I should think you would have two therlure at least.”

Wolf shook his head. “Nay, I do not hold with such things. Mist Rising was my love for many, many centuries, and when he died I thought I would never find another. But my heart had grown lonely, and I had begun to wonder if it was not time to fade when Yar approached me.”

Snow Fire blinked in surprise. “Yar approached you? Not the other way around?”

“Aye, he did. And a most cheeky thing he was, even showed his back to my friends. But he said you always told him that if he did not ask, he would never know.”

“I did! But I did not realize he would use my teachings to bring home one such as you. Please, come sit at our fire. You are welcome here.” Snow Fire looked around, as if puzzled. “But pray tell, where did you find the auroch? With so many gathered it had to have been some distance away.”

“It was,” said Wolf. “We found it by the glade of white trees.”

Snow Fire gaped. “That’s twenty miles from here!”

“Well it was a very merry chase he led.”

Snow Fire turned to his child. “You made him chase you twenty miles, and then you both chased that thing another twenty back?”

Yar began to feel worried. “Did I do well, Sia?”

Snow Fire raised an eyebrow at his child. “Go make ready, brat, and do not ask silly questions.”

Wolf followed the heavily pregnant Elf to the large matt spread before the hut, and settled himself upon it, a most formidable addition to Fox Clan. Yar dipped his head to kiss him, then went off to make ready to claim his adult name; Ta’Na Yar, Eyes On Horizon, a name that would be marked by the tattooing of a stylized raven on his left hand, and the birth of a legend about how he was descended from Argent Moon. For many centuries, the tale of the courtship chase of Ta’Na Yar and Wolf Hunter would be told at the great gatherings to honour Rabbit, and the coming of the Three Horses.

* * * *

One thing was very clear to Henrik – Rabbit did not want to watch the village be excavated. They had taken him out of the arboretum to see what they were doing, only to watch as he slunk off to the river, broken leg and all, finding a spot where he could not observe any of the activity. He settled himself on the grass and watched the water go by, his back to the base. Henrik followed him down to the water’s edge and seated himself beside him.

“You know what happened here, don’t you?” asked Henrik quietly.

Rabbit shook his head, though Henrik had no doubt it was in response to a bug landing on him and not the question.

“There’s so much you could tell us,” said Henrik softly. “And you can’t. We know nothing about your language, or your way of life. All we know is you’re not human and you’re not an animal. You just seem to be all alone, and we don’t know how to make friends.”

Rabbit seemed to be ignoring him. Henrik had noticed that Rabbit seemed to have limited facial expressions, at least when he wasn’t heavily drugged. Sober he was cold, aloof, distant, and unsmiling. He never smiled, not even a quirk of the lips. Not even his newly redone tattoos elicited a smirk, though he was clearly pleased with them. Rob had done a beautiful job recreating the delicate line work. Henrik touched the ring of brambles around Rabbit’s right bicep, noticing the trio of berries that dotted it.

“Two red, one white. What does that mean, hmm?”

Rabbit clicked his blades quietly, and Henrik moved his hand. “You do speak, don’t you? You have a language, it’s just not made of words. Are you going to teach me about your ways? Why does your lover grab you by the back of the…?”

Henrik touched one of the old faint scars, and then….the world became sort of a blur. It wasn’t until he was lying on the bottom of the mostly dry river bed eight feet below the bank that he realized Rabbit had grabbed him by the back of his coat with his teeth, shaken him violently and dropped him.

Shook him. Like an errant puppy. A six foot, two inch, two-hundred-pound man. Rabbit had picked him up and shaken some manners into him.

“Oooooo-kay…..” said Henrik quietly. “Note to self; the no-touchy the neck rule applies to me too.”

Rabbit huffed and put his head up, snubbing him. Henrik slowly stood up, smiling.

“What are humans to you, hmm? Very little, I think. Are you going to help me up?”

Henrik held up his hand. Rabbit haughtily clicked his blades, then looked away. Henrik’s grin widened.

“You shit,” he whispered. “You’re playing.”

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw