5 Books That Helped Me Write My Post-Apocalyptic Cozy Novel

5 Books That Shaped War Bunny

Of course, when you pitch a novel with talking animals to people, they immediately think, “children’s book.”  But War Bunny is a fast-paced YA/adult story about friendship, honor, standing up for yourself, and coming of age. Fortunately, there are some fantastic examples of fiction that I could use as comparisons and inspiration for my work. 

Here are five books I cannot recommend highly enough.

War Bunny is part naturalistic adventure, part modern-day fable. In terms of style, it’s both fierce and cozy. One reader described it in this way: “Have you ever needed a book to be like a warm cuddly blanket to wrap around you for comfort? This is it.” 

It’s worth noting that there are no villains in War Bunny. (There are predators who want to eat bunnies, but they also want to go home and play with the kids. Just like real animals do.)

Book Two in the War Bunny Chronicles, Summerday, was published in 2023. In this book, readers see the conflicts begun in War Bunny grow until they encompass the entire Million Acre Wood where the animals live. Book Three, City of Oom, will be published in 2024. This book covers the adventures of our heroes as they seek out the ancient city of bears that rules the Known World. And there are several books planned beyond that, as the prey animals’ struggle for an equitable world continues. 

But it all begins with War Bunny. The book is free on all major platforms, and you can read the first chapter below.

Excerpt: War Bunny 

CHAPTER 1

The Loved One spake unto them, saying, “Glory to those that run. For I shall meet them in the jaws of the Blessed Ones, and we will be with Dah in Paradise.”

—Book of Fescue: 4:17-19

ANASTASIA

The jaws of the fox snapped shut where Anastasia’s head had just been, the right canine tooth catching the tip of her long left ear. A lick of pain raced down her ear and her heart banged against her ribs. The fear burn rushed through her, and her powerful legs hurled her forward. The fox’s jaws closed again, so close to her neck that she could feel the hot breath.

Heart hammering, the brown yearling rabbit flung herself through the small bushes and over the dead leaves and twigs. The fox came behind, paws casting up a welter of leaves and dirt. His eyes were bright, his teeth shone. Anastasia heard his excited whine rising over his harsh breathing.

Why had she left the area near the warren, again? Why couldn’t she be obedient and follow Warren Mother’s commands? I’m so stupid.

She flashed past the ancient apple tree where she had stopped just a few minutes before. Her back legs drove her forward, her spine expanding and contracting like a steel spring, her front legs barely guiding her flight. Her golden eyes were wide, scanning the branches, stones, stumps, and grasses racing toward her, charting a path. And behind, she heard the fox’s claws digging into the earth as he raced after her, the kill whimper already forming in his throat.

She knew she should pray now, and accept Glorification as Dah commanded, but somehow, she couldn’t. She didn’t love the fox enough, in spite of being taught to do so since the day she was born.

She veered left, felt a burning in her right flank, and turned her head to see the fox’s canine tooth catch on her right side, tearing her skin. Pain arced along her right rear leg. She started to limp, slowing down, and the fox whined in the killing joy as he hurtled forward. She could not escape.

She felt the Giving start to come upon her. Her limbs began to weaken, her mind clouded. She stumbled. The fox yelped with pleasure. But one word drummed in her mind. The obstinate kernel of herself that would not give in: No.

Suddenly, Anastasia’s wide eyes found the thing she was looking for: the southernmost hole in Bloody Thorn Warren. The sight of safety helped her throw off the Giving, and she plunged ahead, trying to shake the fog in her mind. The fox saw the hole, too, and angled toward it, trying to reach the hole before she did and cut her off.

Anastasia tensed the ropy muscles in her back legs and launched into the air, ignoring the pain, aiming right at the welcoming darkness of the burrow. The fox saw her shadow and looked up to see her airborne, just above him. He tried to push himself upward with his forelegs, jaws reaching for her soft belly. But the change in direction slowed his motion, and his teeth clicked shut on empty space.

An instant later, Anastasia’s body crash-landed at the mouth of the burrow and tumbled inside. She hurtled down the slope, half running, half falling. Behind her, the fox jammed his muzzle into the hole, his head filling the space and blocking out the light. His angry snarl echoed down the corridor. “Next time!”

