Bunny Troubles

The fire blazed fitfully in the centre of the wide clearing, the flickering of its flames punctuated at times by the occasional pop of pressurised air. Boris liked fire. A lot could be observed by gazing into its shifting depths. But he also liked the tree folk, for whom he had nothing but neighbourly respect, and for his lapine companions, and so he took care to light his fires well away from both.

At intervals around the blaze, items were scattered. A tuft of fur. A half-eaten carrot. The shape of a large paw sketched into the dry earth. A clump of weeds and half dead flowers bound with twine. Boris’ wide, wild eyes glanced about, surveying his handiwork.

“Where are you, Miss Nibbles?” the faun sang softly. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

In truth, Boris was worried. For all that anyone who met him would describe him as a few teacakes short of a picnic, when it came to his bunnies he really did care. He’d seen John and Graham and Eric and Michael and the two Terrys, but of his beloved jackalope there had been no sign.

True, there had been harsh words exchanged at their last tea party. He’d said some things he hadn’t meant and she’d growled back in a most undignified fashion, but it wasn’t the first argument they’d had. Regrettably, it was the only one they’d had that had culminated in such an extended period of absence and Boris hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be the last.

“I’m a bunny summoner called Boris,” he sang,

“And I dance all through the forest,

I pick up blooms and floral plumes,

That would impress a florist,

I really miss my jackalope,

Return to me, I can but hope!”

At the culmination of the ditty he pulled a pinch of powder from a pouch at his waist and threw it at the fire. There was a bang and a puff of acrid smoke. When it had dissipated, he looked about him expectantly. The forest remained conspicuously absent of jackalope. It wasn’t as if you could easily hide one.

Sounds of cracking twigs caused Boris to spin about, eyes wide with hope, arms already wide to greet his friend. But what ambled out from the tree line was not his beloved Miss Nibbles but a cluster of armoured knights.

There were seven in total, no two the same. All wore surcoats over their shining armour of varying designs. The lead knight had a golden sun upon his chest. Those flanking him had their own unique motifs. A red cross. A diagonally halved design of blue and white with a tree emblazoned atop. A vertically halved black and white design with a rampant lion. A green and white chequered design with, for some reason, some sort of chicken in the corner. And so on.

They sauntered from the tree line and spread out in an expanding arc about Boris. Rampant Lion began prodding the wild bouquet with his foot. Golden Sun had eyes only for the faun.

“What is your name?” the knight demanded.

Boris’ wild eyes sized up the armoured figure and decided he didn't like the look of him. He widened his eyes and waved his arms about in what he considered a mystical fashion. “I am known by many names.”

“Huh,” Red Cross scoffed. “You’re a loony.”

Boris’ head snapped about alarmingly, though his body remained quite still.

“That is one of the names by which I am known,” he conceded.

“I’m sure I could guess at a few more!”

Boris narrowed his eyes. “Your mother was a-!”

“Enough with the nonsense, faun,” snapped Golden Sun, cutting short the insult and drawing Boris’ attention back to him. “We’re looking for a creature and something tells me you’re the one who might know where we can find it.”

“It?” spluttered Boris. “It? I know of no “it”s!”

“He, she, it; it doesn’t matter,” said Golden Sun. “Tell us where the great horned rabbit is and we’ll be on our way.”

Boris sighed. “I wish I knew.”

Chicken frowned. “And then you could tell us?”

Boris shook his head. “No. I just wish I knew.”

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this!” stormed Tree, speaking for the first time with barely contained anger. “Let’s just kill this fool and move on!”

He reached for his sword, scabbarded at his waist, but halted as Boris held up a hand.

“Kill me?” he queried. “For the sole reason that I have proven no use to you?”

“Why not?” said Tree. “If we can’t have the horned bunny’s head on our wall, your foolish mug will have to do.”

Boris goggled at him. “You want her…but you’ll settle for my…”

It took him several moments to collect himself, during which a vast spectrum of expressions flitted across his features, each an exaggerated caricature of different emotions.

When next he spoke, his voice was deadly calm.

“You wish to meet Miss Nibbles?”

“You call it Miss-?”

Chicken’s laugh was cut short by a swift jab from Golden Sun’s elbow.

“Yes,” said the latter, suddenly all smiles. “I’d love to meet Miss…Nibbles.”

Boris sighed. “Well, alright then. She hasn’t been around much of late but I’m rather hopeful she’ll make a special appearance for charming individuals such as yourselves.”

