Hello everyone! I wrote a short fanfiction about Wilfred and Smalls during their exile. This is early on when Smalls is about 3 years old. I tried to make this as canon as possible. Hope y'all enjoy!

There was a blanket of stillness settled over the forest.  Although too small to appear on a map, the cluster of trees offered shelter to any travelers for the hour or so it may take for them to journey through.  And there were indeed travelers taking advantage of the protection and comfort offered by these young woods.  

They had been walking for a long time. Well, more like Wilfred had been walking for a long time.  Jupiter’s young heir had slept most of the time in a satchel slung about Wilfred’s shoulder.  Now, however, little Smalden was wide awake.  Wilfred could feel his constant shuffling about in the satchel; it was making the bag a bit hard to carry.  

The sun, high in the sky, warmed the noon air.  If not for the shade of the trees, the direct sunlight would have been blistering. The idea of the intense heat added to Wilfred’s current exhaustion and discomfort was unpleasant.  He was certainly grateful for the short relief from the sun’s rays.  Shifting his bag, Wilfred tried to ease the discomfort from his burdened shoulders.  The strap of his satchel was digging rather painfully into his shoulder and the jostling from Smalden’s shuffling wasn’t helping.  

“Do you want out, Smalls? You can walk for a bit if you’d like,” Wilfred offered hopefully.  The lightened load would be much welcomed by his sore body.  

At the sound of his voice, the bag’s shifting stopped. Quiet whispering could be heard from within as the young buck weighed his options.  Abruptly coming to a decision, two little white ears popped out of the satchel.  They were followed by the young rabbit's bright and cheerful face.  His big eyes and wide grin spoke to the success of his refreshing nap.  He nodded his little head.  

Relieved, Wilfred stopped his walking and pulled the satchel to his front so as to better reach the toddler. However, before he could pull the child out, Smalls began energetically chattering to him. 

“Wilfwed, me and Fuzzles dot captured by da big bad wolves,” he cheerfully declared.  Pulling forth his fellow prisoner, Smalls showed Wilfred how his stuffed rabbit, Fuzzles, had been tied up with some climbing rope that had originally been placed in the satchel for safekeeping.  

Wilfred attempted to hide a smile as, unnoticed by the child, the stuffie’s binds began to slide off, offering Fuzzles a perfect escape. At least he still hasn’t learned how to tie a real knot yet, Wilfred thought to himself. I’d have a whole lot of rope to untangle then.  

Unaware of his guardian’s thought process, Smalls chattered on about his and Fuzzles’ capture, their escape plan, and how many wolves he had whacked before they finally got to him. His little arms swung Fuzzles dramatically as he demonstrated his fighting skills.  

Seeing an opportune moment, Wilfred jumped on it before it passed.  “Smalls, would you like to climb out and show me how you fought the wolves? I can find your wooden sword for you.”  

The tactic appeared successful.  Excitement lit up the little face and spread a big smile on his tiny features.  In his eagerness, the little rabbit lost all sense of caution.   He leapt from the satchel to quickly reach the ground, which would have ended in disaster had Wilfred not been blessed with excellent reflexes.  As the little one soared from the bag, Wilfred shot his arm forward and grabbed ahold of his little vest.  Surprised by the sudden arrest of his momentum, Smalls wriggled about in an attempt to see who or what had messed with his wonderful moment of glory.  

An expression of shock followed by horrified betrayal, crossed over the child’s face.  Somehow his little mind had interpreted Wilfred’s protective interference as a destruction of his glorious moment.  Tears welled up in his eyes.  

Here comes the storm, Wilfred thought, groaning inwardly.  Flinching as the child’s wailing sobs shattered the peaceful stillness of the forest, Wilfred drew the young heir to his chest.  Tiredly, he attempted to calm the torrential rainstorm of tears and wails.  

After what seemed a lifetime of cries, Smalls slowly started to quiet.  Pushing back from his resting place, Smalls looked up at Wilfred.   His tear-streaked fur was matted under his eyes and on his cheeks, emphasizing the size of his toddler eyes.  “Wilfwed, I wanted to fly,” he sniffled, rubbing his hand over his little button nose. 

 “I know, Smalls. “ Wilfred said soothingly.  “But you could have gotten hurt, especially from so high up.” 

“I wouldn’t have gotten a boo-boo though. I’m a big buck!” was the confident response.  Squirming to be let down, Smalls appeared to have recovered from his comrade’s ‘back-stabbing betrayal’.  Upon being lowered to the ground, the child proceeded to demonstrate his impressive punching abilities which he believed to rival those of any grown buck.  His stuffie, who had somehow stayed fixed in the child’s fist throughout the whole attempted flight and wailing storm, now flung about precariously with each little punch.  

Chuckling to himself, Wilfred dug in his bag for the little one’s wooden sword.  He withdrew the sword revealing it to Smalls. The young buck’s eyes lit up with excitement and he jumped up, reaching for the wooden weapon.  Wilfred handed it and chuckled softly to himself as the young child began to swing the sword about in an imaginary fight.  As he swung the sword, he made the dramatic sounds he believed the sword would make in a real battle.  

Shifting his gaze from Smalls’ antics, Wilfred looked up the path, wondering how much further they had to go.  Reaching into the satchel, he pulled out a map of Natalia. It was simple in make, but had enough of the major landmarks for him to make do.  Rubbing his shoulder, Wilfred searched the paper to figure out their location.  As he studied their location, Smalls' verbal sword attacks could be heard in the background of Wilfred's mind. We’re probably just slightly to the north of Ayman Lake.  Although we haven’t crossed at the narrow point yet so we’re likely a touch more on the Northeastern side, he thought to himself as he scanned the paper.  Shouts of “Jab!” and  “Take that!” followed by a cry of “Swish!” were the usual distracting sounds emitted by little Smalls.  Wilfred worked to tune it out as he tried to find their approximate location. He hoped to reach Kingston before nightfall.