Anastasia stumbled to a stop at the foot of the slope, staring up at the entryway, panting heavily. Once his shadow disappeared and the songbirds started singing again, she knew he was gone. She ran back to the entryway and touched the left side three times, then the right side three times, eyes darting around, looking for the fox.

Still panting, she hastily murmured a rhyme she had learned long ago:

“Two little bunnies went up a hill,

One came back and the other lay still.”

Then she slapped the earth at the foot of the doorway twice, and an instant later she was bolting down the passage into the soothing smell of rabbit as fast as she could go. Within a few feet, she ran into a well-fed blue and white rabbit, bowling her over. It was Sweet Leaf, an older sister. She nipped Anastasia’s belly, hard. 

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she said crossly.

“Sorry,” panted Anastasia. “Blessed One. Right on me.”

“Oh, were you almost Glorified?” asked Sweet Leaf, her eyes warm and bright.

“Yes,” said Anastasia. 

“Poor thing,” said Sweet Leaf, and nuzzled her. “Oh, and your side, too.” She began to lick the wound. “Holy day,” she murmured.

“Every one a gift,” said Anastasia, automatically, her heart still hammering.

“Did you go beyond the Ring of Love?” asked Sweet Leaf.

Anastasia pulled her left ear down with her paws and licked the blood off the tip. She was starting to really feel the pain of her injuries now.

“Did you go past the Ring?”  Sweet Leaf asked again. 

“What difference does it make?” asked Anastasia. She was breathing hard, the smell of her fear loud in the close space.

Some other rabbits in the warren were attracted by the sound of talking and the smell of blood. “What happened? Someone get Glorified?” asked a tan tortoiseshell bunny with a slight limp.

“Warren Mother asked us not to go beyond the Ring a month ago,” said Sweet Leaf. “She said from now on, stay close to the warren. Always stop at the acacia trees.”

Anastasia’s favorite little sister appeared. She was just two months old, too young to understand her relationship to Anastasia. “You hurt, auntie?” she asked, her green eyes huge against her golden fur. Without waiting for an answer, she immediately began licking Anastasia’s ear.

“Thank you, Sunbeam,” panted Anastasia. “You are a sweet baby girl.”

Sweet Leaf turned in the passageway, pressing against Anastasia while she licked her flank. “What was it?”

“Fox,” said Anastasia.

“This tear starts very high on your side. That Blessed must have been almost over you.”

“It was close,” said Anastasia, nuzzling against Sunbeam’s shoulder.

“That was careless,” said Sweet Leaf.

Anastasia stiffened. “Yes. I was stupid.”

The tan tortoiseshell bunny scratched his ear. “And you led the fox back here?” Tsk tsk.

“Where should I have run?” asked Anastasia.

A handsome, cream-colored rabbit with black ears stepped out of the crowd. It was Aiden, the Rememberer of Bloody Thorn Warren, redolent of fresh radish tops. He spread his paws in a kindly way. “We run even when we don’t need to run,” he said gently. He kissed Anastasia’s cheek. “There’s no outrunning the mercy of Dah.”

“There’s no outrunning the mercy of Dah,” repeated Sunbeam softly as she licked Anastasia’s ear.

At the sound of Sunbeam’s tiny infant’s whisper, Anastasia felt her head get hot, and the streak of heat traveled down her back.

“Where is the mercy of Dah in this?” she asked Aiden.

Aiden smiled. “Dah’s mercy is everywhere. It’s here with you, right now. You’re safe. You’re alive.”

“If I almost die, that shows Dah’s mercy?” asked Anastasia. A murmur ran through the crowd of furry faces surrounding her. She could smell their rising hostility.

Aiden looked at her sternly. “There’s no call for that kind of language, my child,” he said. Then he laid his forepaw on her shoulder and said, softly, “Glory to those that run, it says in the Word of Dah. Even when you run, Dah is with you.” He looked out over the crowd. “He is with all of us.”

