#sirsleepy

[thinkingagain]

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 9

Everyone at the Demesne spent the day talking about the news that a Beast had made purposeful contact with the Demesne wall.

The Commandant’s organization likely had been responsible, the Madam told everyone. Ling Ling alerted many Magic Animals around the world and asked them to provide what information they had. In the days that followed, many past stories regarding the Commandant rolled in. Not much was known about that infamous Beast’s current whereabouts.

The Commandant’s name and organization, The Commandant Foundation Inc., were well known in the Animal Magic world. Still, The Commandant did an excellent job of keeping its own personal movements mysterious. Its activities were often rumor more than fact.

Only a few animals had met The Commandant face to face. They told stories of its surface friendliness and charm and the power of its smile and eyes, which promised benevolent and wonderful things that often later turned deadly even to Magic Animals.

The Commandant had won the trust of small Magic Animal groups and led them into disastrous attacks on Beast strongholds. El Tigre and the Rattler knew of a magic white tiger who had been killed attempting to break open the gates of a so-called tiger “park” in Harbin, China where tigers were imprisoned. Similar stories emerged of misguided assaults on Beast military posts, hydraulic dams and high pollution mines.

The information suggested that The Commandant knew how to win the trust of less experienced Magic Animals with big dreams, encouraging them into overambitious plots. Even the few living animals who had encountered that infamous Beast could only speculate about why it did what it did.

The Madam understood it best, although even to her, some of The Commandant’s emotions seemed inexplicable. “When a person, or a Magic Animal, dies for him,” she explained many times, “he believes he has absorbed their power and has become greater and more magic than before. And I do mean dies for him, not just dies. Anyone, Beast or other animal, killed in a mission which The Commandant has talked them into becomes for him a sign of his own greatness. He collects the death of others like the medals he wears on his shirt.”

Growing concern about the nature and goals of The Commandant’s organization led to a morning when all the animals went to the Meeting Ground for a lecture by Leo about Beast organizational systems and the Commandant’s relation to them. The lecture was called “The Commandant in Context.”

“Early Beast groups were mainly small wandering clans,” Leo told the gathered members of the Demesne, “much like those that survive to this day in a few isolated areas.” The animals, sitting in the meadow or on the rocks and raised ground on the meadow’s edge, listened intently. Their usual exuberance had turned grimly serious. “At that stage, Beast organization was at its least harmful, and most resembled a pattern common to all animals who live in groups.”

Leo paced as he spoke, his large rabbit voice booming across the field. “They ate only the food they needed to survive, whether other animals or available plant life. They made no claims about land ownership. Clans were often led by strong individuals and often clashed with other clans or tried to get along with them.

“In clans that tried to get along, we see the beginning of the behavior that Beasts call diplomacy. In diplomacy, through repeated patterns of greeting, gift exchange, and temporary verbal agreement, Beasts obtain their own ends from other Beasts non-violently. When diplomacy breaks down, which, since it’s full of manipulation, it often does, Beast violence follows.”

Murmurs of approval for Leo’s points, and anger at Beasts, moved through the gathered Magic Animals. They had all seen firsthand how Beast behavior led relentlessly to violence.

Leo went on. “Beast group behavior in many places eventually outgrew the wandering clan stage. Beasts rapidly developed larger social arrangements in which individual Beasts often didn’t know each other. They began to claim land, plant food, and build Beastly abodes where they stayed permanently, although some Beasts continued wandering.

“The fundamental Beast desire to control land and objects which they then will defend from other Beasts emerges more fully in this period. Remember though: Beasts do not wish to claim ownership only of that which they see. A fundamental characteristic of Beasts is their urge for abstract acquisitive longing. They imagine things they have never seen and imagine themselves owning those things. Just as importantly, they imagine controlling and owning other Beasts and animals.”

All the animals were listening closely, many leaning towards Leo at attentive angles.

