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Willow awoke with a start. The cawing of a murder of crows, upset by a passing squirrel, faded into the late afternoon sky. The young but heavily scarred doe rubbed her eyes with her paw as light filtered through the brambles she had concealed herself in the night previous. Exhaustion from her trials beforehand had finally caught up to her, and Willow hadn’t even stopped to silflay before scraping a small rut into the dirt and passing out.

From her spot under the bramble bush she looked out onto the scene. Nothing out of the ordinary, and luckily no elil in sight, sound, or smell. The doe sighed, a way for her to release stress. A twitch in her right ear caused her paw to run up and stroke the itchy feeling away. The extension of her limb passed over the ear in shorter time than it would the other. The tattered remain of her right ear tingled at the spot where the top part had been torn off by a hungry elil. Willow shook her head to fight the tingling and it died away almost instantaneously.

“Never the same shall I be. What kind of life does Firth see fit for me to live? All of them gone; family, friends-” The doe paused, emotion tightening her throat as a brawny buck with gentle eyes passed through her mind. “Love.” A wave of sadness passed over and another grip, this one in her chest, held fast. Concerned with her own overpowering emotions, she barely took notice of a passing breeze coming down off of a hill just a few hops away.

Barely, until her nose detected a scent. This was familiar, but not that of elil or skunk embleer. No, it was rabbit. The doe actually lept to her sore feet in wonder.

“Dare I hope to dream? Is it…It is! That is the scent of rabbit! Oh a scent I have not come across in a hrair time ago!” Joy overcame the rabbit and she nearly broke from her hiding place in anticipation, but the voice of reason and logic came over her. “It may be rabbit, but it might not be any from my warren. In fact, it might not be friendly at all.” Willow stayed put, fighting with her mind on what to do. On one end, she could go, with caution of course, and see if the rabbits were friendly and ask for a place to stay. Or on the other, stay put and possibly be found or eaten by elil and exposed to the elements.

In the end the thought of a warm den for the night won over and the hlessi doe gingerly stepped from the bramble bush. What would they think of one such as her? What would they ask? And most importantly, could they look into their hearts to allow a rouge to enter their midst for a small time?

Willow on her sore paws turned her head away from the hill upon emergence from her rest and hiding spot. Her eyes looked for any danger. None. When about to turn back, sudden movement from the corner of her eye caused her to whip her head around, ready to run if it was danger. A crick in her neck made the doe wince but it passed as shock dawned on the hlessi’s face.

Before her was a red brown doe, and her question of concern pressed on Willow’s heart. How good to see and hear another rabbit after so long a time! The scarred doe stood in a half shocked, half ready to take off pose, but slowly began to work her muscles out of that contortion, so that she wouldn’t seem too skittish. The statement from the reddish doe rang in her head and Willow shook the amazed expression from her face and mind.

“As all right as I have been. I mean…Well…No, not fully all right, I have been better of course, but so, so relieved right now.” The words tumbled from her mouth so fast and gargled that the easily embarrassed doe took a few steps back and sat down, hanging her head. “My apologies.” She raised her head again. “You have no idea what wonders it is for me to see an actual rabbit. It’s been such a hrair time!” She regarded her injuries to her right side, and promptly turned to the left hide the scarring. “Hurt before, but the pain is gone now. The scars remain though.”

A breathy sigh was released by the doe to calm her shocked and awed inner self. How wondrous to see a rabbit, an actual rabbit.

“Where do you hail from?” The doe cocked her head to the side to pose her question. “These lands are very dangerous, and I dectected quite a few rabbits on the breeze a moment ago.” Willow gasped, finally remembering her formalities from a lifetime ago. “Frith-rah! My manners…I am called Willow. What is your name?”

Willow cast her gaze up the hill. She couldn’t see the top, but she trusted the female’s words. The scarred doe nodded as the companion doe spoke her name.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Willow took into fact the doe was steadily hopping closer. She felt no fear of attack from Rosewood, so she sat and stayed still. Another tingle from her torn ear sent her paw over it to get the feeling away. The question that the doe opposite of her posed sent a shudder down Willow’s spine and another grip on her insides.