Somewhere in the crowd, a rabbit stamped three times. Not the panicky, single, hard staccato stamp that says alarm! But rather, the slow and heavy triple-stamp of affirmation. Another rabbit took up the triple-stamp, then another, until the space was filled with the sound. Aiden’s smooth and kindly voice continued, “Dah’s mercy is in the dandelion leaf. His mercy is in the apple twig.” Aiden sat up tall and spread his forepaws wide, gazing beneficently down at Anastasia. “Dah loves you. Dah has a plan for you. And that’s so wonderful, since…” he broke off, awkwardly.

“Since what?” said Anastasia.

“Since … how you … are.” Aiden looked embarrassed. Some rabbits were looking away.

“What do you mean, Honored Rememberer?” asked Anastasia. She knew very well what he meant.

Aiden was silent. He looked away. Sweet Leaf stopped licking for a moment. “You know. Without kittens,” she said, blandly. “After four or five bucks have tried their luck…” She shrugged. “Warren starts talking.” She snuggled in close to Anastasia’s side. “But Dah still loves you. And so do I.”

BRICABRAC

Bricabrac, a rather handsome young water rat with a copper earring in his left ear, grinned as he looked up at the tree and saw the magpie circling a nest. Perfecto. He approached the base of the tree carefully, moving a little more slowly than usual under the weight of his heavy backpack. It only took him a couple of minutes to find what he was looking for: the entrance to a burrow. He sniffed. Smelled like a mouse. He opened his pack and rummaged around inside. Then, he struck a lazy pose just outside the mouth of the burrow and started talking.

“So, if there was a wood mouse in this area, that would be good news for everyone, eh?”

Bricabrac fell silent and scratched his belly. He turned over on his back and looked up at the sky. “A smart mouse. A hardworking mouse. That’s what makes the Million Acre Wood a great place to live. And raise a family.”

A mouse’s head appeared suddenly out of the darkness. “Oh, a rat.” He looked grouchy. “What?”

“Oh, hey! What up? What up?” said Bricabrac. “A wood mouse? That’s awesome! I’ve got some items that could be just perfect for a wood mouse.” He rattled his pack. “Gifts of the Dead Gods. Rare tools. I brought these all the way from Oom.”

He took out a curved piece of glass with jagged edges that said “epsi” on it. “Look at this here. Solid diamond. I’m sure you’ve heard of diamonds. The Dead Gods loved them.” He held up the glass and looked through it at the wood mouse. “Two major uses here. One, it’s a window. Set this in an opening in the outer wall of your passage, and you can see what’s outside without the cold air coming in.”

The wood mouse scoffed. “Pffft. Who cares?”

“Aaaaaand you can cut with it,” said Bricabrac. “Sharp edge here: Perfect for a big root that you can’t get your choppers around. Pretty sweet. Am I right? Here, take a feel. See how hard it is, eh? Heft it. Solid diamond.”

The wood mouse squinted at the glass. “Eh, I don’t know.”

“Or, or, or,” said Bricabrac, rummaging through his pack, “a very fine piece of workmanship by the Dead Gods: this burrow protector.” He took out a large metal thumbtack. “Check it out, friend. Punch this up through a leaf to anchor it. Place it in the mouth of your burrow and cover it with a fine layer of dirt. You know where it is, but no one else does. Some no-goodnik comes up—maybe a weasel?— and thinks he’s gonna sneak in and surprise you, right? That would be bad news! But he steps on this burrow protector and suddenly, he’s got a metal thorn in his paw. Does he scream? You bet he does. Goodbye, surprise.”

Bricabrac laid the thumbtack on the ground. The wood mouse sniffed it. “What are we talking about?”

“Now, that’s a sharp wood mouse right there,” said Bricabrac. “But I have to tell you, friend, for items like these, from the Dead Gods direct to you, I have to be paid in moneystones. No roots, no slugs, no favors.”

The wood mouse looked at Bricabrac and chewed one of his whiskers. Up above, the magpie called loudly. “What’s a moneystone?” asked the wood mouse.

“City thing,” said Bricabrac. “Shiny disks. They love those things in Oom. Go figure. I’m a country boy, myself. I grew up around here, just a few miles south.” Bricabrac looked through the trees. “My family’s still there, bless their hearts.”