“Through these longings for what is not immediately visible, an early Beast form of large scale organization began: the monarchy. In monarchy, in a defined Beast territory one Beast is treated as in charge of all other Beasts. The territory is often so large that a given monarch is unlikely to see all of it, although his conquering ancestors wandered most of it at some point. The Beast monarch, often called a ‘King,’ was considered more important than all other Beasts and gave orders that other Beasts had to take, although they often resented those orders and sometimes tried to get rid of the king.

“Beast monarchies often grew very large. Over time they began to be challenged by new types of Beast organization and eventually all the largest Beast monarchies crumbled and changed into other forms of Beast government. Since each individual Beast wants to be a monarch over all other Beasts—though some Beasts want this more than others—Beast monarchies were filled with constant fighting between and against monarchs.

“Out of this fighting grew two opposing Beast government principles, though at times these principles were united: Capitalism and Democracy.

“Capitalism relies on the belief that every Beast has the right to seize as much as it can of anything. In Capitalism, no Beast has a special monopoly on this right. Each Beast can then fight all other Beasts to acquire as much as it can.

“Of course, Beasts have always behaved that way. But Capitalism states directly that a Beast’s right to seize as much as it can from other Beasts is what makes Beast life virtuous. In principle, according to Capitalism, any laws placed on the right of Beasts to seize resources from other Beasts are wrong. In practice, Beast diplomacy sometimes leads to compromise. Capitalism also includes the belief that there is no reason why Beast fights over ownership should be fair. Any advantages a Beast already has over another going into a fight are not only allowable, but a sign of virtue.

“Democracy, on the other hand, appears at first as the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in how any given group of Beasts governs its life. In theory, in Democracy no Beast has more power than any other. Ideas about Democracy have existed in many eras. Here and there, one Beast society might be more democratic than another.

“Democracy and Capitalism are linked, historically. Both became more prominent at the same time, and both rejected the concept of monarchy. Practically though, the idea that a Beast can seize anything it can, and the idea that all Beasts should have an equal say in Beastly government, are opposites. If a Beast has more things and more power, than it has more than an equal say.

“The result in Beast societies that try to be both capitalist and democratic is usually that a minority of powerful Beasts runs most things. This organizational pattern is called Oligarchy. Its basic system of power is a combination of public government and private organizations called corporations. In Oligarchy, corporations and the government work together to make sure that powerful Beasts maintain their power.”

Anger about Beast organizational lies was now moving energetically among the gathered animals. Leo, noting it, said, “Yes, it is certainly appalling. But it has its fascinations. In any case, however much we may disapprove, understanding these things is crucial to the success of the Demesne.”

The animals signaled assent, and Leo continued. “The idea of Democracy led to other ideas about government systems in which less powerful Beasts could be protected from more powerful ones. These ideas are interesting, and attempts have been made to put them into practice.

“One thing needs to be kept always in view: the capacity that Beasts have to lie to themselves, to think they are doing good things to and for others when in fact they are doing harm. Perhaps just as importantly, one of the basic patterns of Beast life is that when Beasts turn especially cruel, other Beasts will sometimes, for a while, try to make Beast life less cruel.

“Ultimately, although Beast cruelty may be less prominent in one moment than another, it always returns. Beast kindness is usually no more than a reaction against Beast cruelty. Almost never in the history of Beasts has kindness been in charge for more than brief moments.

“Communism is one of the extensions of the idea of Democracy. Communism rejects the Capitalist idea that a Beast has the right to seize as much as it can. Instead, in Communism, in theory there is only one Beast organization allowed, the government. All Beasts are in theory equal owners of the government, contributing what they can to its work, and receiving the goods and services they need from it.

“The failure of Communism is that it becomes Capitalist Oligarchy pretending not to be. It says all Beasts have an equal say, like Democracy, but in fact more powerful Beasts still run everything for their own benefit, and Beasts still fight each other relentlessly over government power. It’s similar to the way Capitalism sometimes pretends to be Democracy. However, Communism says competition between Beasts is bad rather than good. Beast fighting takes place, in theory, within a single organization, instead of multiple organizations fighting each other.

