Welcome to Gaia! ::

Yarrow had a mouthful of hay. The wild wheat had been gnawed by her own teeth to make gentle stalks for her father to lay on. It smelled different but the texture was much like home.

To be honest, Yarrow kind of liked the hutch. It was safe and warm and the food, while repetitive, was still an easy meal. There was no danger, save for the occasional child who got too pully with their ears. Yarrow may not have left if her father hadn't. She did love the old man.

She deposited her mouthful onto the floor where her father sat, giving him the option of more comfortable seating. It really made no difference if her teeth were stuffed with food, straw or mud; she never spoke anyway. Not even as a babe did she have anything to say besides a soft purr or mumbled noise. But she could almost communicate without words if rabbits were patient enough.

She laid beside her father, enjoying his warm heartbeat and the gentle trickle of his voice. She pushed a little closer when more rabbits began to circle them to listen.








Mouse snuffled and pushed her tiny form to the front of the group. Almost no bigger than a kitten, she sat among the gathering outskirters, knowing her ears wouldn't block the view of the older rabbits behind her. She twitched her whiskers, a question bubbling to her lips. She almost blurted it, but the other buck got to it first. You didn't interrupt the son of a captain!

Dropwort was quite content in the warren. Sure, he wasn't nearly as spry as the wild rabbits, nor as slim and built for survival in the wild. He hoped dearly that his daughters would blend into warren-life fairly easily, despite their vibrant coats and their inexperience. He loved them something fierce and while they might not understand why he insisted they follow the wild rabbits, he had his reasons. It was for their safety. He knew far more about humans than he truly wanted to. His current, adult daughters were also not the first litter he and his mate had sired.

There had been others.

He shuddered at the thought. Man didn't only eat wild rabbit, after all. But that was something he did not share with his daughters, nor did he wish to share with the wild rabbits, especially at this time.

"Oh, the human-warren, yes. It's very different from this place, I can assure you. Big, open... Anyone of you who has been on a raid would know. We don't live underground there. No-no-no, they have us live above ground, in homes made of wood and wire. Very peculiar and very un-rabbit like, though many hutch rabbits would not know any better."

Wire and wood- these were things of snares and traps. These were things that could kill. And yet the humans used them to contain their rabbits? Above ground? Crocus frowned a bit, a little ashamed of her ignorance. She'd never been on a farm raid- she hadn't been experienced enough during the disastrous raid of a few seasons ago- and she avoided the place when possible. Her job was keeping her warren safe, not skulking around and nicking vegetables. She nudged his daughter, a red-eyed mirror of himself, who was standing quite close to her. The smaller doe looked a little scared- perhaps her memories of her time with the humans wasn't the happiest? "I'll bet that did a number on your paws, friend," she said quietly while the buck had paused. Then, addressing the father, she spoke a bit more loudly. "Forgive me if this question is insensitive, but didn't living outside... how were you kept safe at night? Wood and wire doesn't seem like it could keep out, say, a dog- or a clever fox."

When the old buck mentioned that he'd been inside the human warren, the Owsla doe's attention went form a passing interest to an acute one. A wild rabbit could never hope to experience the inside of a human warren and live. She was gaining a kind of respect for him; any rabbit that lucky had to have something special about him. It was good to have hutch rabbits in a warren- their kind of wisdom didn't come cheap.

"If they don't live underground, where do they store their flayrah?" It was common knowledge that humans put the flayrah they grew somewhere, but once they had it packed up, where it was taken, nobody knew. It would be a fascinating thing to know how the humans managed their food. She could ask more about hutch life later.

As Yarrow approached once more, the old buck gave his mute daughter a slight nuzzle. Sweet, yet silent girl. He dearly hoped that when it was his time, she would move on and be well on her own. He dreaded the thought of what would happen if she did not. His attention had turned back to the rabbits that were listening to him. They bubbled with questions, which delighted the old timer. He wasn't too sure these wild rabbits would be too interested in the life of a tame rabbit, but he had been wrong. Humans were curious creatures, after all. In a way, his hutch life had been a unique experience.

"From what I've seen, in a few places. Up high, where I could not reach it, on a slab made of stone and wood. I could smell the fresh apples they kept there and was treated to a slice on a pawful of occasions. There were also two..." He trailed off for a moment as he sought the right words to describe what he had seen on his explorations inside, the daughter not far behind, of course. "Two chambers. One was dry and the flay was kept off the floor. I could almost reach the lowest shelf if I tried hard enough. The other chamber was a wonder. It was sometimes cold or colder still, like winter was coming, but only in that chamber. It was the oddest thing." He never ceased to wonder how they did it. They were like aliens, beings from a completely different world, despite inhabiting the same one.

"Oh no, no, Mouse was it? You don't bite the humans. Not if you want to live. We were at their mercy and had to live by their rules. Farmers eat rabbits, you know? If we were to bite the farmer, he might have decided we were flay." He shuddered at the thought.

"But I did bite the farmer's pfeffa, once."

"Oh yes, bit that old tom pfeffa nice and hard. I was in the farmer's home one day, you see. The farmer's child brought me in and I was still a young buck back in those days. It was bitter and cold, snow was on the ground, and while it was warm enough in the hutch, it was even warmer inside the farmer's home." The old buck sighed and closed his eyes, but it was not an unpleasant sigh. He was remembering the old days, back when his life was cushy and he never wanted for anything. Well, anything within reason. He'd wanted to explore when he was a young whippersnapper, but those days had long since passed.

"There I was, sitting on the stone floor and nibbling a piece of flay-rah. The girl had been petting my fur, but she became distracted and left the room. Who else would come in but that mangy pfeffa and he saw me as an easy meal. You might not believe it now, but I was a sturdy, strong buck back then." He smiled faintly as he nuzzled his sweet, silent daughter. She'd not heard this story before.