The wood mouse looked at a small beetle crawling nearby.

“I see you have an upstairs neighbor who collects shiny things,” said Bricabrac, hurriedly. “And I’m guessing sometimes she drops them. I used to live under a magpie, myself, as a youngster. So, I got a feeling you could have some moneystones in your burrow right now.”

“Maybe,” said the wood mouse.

Bricabrac smiled. “Just gathering dust, eh? You could trade them for something pretty useful.”

The wood mouse stared at Bricabrac for a moment. Then, he went down into his burrow. A few moments later, he emerged, holding a coin in his teeth. On one side, it said, “10 CENTIMES” and “FÉDÉRATION CANADIENNE, RÉPUBLIQUE DU QUÉBEC 2097” next to a beaver under a palm tree.

“There’s that nickel I’ve been looking for!” chuckled Bricabrac. “And look at the beaver on there. Handsome devil, eh?” Bricabrac picked up the coin in his small, fine hands. “So, what can I do you for, buddy?”

“I’ll take the diamond,” said the wood mouse.

“Excellent choice!” said Bricabrac. “You’ll get many long years of service from this, friend.” Bricabrac picked up the “epsi” glass and presented it to the wood mouse with a flourish. Then he put the dime in his backpack and fastened it on his back again. “Now then,” said Bricabrac, his copper earring shining in the sun, “Could I trouble you for the location of any other magpie nests in this area?”

ANASTASIA

Anastasia limped through the passages of Bloody Thorn Warren, trying to avoid running into anyone. It was well into twilight now, so most of the rabbits would be outside, feeding and playing near the many holes leading into the warren. The warm vanilla smell of rabbits surrounded her, but she could take no comfort in it. At the end of a long passage, she found a small chamber, cluttered with objects. A latticework of roots in the upper part of the chamber allowed a small hole in the ceiling to exist without causing the ceiling to collapse. A single ray of light shone down, illuminating an old rabbit with dappled silver fur and a splash of white on his forehead, peering intently at a small pile of lichen.

Her heart leaped. “Nicodemus!” she cried. She limped toward him, and double-nose-bumped his flank. His tranquil scent calmed her. Then they touched noses, and the whole story of the fox came tumbling out. Nicodemus nuzzled her, pressing his face into the fur near her ear.

“I’m so sorry, dear one,” he murmured. “It makes my heart hurt to think how close you came.” 

He pulled away and crept slowly across the chamber, past piles of twigs, flowers, leaves, moneystones, and a jumble of other items. Against the wall, five ancient, yellowed pages stood, carefully bracketed between fresh maple leaves. Along the bottom of one of the pages some text was visible: Wilderness Survival in North America – 142.

“I think I have something here for you,” said Nicodemus. “Willow bark will help with the pain.” He picked up a scrap of bark in his mouth and brought it over to Anastasia. “Chew on this for a bit, my dear.”

Anastasia took the bark and chewed it for a few moments. Then she began trembling. “I was almost Glorified today,” she said.

“We will all be with Dah in the end,” said Nicodemus. “Even the lucky ones, like me.” He settled down next to her, pressing against her unwounded left flank and calming her trembling. There was a small sound in the passage.

Anastasia leaned into him. “You know so much,” she said.

Nicodemus shrugged. “I’m just an old Reader,” he said. “But I’ve seen a few things.”

“So how does this mean that Dah loves me?”

Nicodemus placed his paw upon hers. “Shhhh,” he murmured.

They heard the sound in the passage again and looked up to see Sweet Leaf in the entrance to the chamber. A moment later, she had stepped back into the shadows. 

“Do you want to come by tomorrow morning when the light is good?” asked Nicodemus.

“But—” began Anastasia.

Nicodemus smiled gently. “Best time of the day for reading.”

Anastasia’s eyes flicked toward the mouth of the chamber. “Fluffy’s better than me,” she said. “You’ve already said he’ll be Reader of Bloody Thorn after…” She trailed off.

“After my time,” said Nicodemus. “Will you come and read?”

“I’m so bad with capital letters,” she said.

“You have the hunger to learn,” said Nicodemus. “And no matter what anyone says about you, your mind is strong.” He looked up into the fading shaft of light. “Remember that, my dear.”