“I…” She started, but the words caught. Images of home, friends, family, and all that she knew from long ago flooded back. The doe hung her head and shut her eyes, trying to clear the images away. After a moment they did and she looked back up.

“It’s hard for me to explain. Mostly because…Well…You see I lost much. And the images don’t fade too readily. I hope you understand Rosewood.”

Willow stood to show that she was able to move without difficulty. “I think that sounds all right.” She said in regards to Rosewood’s proposal. “I haven’t silflayed in a while now and hunger is setting in something fierce. Do lead the way.”

Lounging on the bank of the stream, just slightly outside the proximity of some tall stalks of river-plant, was a young buck. By all appearances, he was trying to catch the last bit of warming sun, as the afternoon sunk it down beyond the sight of El-ahrairah's children. The buck watched distractedly, eyes half-closed and flickering between the brilliant setting sky, the running water, and keeping on the lookout for any elil (or even other warren members) nearby.

Hmmm...the passing of the sun, the passing of Frithrah! Where did he go, and where did he take his light so that Watership Down - and everything it touched - fell to black sky and the presence of their enemies? Ah, well, he liked the night anyhow, when he was safely tucked into his own little burrow and able to think of his stories. That's what he did, because after all, he was the Great Storyteller, Donovan! Oh, how he remembered that amazing tale where a group of young rabbits ventured off to find exactly what he was thinking of - where Frith journeyed when the sky went dark.

...Perhaps remembered wasn't the best of words. A better word would be created, or even made-up.

Not that the young rabbit could help it, he thought as he pawed habitually at the tuft of hair on his head. He was the spinner of tales to fascinate the young ones of their warren - whether the tales were actually true or not wasn't as important as whether or not the little ones learned important things from them. He was great, he thought as he sat up with a haughty and proud expression, focusing now on his waving reflection in the water's surface. Donovan taught the members of the warren things, and therefore helped the warren live and thrive!

Although, sometimes his stories had no lessons anyway. They were just for fun, or for show and impression. That was his way, after all - he made stories of great adventures, keeping the old ones from the days of Hazel and General Woundwort alive, but making new ones from daydreamed plans that he would never have the spine to go and do.

That was just what the buck was doing now; planning his latest adventure-turned-tale. Sadly, he was lacking ideas, even after spending most of the afternoon thinking in his special, quiet-and-out-of-the-way thinking spot. It was a private spot for Donovan, the little nook where the storyteller came up with his greatest stories. However, it appeared as though his special little sitting corner had visitors that late afternoon. Ears a-twitch and nose at work, he sat up on his haunches to take a good look around. The new scent...scents, rather, and sounds were not elil, but he didn't recognize them further than being rabbits. Hm...

Just then, he saw two walk up to the stream.

*Sniff* Does, huh?

One, a darkish one with paler tips, took a drink from the stream. Donovan tried to remember if she was a part of the warren...yes, he thought he'd seen her around. Interested in his line of duty, as it was...but all thought of that disappeared when he saw the other doe come into view.

Her hardship was plainly visible in her ragged-looking appearance, but he also saw it in the nervous way she minced about. A newcomer...well, a hlessi. The young buck thought about racing back to the warren to report to the owsla and/or Bracken-rah about this intruder - who knew where she was from? - but then again, the poor doe looked too beat up to be much of a threat.

So, setting all four paws down, the buck began moving towards the two females. Putting aside his suspicions, he called out, "Good evening to you!"

Another perhaps unwelcome figure had noticed some movement down by the stream. Deciding it looked suspicious, a large grey buck went to investigate... only to find a couple does and that annoying storyteller Donovan.

There was the rustling of foliage before he made his appearance, standing on his haunches and looking quite serious. "What's all this, then?" he asked, brow furrowed as he looked from one to the other. When his red gaze landed on the Hlessi, there was a disgusted look on his face. A paw pointed at her, "And who is this?" he sniffed in her direction and wrinkled his nose, "Embleer hlessi!"