“Anarchy is a development related both to Communism and Democracy in terms of claiming equal rights for every Beast. Its central idea is that the basic problem of Beast government is any organization with too much power. Through ideas of Anarchy, Beasts imagine that they can split themselves into smaller Beast groups uncontrolled by larger ones. Those smaller groups will then govern themselves more democratically.

“In some ways, Anarchy indulges the fantasy that Beasts often have of returning to their early days of small clan units. Those clans would now not be organized as early versions of monarchy but as democracies in which members of the Beast group share power.

“The problem with Anarchy is that Beasts living in small groups, isolated from others, are no less likely to seek control over other Beasts. Anarchic groups often become groups in which individuals struggle for control over each other by insisting that their ideas are more beneficial for the group.

“Another common idea about Anarchy is that in a Beast Anarchy, every Beast has the right to do what it likes. Anarchy based on the idea that individual Beasts can do what they like often quickly becomes Capitalism. Other Anarchic groups want to limit what a Beast can and can’t do. That version of Anarchy becomes more like Communism, with Communism’s same problems.”

Leo took a moment to breathe and looked around as if remembering that he too was still a Magic Animal in a field, not a brutal Beast. Then he drew himself up, focusing his energy. “There’s a lot we still don’t know about The Commandant. Based on what we do know, I believe it likely that The Commandant controls an organization that operates with high effectiveness through its combination of Capitalist and Anarchic elements.

“The Commandant Foundation does not have one easily identified center of operations. Instead it has a false front headquarters to distract attention. The Commandant works from small, bland, anonymous buildings in any number of locations in the world. These locations change, and The Commandant moves between them rapidly. Sometimes The Commandant may use no buildings at all. The organization then consists mainly of Beasts in motion.

“The Commandant also has massive computing and financial resources that it can access from anywhere. Its financial power consists of numbers calculated on computers and stored in temporary, well protected data files. The fact that this financial power is no more than a concept does not prevent it from being changed quickly into weapons and other physical resources when necessary.

“The Commandant wields all three main kinds of Beast power: money, weapons, and dreams. It employs the most contemporary techniques available on how to use those powers to manipulate other Beasts. It is capable of moving those powers, and itself, quickly, to anywhere in the world. It can attack quickly. It has significant ability to prevent others even from learning that an attack has taken place or who has done it.

“We do not know how many devoted personnel The Commandant has. Some, most likely, but a large number of Beasts who work for The Commandant Foundation probably do so temporarily and know more about small, temporary goals than overarching ones. In fact, we need to be honest and admit that we ourselves don’t know much about The Commandant’s goals. Still, sources of information like the Madam have made us more informed about its activities than most Beasts are likely to be.

“All told, I believe we can say this much. Given that the Commandant is a Beast, its goals are likely crude, although they will be wrapped in complex layers of Beast perversity. The Commandant’s methods, however, are sophisticated, efficient, and brutal.

“Remember: we are Magic Animals, and we have many ways to resist Beast power. But Beasts are still the most effective creature at murder in the world. And The Commandant, if even some of the stories about it are true, is the most effective Beast murderer of Magic Animals that has ever existed.”

The animals gathered for Leo’s speech talked about it all day, and a long time after. No one who was there for the speech ever forgot it.

[thinkingagain]

“That all makes sense,” the Sir said. “A sonic wall of whales and dolphins, with water surface cover by lionfish.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 10

The next morning, the Demesne was jolted by news from the Beast Media Room about a different enemy. The United States Navy was planning to test dangerous new high frequency sonar patterns in a wide array across the Atlantic Ocean.