Anastasia heard a large rabbit moving down the passageway. Then a sturdy buck with chestnut fur and a tan underbelly stepped into the light. It was Briar, one of the First Born. “Warren Mother requests your presence in her chamber.”

Anastasia followed him, her heart skittering as they threaded through the many runs and passages of the warren. Briar said nothing. Soon, they were at the entryway to her mother’s chambers. Briar gestured for her to enter. A trembling seized her. She froze.

“Go on, then,” said Briar, stepping toward her.

“Yes, yes,” said Anastasia. Shakily, she touched the left side of the entryway three times, then the right side three times. She quietly sang an ancient couplet.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry,

Fox won’t hear and he’ll pass right by.”

Then she touched the floor twice.

“Not this again,” hissed Briar, shoving her forward with his large chest. “Stop your crazy little paw dance and get in there.”

Anastasia stumbled into the chamber and came to a stop at the front paws of a stately, steel-gray rabbit with a slash of white across her face and down her back. It was Olympia, the Warren Mother of Bloody Thorn.

Olympia regarded her with her ocean-blue eyes, then she coolly laid her chin on the ground at Anastasia’s feet. “Holy day,” she said.

Anastasia obediently began to lick Olympia’s forehead. “Every one a gift,” she murmured.

After a few moments, Olympia lifted her head and sat up. “A fox came close to you today.”

“Yes, Honored Mother,” said Anastasia, turning so Olympia could see the wound. Olympia’s eyes flicked along her side.

“A nasty scratch,” she said. “Did you go beyond the Ring of Love?”

Anastasia hung her head. “Yes, Honored Mother.”

Olympia settled into a relaxed pose and became still. “Beloved daughter,” she said, “there are things that must be spoken.” Anastasia was silent, even though her wound throbbed. “I’m worried about your illness.”

“I’m getting better,” Anastasia blurted. “I only have to sing the entry spell once now.”

Olympia looked at her without blinking. “Disobedience. Singing spells. Running off to touch distant objects. How long before you lead a Blessed One onto a group of rabbits at morning feed?”

Anastasia looked at the raw, earthen floor. “I’m trying hard … I want to be good…”

Olympia sat upright, looming over Anastasia. “I dug the first chamber of this warren by the light of a quarter-moon when I was a yearling doe like you are now. I peopled this city with my children and my children’s children. What if you are contagious? Would you have me put them all at risk?”

“I would never do that,” said Anastasia quickly, fighting down the urge to begin drawing a circle in the earth. “I’m not contagious. I love the warren. I love you, Honored Mother.”

Darius, the Prime Buck, entered the chamber through a passage on the far side and sat beside Olympia. His tan fur was dappled with brown along his left side.

“We’re worried that your mind is sick,” said Darius. “Every day, a new problem. And today, you’re questioning Dah? In the front passage? That’s bad for the warren.” He pulled his left ear down and cleaned it between his paws. “You’re the runt of our fourth litter. We fought for you to live. We loved you—”

“Love you,” said Olympia, sharply.

Darius let go of his ear. “We love you. But we can’t keep looking away.”

Aiden entered from another side passage, his thick fur heavy with the scent of moral authority. He sat up tall and spread his forepaws. “‘Some of you will hurt me. Some will stand fast with me. Some will undo all that I hold most dear,’ saith the Loved One. ‘And I will love you all.’ Book of Windgrass 21:17.”

Anastasia felt Briar coming up behind her and she shifted uneasily.

Olympia advanced toward her, looked into her eyes, and then licked her forehead three times. “I’m so sorry, dearest daughter. But you know there is only one place for a sick rabbit to go.”

“No,” said Anastasia, her breath quickening.

“This must be,” said Olympia. “Remember that I will always love you.”

“No, Mother,” said Anastasia, pushing her face into Olympia’s fur. “No, please.”

Olympia’s scent was suddenly cool, unengaged. She stepped away from her daughter.

“The good of the warren demands it,” said Darius.

“No,” said Anastasia, her heart pounding. She turned to him and tried to nuzzle against his side. “No, Daddy, please,” she whimpered.

