Harlan Seer didn’t run far, all things considered. Just far enough that he wouldn’t have to see or hear the end he knew had come for Stam. There was no point in trying to go further. It had been years since he could travel at speed for any length of time.

Old, Harlan thought ruefully as he stumped to a halt. He could still remember the days when, as a child, he had thought his parents old. Then, in that reversal that he privately thought must always bring a smile to the face of Firstfather, the day had come when Harlan’s own children had called him old. And then had come that not altogether welcome epithet of Wizened Warrior.

It had been given to him a long time ago.

Stam should have lived to grow old. For that matter, so should have Fesslehorn, Gome, Perkin, and Pickwand. Perhaps no one had been more deserving of that fate than King Jupiter himself. But in the way he had sensed so many things throughout his life, Harlen felt that his friends were dead, or soon would be.

Death wasn’t something he minded so much for himself. Sure, he would have loved to pass peacefully in his bed. Or perhaps not to pass at all, he thought sadly, recalling the quest he, Stam, and Fess had been on. But he had known good bucks of every age who had been denied such blessings, and he didn’t hold himself above them. Indeed, he would be glad to die, even in pain, this day if it meant no other rabbits would have to.

At least Helmer was still alive, Harlan thought. Though he would have a hard road ahead, and might well be “old” himself before Natalia saw peace again. Knowing Helmer, he too might give his life for Natalia someday. And that, Harlen thought with a touch of amusement, might just be the only way death would ever take his formidable friend.

The handful of wolves who had pursued him seemed surprised to find him waiting quietly for them. A large white wolf, their obvious leader, drew his sword as he advanced. Harlan gripped his staff as he regarded the predator. Though he had never met or seen this particular wolf, he had an idea who it was.

“Does your father’s anger burn so bright for his cousin, Farlockson? Or is it his own smarting pride that makes him send you down from the north?”

Growling, the wolf pointed his sword at Harlan. “My name is Flox, you dried up twig of a rabbit. I speak your loathsome tongue for the sake of speaking with my Preylord allies and being sure you understand your place. But I’ll not be given a fool name that acknowledges only the name of my sire!”

“You are Farlock’s son, then? Well, at least I won’t die witless, it seems. I can still put facts together and reach a right conclusion. Thank you, Flox, for that gift.”

Eyes narrowing, Flox took a step forward. “No rabbit has ever thanked me for anything before.”

“Most of them were probably busy running or fighting for their lives,” Harlan said, almost conversationally. “You mustn't hold it against them. Rabbits generally react that way when met with a predator. They know what to expect if they don’t.”

“Why do you not run then? Or do you intend to fight?”

“No, not I. I know my limits. A decade-no, half a decade-ago, I would have been fit to break my staff over your ugly skull before you killed me. But my struggles now would serve only to amuse you, and I do not intend to die as a jester.”

Flox actually laughed at that. Whether he appreciated his victim’s wit, or was merely amused at this small defiance, even Harlan couldn’t say. The white wolf advanced, sword raised and shield ready. As he neared, he spoke again.

“So you’re ready to die, rabbit? Tell me-how can you be so calm?”

“Because I know, and because I see.” And as he said this, Harlan saw indeed, with as much clarity as he had ever been blessed with. “I know what waits for me, and for all who will be true to the cause. Victory such as will make all seeming defeats as nothing to those who gain it.

“And I see your end, Farlockson. Today you kill me, old and tired. But there will be another day, and another rabbit. You will fall to that rabbit, and your shame will bring your father forth to battle. And he, too, shall fall, and there shall be none to avenge either of you.”

Harlan briefly thought he saw surprise, and even fear, in Flox’s eyes. But it was swiftly replaced by fury. As the wolf drew back his sword, Harlan let the staff fall from his grip. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blow.

Oddly, when the strike came, there was no accompanying pain. In fact, Harlan inexplicably felt better than he had in decades. The many aches and pains of old age and many injuries were suddenly gone. Puzzled, Harlan opened his eyes.

Jupiter Goodson stood looking at him, a sad smile upon his face. The two of them stood in what appeared to be the palace library in First Warren. It had been the setting of many a discussion between the pair. One such meeting had been the last time Harlan had seen his king and friend…alive.

“I’m glad to see you, Harlan. Even though the circumstances are far from what we hoped when last we met.”

Nodding, Harlan felt tears in his eyes. “It is indeed a bittersweet reunion, my king. The treason that must have brought about our deaths, and those of others who surely have preceded or will follow us into death, grieves me deeply. Death is not the worst evil one may suffer.

“Yet many more will choose submission, if not outright treason, rather than face the death that will await many who refuse. And our deaths, surely, will add to their dismay. I weep for the weak, and for the tender and the innocent. Can we do nothing for them?”

Putting a hand on Harlan’s shoulder, Jupiter gave a brighter smile. “We can watch, my friend. And we can trust in the truths we imparted to those whom we love, and which they shall impart to others. One day, we shall meet them again…in the Mended Wood.”

Feeling his own heart lift, Harlan smiled back. “In the Mended Wood.”

The End