Donovan tilted his head in Rosewood's direction, wondering at her somewhat cold-shouldered demeanor. He couldn't remember much about that doe further than her wanting to become a storyteller herself, and he'd never had any contact with her. Peculiar, it was. True, he happened to be a favorite for his stories, though he couldn't say so with certainty about his attitude and personality.

Ah, he'd probably just startled her. Considering the state of Rosewood's new acquaintance, he wouldn't be surprised if both does were on the alert for a homba or any other undesirable sorts.

The young buck hopped forward, about to apologize for intruding and/or frightening the two, when up bound possibly the toughest rabbit in the warren (after Bracken-rah, of course), Owsla Captain Cocklebur. Now, Donovan knew that the large, grey-and-black buck didn't particularly like him. Maybe it was because the storyteller had created some fanciful tale about the captain earning his name, and his several scars, by fighting a rooster. Angered roosters could be very mean and as dangerous an any elil, after all; the young outskirters learned to stay away from farms and man after he told them that.

Sitting up on his back legs once more, Donovan glanced a bit nervously between Cocklebur, Rosewood, and the hlessi doe. Willow was her name, was it? Poor thing...at taking another look at the doe's sorry state, the storyteller couldn't help but take pity. Also, like Rosewood, he had a tingling curiosity to know what had happened to her. Her tale had to be an excellent one, and a good piece to add to his collection.

"Captain," he said, speaking up but lowering himself back to all fours in an attempt to humble himself and placate Cocklebur, "I don't believe Willow deserves to have her thlay roughened anymore." He glanced towards the hlessi, then briefly at Rosewood, and looked back to the owsla captain. "Please, sir, take some pity. She's hardly crossed the border of the outskirts as it is."

"Hush up storyteller, this is none of your concern" Cocklebur snapped at Donovan, his dislike for the other buck clear in his glaring red eyes. His attention then turned back to Rosewood and his gaze narrowed. "Perhaps you should be more careful with who you take pity on, doe" came Cocklebur's condescending tone.

Nose and cut ear twitched as he glared at the Hlessi, looking her over. He knew full well that Bracken was soft and would likely give in to the pleas of the Hlessi and her new found friends in their warren. However, Cocklebur had other ideas. "She smells something awful, and you don't know where she's been." The buck bared his teeth, "She has no place among us! Now run along and be a good little doe, and get back to the warren. You shouldn't be wandering so much anyway, unless you want to end up burrowless like that filth."

His gaze went back to this so called Willow, "Well, go on then! You're not wanted here! The chief would not have the likes of you near one of his does."

Donovan backed off immediately, shuffling slowly to the side to get out of the path of Cocklebur's red gaze. He was a speaker, after all, and not anything of a fighter. He liked telling tales of great fights and the origins of battle-scars that so many venerable rabbits sported, but he preferred to keep his own self fully intact. Plus, the owsla captain did have a point - the matters of hlessi on warren territory was for the judgment of the owsla and their chief.

The storyteller listened to Rosewood speak and plead Willow's case. Willow herself looked nervous, and rightly so. Cocklebur was, in Donovan's opinion, stern to the point of being mean-spirited, and quite unpleasant most of the time. He often acted as though there was the putrid smell of some very bad hraka under his nose. But, if he had any reason to, even if it was the smallest reason, Cocklebur might just beat and drive the poor doe from the outskirts, and possibly punish Rosewood (and himself) for arguing with him.

Still, as strong as the big buck was, he would have to report to Bracken eventually. And, although mentioning that could quite possibly set Cocklebur off - every rabbit old enough to remember knew about the rivalry between the chief and the owsla captain - Donovan decided that he might as well give it one more shot. However, this time, he addressed Rosewood, speaking still calmly and a bit matter-of-factly. "Now, Cocklebur does have a point; we don't know where Willow's been, and we don't know what could follow her scent. We should go back to the warren and let our good Captain inform Bracken-rah of her presence. It's really his decision on what to do with this matter, anyway."

Despite the smooth delivery, Donovan was tensed over and ready to spring away, just in case. If anything, Cocklebur wasn't known for an even temperament.