Darius moved away from her, and suddenly Briar heaved his bulk in front of Anastasia. “You heard Warren Mother. Out.”

“Briar,” Anastasia’s voice came out in a tiny whine. “Second of the First Four. You’re my oldest brother. You can’t do this to me.”

Briar shoved forward, pushing her backward out of the chamber. “Warren Mother has spoken.”

“Mommy!” Her voice came out in a shriek. The other two First Born males appeared and stood shoulder to shoulder with Briar, steadily heaving her backward. Now they were in one of the main warren passageways. The runs on each side were filling up with rabbits. There was a jumble of voices. “What? What is it? Someone get Glorified today?”

Anastasia’s powerful rear claws bit into the ground, but she could not gain any purchase and kept sliding backward. The pain of her injury burned along her flank. The cacophony of voices rose. “Someone’s getting unwarrened? Who? The crazy one? The barren one? Poor little thing. Let’s hope it’s quick.”

She caught sight of Nicodemus’s sad face and gray whiskers off to one side. Just as the First Born were about to shove her past, she darted toward him and pushed her face next to his, sobbing. For a moment, his mouth was next to her ear. “You are strong,” he whispered. Then she was past him, and she could feel the cool of the night air on her back. The heavy chests and shoulders of the First Born were a moving wall, and behind them, there was a confused tumble of furry faces and long ears flicking in every direction.

She scrabbled to stand still for a moment, quickly reaching out and touching each side of the entryway three times, gasping her spell:

“Hold your breath by the light of the moon,

Old coyote coming soon.”

Then she slapped the floor twice. The last thing she saw before she was shoved out through the entryway was Sweet Leaf and her warm, bright eyes in a side passage. “So sorry, dear sister. It’s for the best, really.”

A burst of rage rushed through her. “Why?” shouted Anastasia.

Sweet Leaf gazed at her kindly. “Just let the Giving do its work. They say you don’t feel a thing.”

And then Anastasia tumbled out into the night.

FREDDIE

Freddie was concentrating as hard as he could, his black-and-gray harlequin face a study in bunny fierceness.

“Again,” said Rose, the Rememberer of Fallen Oak Warren. She lay sunning her tawny body in the warm sunlight.

Freddie nodded and started over. He was chubby, and his thick, gray-and-white fur was making him feel hot. “Then the Loved One, beloved child of Almighty Dah, busied himself among the root vegetables of the field. Soon, the seven rabbits fell to arguing about the Kingdom of Dah. The Loved One set up seven carrots in a line—”

“Seven carrots in a row,” said Rose. Snowdrop, the other Remembering acolyte, snickered.

“Yes, of course,” said Freddie. “Seven carrots in a row, and looked upon them. ‘Behold,’ quoth he. ‘How many carrots do you see?’ ‘We see seven, master,’ they said. ‘No,’ said the Loved One. ‘For one belongs to Dah. One belongs to the North Wind. One belongs to … to,’ um…”

 “Take a moment,” said Rose. “Let the words rise up within you.”

Freddie squirmed and looked out over the meadow. He had been farblind from birth, so everything more than a few feet away was a blur. The grass smelled sweet, with an undercurrent of wild lupine and calendula. “‘One belongs to … the … fog.’”

“Brother Worm,” said Snowdrop.

“Don’t interrupt,” said Rose.

Freddie frowned at Snowdrop. “I was just about to get it.”

“Totally,” said Snowdrop. “You were super close.” She wiggled her nose, and her scent was spiky and aggressive. “Maybe you should spend less time hanging around with the Reader and more time on what really matters.”

“Do you know the rest of the verse?” Rose asked Snowdrop.

“No,” said Snowdrop. “I feel the rest of the verse. It’s like fire in me.”

Freddie rolled his eyes. The sound of a squirrel chittering on a tree branch above was loud in the warm air.

“Tell me,” said Rose.

Snowdrop sat upright. “‘One belongs to Brother Worm. One belongs to the summer sun. One belongs to Sister Crow. And one belongs to the earth.’ As the Loved One spake, he knocked the carrots down, one by one, until only one was left standing. Then, he asked them, ‘How many carrots do you see?’ ‘One,’ said the rabbits. ‘Yes,’ said the Loved One, ‘and that is why Dah created the Blessed Ones.’ Book of Kale, 3:17-20.”