He waved a hand irritably at the knights.

“Well, move out of the way! You can’t expect me to work in such a cramped space!”

At a nod from Golden Sun, the knights edged backwards from the fire in a clanking of armour. Only when Boris thought he would get no more room did he begin to move, dancing around the fire in an ungainly jig. His movements were wild, his footfalls heavy, and yet somehow he manoeuvred between the offerings arranged about the blaze, occasionally feeling the heat of the fire as his path took him over it.

And, almost without thinking, as if conjured there by the mesmerising pattern of his movements, a new chant sprang to his lips.

“I’m Boris the summoner of bunnies

And these fools think I’m just funny,

They threaten me, but they can’t see,

It’s them who should be worried,

Let’s put aside our quibbles,

Please come to me, Miss Nibbles!”

Once more he reached into the pouch at his waist, however such was his haste that he had not quite finished his final leap across the flames. With his attention taken by trying to get a grip of the powder, he wasn’t looking at where his extended leg was going to land. Rather than the firm ground he had anticipated, his foot landed atop the half-eaten carrot. It rolled under his sole, tipping the faun backwards. Instinctively his arms came up to steady himself, pulling with it the pouch.

Arms careening amidst a cloud of powder, Boris landed heavily on his back with a whoosh as the air was knocked from his lungs. That brief expulsion of air preceded an almighty bang as the majority of the powder landed amongst the flames and immediately combusted. The heat seared across Boris, who yelped as a multitude of secondary explosions rattled across the clearing as the remaining powder settled.

Boris lay on the hard earth, arms clutched protectively around his head, until the echoes had subsided. He was sore from the fall, burned from the inferno he had accidentally created, but alive.

He heard laughter from the knights. Well, mockery was no stranger to him. Yet when he peered up from his prone position, none of them were looking in his direction. He craned his neck further to see what had grabbed their attention and found himself staring into the beady red eyes of a small white rabbit. Its gaze was unblinking and its nose wrinkled, as if considering him.

Panic seized Boris.

“Caerbannog!” he cried, experiencing a sudden surge of energy that propelled him to his feet and away from the diminutive creature.

More laughter ensued from the knights as Boris cautiously backed away, eyes wide in terror.

“What kind of a name is that?” Tree scoffed.

“He goes by “Killer” for short,” Boris offered.

“Killer of what? Carrots?”

Tree drew his sword. Caerbannog turned to face him. Boris, freed from the transfixing stare, turned and ran. He had barely made the tree line when the first screams began and was crouched behind a rocky outcrop long before the awful sounds had ceased.

He left it several minutes before he dared to raise his head, cautiously peering over the lip of his improvised bunker. The sight was horrific, though not quite as bad as it would have been had Caerbannog been present.

He thought about that for a moment and felt the panic begin to surge once more. Seeing Caerbannog, knowing what the homicidal critter was capable of, was bad enough. Not knowing where he was suddenly presented itself as a far more terrifying proposition.

His eyes scanned the scene of carnage, trying to spot the fluffy white form. Fluffy red form, he corrected himself, if the scene before him was anything to go by.

The moments stretched out to eternity to the point where Boris could hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat, the trees growing, he was so on edge. He told himself that he should turn and run. Leave this place. But go where? Where would Caerbannog not find him?

He took a nervous step backwards and his foot trod on something furry. Boris screamed in terror, turned to flee, and ran straight a solid, hairy, and above all immovable bulk, promptly falling once more to the ground. With his heart hammering in his chest, Boris looked up into a broad face with large doe eyes and bucked teeth. A huge pair of antlers sprouted from atop the creature’s head and it wrinkled its nose at him in much the same way Caerbannog had, regarding him, though with much less menace.

“Miss Nibbles!”

The jackalope continued to stare down, her expression unreadable.

“I’m so sorry for how things were left between us,” said Boris, the euphoria of relief loosening his tongue. “Please can you forgive me?”

Slowly Miss Nibbles lowered her head until it was only a few inches from Boris’ own. Then, with a sudden movement that made Boris jump, her tongue sneaked out and licked the prone faun’s cheek.

Despite the wet streak plastering his fur flat, Boris felt his heart soar and threw himself forward to hug the jackalope’s leg. He knew there would be further arguments. There always were. But for now all was forgiven and he would savour this moment for as long as it lasted.