The forest had finally gone quiet again. Not the kind of quiet that screamed "something's stalking you," but a calm, almost serene stillness. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets I wasn't privy to, while golden sunlight dappled the mossy ground.
I limped toward my puddle, each step a reminder that I was, indeed, still alive. My legs were jelly, my fur was a matted mess of blood and dirt, and my forearm throbbed from the ferret's bite. But I wasn't dead. Not yet.
When I reached the water, I collapsed onto the soft moss at its edge, too tired to do much more than stare at my reflection. A battered white rabbit with droopy ears and an expression best described as "mildly traumatized" stared back.
"Well," I said, raising a paw in mock salute, "you've looked worse. Probably. I mean, you were flattened by an airplane not long ago, so maybe today's an upgrade?"
The rabbit in the water didn't reply. Figures.
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With a groan, I dipped my paw into the puddle and splashed water onto my face. The coolness stung, but it felt good to wash off some of the grime. I scrubbed at my fur as best I could, though the dried blood clung stubbornly. If I was going to be the king of the Kingdom of Fluff, I at least needed to look the part.
"Alright," I muttered, peering at my reflection. "Time for the deluxe spa package."
After a few more splashes and a fair bit of contorting, I managed to clean most of the visible dirt. My fur still looked like it had been through a blender, but at least I didn't smell like death. Progress.
Satisfied, I stretched out on the moss, letting the sun dry my damp fur. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax. No predators. No glowing runes. Just me, the puddle, and the soft hum of the forest.
Whoever it is out there, stay where you are and let me enjoy my bath. No peeking.
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Of course, peace never lasts long in my world.
A sharp chirp from above jolted me out of my tranquility. I tilted my head back to see Papa Squirrel perched on a branch, his tail flicking furiously. Mama Squirrel wasn't far behind, clutching a shiny nut like it was a priceless artifact.
"Oh, hey," I said, sitting up. "What's the commotion this time? Don't tell me there's another ferret. I just got the last one out of my fur—literally."
Ba dum tss
Papa Squirrel scurried down the trunk, chittering loudly. He dropped the nut at my paws, then gestured at it with his tail.
"For me?" I asked, poking the nut. "You shouldn't have. No, seriously—I have no idea how to eat this."
Papa Squirrel gave me a look that could only be described as exasperated. He mimed cracking the nut open with his teeth, then gestured again.
"Fine, fine," I said, picking up the nut. "Let's see what we're working with."
I turned the nut over in my paws. It was smooth and glossy, like a little gemstone. Pretty, but completely impenetrable. After a few failed attempts to bite into it, I resorted to smashing it against a rock.
CRACK. The nut split open, revealing a pale, nutty center. I sniffed it cautiously before taking a nibble. Huh. Not bad. Definitely better than grass.
Papa Squirrel chirped approvingly, then scampered back up his tree, tail flicking smugly. Mama Squirrel followed, but not before casting a wary glance at the shadows beyond the clearing.
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As I finished the nut, I couldn't help but glance back at the pile of rocks near my puddle. The act of cracking the nut had been oddly satisfying. For the first time in what felt like forever, I hadn't been running or fighting or stressing about dying. I'd just… smashed something. And it had been fun.
An idea began to form.
What if I started collecting things to smash? Rocks, nuts, weird forest junk—whatever caught my eye. Not only would it be a way to kill time, but it might also help me hone my coordination.
"Alright," I said, hopping toward the pile of rocks. "Time to get creative."
I spent the next hour gathering anything remotely interesting: smooth pebbles, shiny bits of bark, even a gnarled piece of wood that looked suspiciously like a tiny club. Each time I added something to the pile, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment.
When I was done, I sat back to admire my work. My pile wasn't impressive—yet—but it was a start.
"Welcome to the Hobby of Destruction," I said, patting the nearest rock. "Membership: one very tired rabbit."
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As the sun dipped lower, I began experimenting with the pile. I tested different rocks to see which ones were easiest to break. I discovered that certain nuts cracked more cleanly than others, and that smashing them at an angle was more effective than brute force.
It wasn't just about smashing anymore. It was about learning. Each crack, each crunch, taught me something new about the objects around me—and, in a weird way, about myself.
At one point, I picked up the gnarled piece of wood and gave it a few experimental swings. It wasn't much, but it felt… good. Strong. Like a tool I could actually use. I made a mental note to practice with it more.
With my new collection assembled, I set to work. I tested the rocks first, smashing them against each other to see which ones cracked the easiest. Then I moved on to the pinecone, using the gnarled wood to batter it into submission. It wasn't just mindless smashing—I was learning. Certain angles worked better than others, and timing was everything.
My favorite discovery was a particularly stubborn nut that refused to crack. I spent a solid ten minutes trying different techniques, growing increasingly dramatic with each failure.
"Fine!" I shouted, shaking a paw at the offending nut. "You win this round! But mark my words—I'll be back!"
I tossed it back into the pile for another day, feeling oddly triumphant despite the defeat.
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After exhausting my limited energy on my new hobby, I flopped back onto the moss near my puddle. The sky was a vibrant orange now, the last light of day stretching long shadows across the clearing.
I stared up at the canopy, my mind drifting. The past few days had been brutal. I'd faced death more times than I cared to count, and yet here I was. Still standing. Still fighting.
"Why, though?" I muttered. "What's the point?"
The orb in my chest pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat. It didn't have an answer, but its warmth was oddly reassuring.
"Fine," I said. "I'll keep going. But you'd better have a damn good reason for all this."
The orb pulsed again, stronger this time. I frowned, placing a paw over my chest. Was it… responding to me? Or was I just imagining things?
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As the first stars began to dot the sky, the squirrels returned. Papa Squirrel chirped loudly, his tail flicking in agitation. Mama Squirrel followed close behind, clutching another twig like a weapon.
"What now?" I asked, sitting up. "More bad news?"
Papa Squirrel pointed his tail toward the deeper forest. His chirps grew sharper, more urgent. Mama Squirrel added her own high-pitched squeaks, her tiny paws trembling.
I stood, my ears swiveling. [Danger Sense] buzzed faintly in the back of my mind—not the blaring alarm of immediate danger, but the low hum that warned something was coming.
"Alright, alright," I said, raising a paw. "Message received. I'll stay out of the deep woods tonight."
The squirrels didn't look convinced, but they retreated to their tree, still watching me with nervous eyes.
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As the forest settled into its nighttime stillness, I curled up near my burrow, staring at the stars. The orb pulsed faintly again, a constant reminder of its presence.
"Are you trying to tell me something?" I whispered. "Or are you just… there?"
The orb didn't answer, of course. But its warmth spread through me, steady and unchanging.
I closed my eyes, letting the forest's whispers lull me into an uneasy sleep. The orb's hum echoed in my dreams, carrying with it images I couldn't quite understand—glowing runes, shadowy figures, and a web of light stretching endlessly across the forest.
When I woke, the sky was just beginning to brighten, the faintest hints of dawn creeping over the horizon.
"Another day," I muttered, stretching. "Another chance to not die."
I glanced at my pile of rocks and nuts, a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe today, I'd add something new to the collection.