“Which means?” asked Rose, lazily.

Snowdrop closed her eyes and raised her front paws. “There will never be enough food for all the rabbits that are born. Dah in his mercy sends the Blessed Ones to take some rabbits so that others may live. It is the Glorification of individuals that enables the Tree of Rabbitkind to thrive. The Blessed Ones are our gardeners.”

“Perfect,” yawned Rose.

Snowdrop batted her eyelashes at Freddie, clearly saying, you can’t catch me, you fat stupid doofus. I’m first acolyte, and always will be. He looked down at his toes for a moment.

Then he noticed Rose looking out across the meadow. “It’s the Lord Harmonizer!” she said. She swatted Freddie across the behind. “Fluff up that dill for our honored guest.” Then to Snowdrop, “Go and make sure his chamber is ready.”

The rabbit approaching through the grass was lean and rangy, with huge ears, ropy muscles, and brown fur with a scattering of gray. Most of the Fallen Oak rabbits thought he had some hare blood in him. As he got closer, even Freddie could see the scar along his left cheek and the notch torn out of his ear, souvenirs of a life spent traveling. The lean rabbit saw Rose and nodded as he came near. She took a few steps forward and they touched noses.

“Tobias! My Lord Harmonizer,” said Rose, breathlessly. “So good to see you! Do you have news about the voting irregularities at the South Bank Conclave? What’s the final council ruling on the election of the Presiding Spirit?”

“No news to share yet,” chuckled the Harmonizer. “But you know the rules: Once the votes of the Rememberers of all the warrens in the Conclave have been counted twice, we’ll know which Warren Mother will be the spiritual leader of the South Bank for the next year.” He nuzzled Rose’s shoulder. “I know you’re hoping your Warren Mother will be reelected. I can’t tell you if that will happen.”

Rose looked down. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do anything untoward…”

Tobias smiled and licked her forehead. “I’m sure everything will be just fine.” He nose-bumped her flank. “You look healthy, Rose.”

“Every day a gift,” she said. “We’ve been lucky here at Fallen Oak. The Blessed Ones have been—”

“Living as Dah commands,” interrupted Tobias. “We are in his hand.”

“Yes, yes of course,” murmured Rose.

 Freddie shyly stepped forward with several choice fronds of fresh dill in his mouth. “My Lord,” he mumbled.

 “Look, Tobias!” said Rose brightly. “A small token of our affection for you. Everyone says our dillweed is the best in the Million Acre Wood.” She cuffed Freddie lightly behind the ears. “Show your proper respect for our guest!”

Tobias placed his chin on the ground. Freddie put down the dill fronds and licked his forehead. “Holy day, your Lordship,” he mumbled.

After a few moments, Tobias shook him off and sat up. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said. “You’re a good lad.”

Then, Snowdrop popped out of the warren entrance. “Lord Harmonizer!” she cried. “What an honor it is to meet you! I’ve prepared your chamber and strewn it with fresh dandelions. And, of course, blueberries.”

Tobias touched noses with her and then started munching on the dill fronds. “You haven’t lied,” he said to Rose. “Fallen Oak Warren still has the finest dill in Dah’s creation.” 

Rose beamed. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Tobias sat back as he chewed the fronds. “I wouldn’t mind resting up in my chamber for a bit,” he said. “Any burning questions to answer right now?”

Snowdrop led the way toward the special chamber. Rose and Tobias followed, with Freddie tagging along behind. 

“There is one,” said Rose. “In the Book of Rye 7:13, the passage goes, And then, Dah smote them with his mighty paw for their iniquities, and he spake in a voice like unto thunder. Is that last phrase really like unto thunder or is it as though with thunder? We’ve had some uncertainty there, and the Rememberer at Blackstone Warren has it differently than I do.”

“Not an uncommon question,” said the Harmonizer, as he moved along the passage. “These kinds of phrases often get garbled.” He paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and put his paws on either side of his head. “The current Conclave memory on that passage is … as though with thunder.”

