Andrew and I crouched on the forest floor, rain seeping into our fur. We shivered, wrapping ourselves tighter in our cloaks. Leaves clung to our sopping fur like fleas to redeye.

I turned, hearing a shriek. A bird.

Andrew looked confused for a second, then peered to the sky.

I pulled out my glass and peered through it at the enemy.

“I left my glass behind, Fleck.” Andrew said.

“Borrow mine.” I said, handing it to him.

“Whew, that is bad.” Andrew said, tossing me my glass.

I stuck it in my satchel.

“We have to warn Frye.” I said, stranding and brushing the leaves from my uniform.

“It is our job” Andrew said, following me into the wet forest,

We sprinted and soon found the army.

“Eagles! By the scouts!” I yelled. The camp hurriedly raced forwards.

At the edge of the clearing, we gasped and panted before drawing and lighting arrows.

Take aim.

Hit the target.

Win.

An impossible fight.

40 against 1.

We will win.

I aimed and fired, watching my sailing dart until it hit target.

I joined Lord Blackstar at the edge of the clearing.

Lord Blackstar motioned me to examine the bird.

Golden feathers.

Large.

Sharp talons.

Razor beak.

40 to defeat 1.

We needed to fight.

A dangerous war.

An expensive war.

But it wasn’t hopeless.

It was never hopeless.

Not anymore.

Not since our victory.

And never in all rabbitkind.

My place.

Beside you.

My blood.

For yours.

Till the green ember rises.

Or the end of the world.

I looked to Andrew, shooting him a sideways smile.

War would be dangerous and expensive. But morbin, slaver and tyrant, could never take away the dedication to the cause.

He could not kill an idea.

Or destroy a thought.

Morbin could not kill hope.

sorry this took so long in coming!

but it's here!

--Fleck