“As though with thunder,” said Rose, savoring it.

“This is so exciting!” squeaked Snowdrop.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Harmonizer,” murmured Freddie, dutifully.

Suddenly, a cry pierced the air. It took them a moment to realize what it was. An alarm call, coming from the main passageway leading to the far side of the warren. It was followed an instant later by a storm of thumps. Then a rabbit came bolting down the tunnel, eyes white with fear. As she passed them, she gasped one word: “Weasel!”

Rose stamped, followed by Snowdrop. Freddie felt dizzy. He started to back up. The air was thick with the smell of terror. Tobias disappeared into a side passage. Rose was whispering, “Run, run, run, run, run,” and shoving against him, pushing him back up the entry passage toward the outside.

“Save us, my Lord!” shouted Snowdrop, stamping again. There was no answer. More rabbits were rushing down the main passage now, eyes wide and wild. Freddie turned and raced up the entry run toward the light and safety, Rose close on his heels. As he neared the entrance, a terrible, familiar shape rose up and was silhouetted against the light. The small head, the long neck, and the lean body were carved in black against the sun. The sweet, heavy reek of weasel filled the burrow. Freddie felt faint and slowed down.

Rose bit him. “Go!”

The weasels must be attacking as a pair, or maybe there were three or four. Without any sign of hurry, the Blessed One in the entrance of the burrow began to move down the passage, quietly singing her killing song.

“Small little space,

Tight little place,

Great big fear

On your face.”

Freddie turned around and shoved past Rose, who was staring into the weasel’s eyes.

“I’ve been sent

To collect the rent,

Won’t be needing

Your consent.”

Freddie dashed down the passage. Snowdrop was gone. The yells from the main passage were louder.

The smell of terrified rabbits was overwhelming. Freddie turned, his legs crumbling beneath him. There was no other way out. It was hopeless. He could only wait until the weasels were on him. He felt the Giving begin. He was tired, so sleepy. He could just lie here and soon he would be with the Loved One in the Lucky Fields, filled with four-leaf clovers and feathery dill fronds and apple twigs as fresh and sweet as the day you were born. His eyelids were heavy. The yells seemed fainter. Everything would be all right.

Then he had an idea: Another way out. A stab of adrenaline burned through him like fire. He bolted upright and ran into the side passage leading to the Reader’s room. In a few moments, he was there. And in the roof of the Reader’s chamber, as in every Reader’s chamber, a small opening let in a shaft of light.

Freddie frantically pushed together all the twigs and leaves and stones and bark that the Reader had gathered, until he had a pile under the small hole in the ceiling. He climbed up, reached up with his front paws, and tore at the earth. It wasn’t easy; there were roots around the hole to support it, and that slowed him down. He strained upward and bit through the largest roots, clawing the loose earth down in a shower of debris.

Just down the passage, he could hear a little song.

“Fat little bunny,

Fat little tummy—”

The song stopped, suddenly. Maybe the Blessed One had heard him digging. Freddie paused for a moment, then redoubled his efforts. The warm sun shone down through the ragged gap like a friend. Freddie tore the hole open and lunged upward. Raking the sides of the chamber with his rear legs for purchase, he got up into the hole. Then, he seized a root in his mouth while he scrabbled with his forelegs to pull his body up. He was climbing, almost there. One back leg was wedged against the side of the hole, pushing upward, his left leg hanging down. 

Suddenly, the weasel reek was thick in the air. A burning pain shot through his hock. The weasel was on him. With the gift of adrenaline and panic, Freddie jerked himself upward, tearing his leg from the Blessed One’s jaws. Another moment, and he was through, scrambling past the ferns and trees that grew over Fallen Oak Warren. The weasel leaped upward, missed the lip of the hole, and fell back, thrashing. Bolting as only a terrified rabbit can, Freddie was a hundred yards away in a matter of seconds, his dappled gray body blending with the shadows under the leaves. With his weak eyes everything was a blur, but as he ran it seemed as though he saw Tobias standing calmly among the ferns, talking with someone. Talking with a weasel.

But that wasn’t possible. Freddie shook his head and plunged on, rushing forward into the blue-green smear that was the world.