The Navy had stated publicly its estimate, certainly deceptively low, that the sonar might kill as many as 1800 whales and dolphins and deafen nearly 16,000 more. The tests would be launched from Beast underwater weapon ships called submarines and would spread out at various depths below the water’s surface.

Beasts were openly admitting the proposed crime through multiple Beast Media sources. Hearing the news from Lucky on a cloudy Demesne morning that a moment before had seemed leisurely, Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest shouted angrily at the air. Then, calming himself, he said, “The Demesne has no ocean animals. How can we combat this heinous attempt at mass murder?”

Lucky, who was standing perturbed near the Sir on the grass, perked up. “Madam, do you remember?”

From a nearby rock, the Madam looked at Lucky uncertainly. Then recognition spread over her face. “Of course! The Aquatic Team. We ran into them on the Adriatic Sea.”

��I know them too.” Ling Ling, who had come out of the Beast Media room with Lucky, bobbed her head excitedly. “I’ve talked with them several times. They never once tried to kick me out. Let me contact them now.” She walked a few feet away to clear her head for the communication.

“They sang us a song,” Lucky said. “Called it Aquatics on the Adriatic.”

“Fond of wordplay, weren’t they?” The Madam smiled at the memory. “Such admirable, fun-loving animals. I hope they’re well.”

The Sir, intrigued, looked at his friends. “I would like to meet them. Will the Demesne Lake accommodate them, or will I have to go to the Adriatic?”

“If they’re able to help us,” Lucky said, “they’ll probably come here. It’s nearer the action we’ll need to take. The Adriatic really isn’t their home. They were just passing through one evening when the Madam and I were in the land that Beasts call Bulgaria.”

Ling Ling walked back over. “They’ll be here in a little while. They have to get together, then they’ll be coming through the magic portal.”

The Sir bowed acknowledgement at Ling Ling’s quick action. “Let’s go down to the lake to greet them properly.”

Not especially long or wide, the Demesne Lake was still big enough that even large water animals could swim in it happily and deep enough to welcome any who preferred to stay submerged. It was possible for a land animal to sit on its edge and talk to any animal floating on the water. There was also an underground cavern, blocked off from the lake by a window, where land animals could sit in comfort and talk through the window intercom to those under the lake’s surface. So far the lake had been used mainly by local magic lake fish fighting corrupt hatchery practices.

The Sir went to the lake edge to greet its first ocean visitors. Lucky, The Madam and Ling Ling were still with him. Jack and Muffin soon joined them.

A few minutes later, several underwater animals broke the water’s surface and bobbed near the shore. They looked up and greeting the Demesne’s welcoming team.

Chicoutimi, a white female quite large for a beluga whale, with the usual beluga melon head protruding attractively, led the aquatic team’s formal greeting. Naomi, a young narwhale with an impressively long tusk for a female, seemed to find it difficult to stay still and darted around in the water, agreeing with Chicoutimi and adding relevant points. Joining them was Hyacinth, a lionfish with lovely red streaks across her skin and an impressive set of venomous spines. She was quieter and calmer than the others. Her fins floated gracefully in the water.

The Demesne welcoming team commented on the fine specificity of their visitors’ animal natures. Muffin did his usual routines and then gave, in turn, his own brief imitations of each guest.

The Madam looked searchingly at the lake. “Olivia’s not with you? Maybe it’s a busy time for gray whales?”

“We haven’t heard from Olivia recently.” Chicoutimi’s melon head bobbed uncertainly. “It’s worrying, frankly.”

“She was doing a lot of anti-whaling missions,” Naomi chimed in, then did a quick swoop in the water. “They’ve been keeping her busy, but she usually checks in with us. Lately, nothing.”

Ling Ling was turning her head from side to side. “I didn’t get any response from her either. I’ll let everyone know to pass along any news of her they might have.”

“I am sorry not to meet her today,” the Sir said, “and I hope she’s doing well. Did Ling Ling tell you about our problem?”

“She did.” Chicoutimi swayed back and forth. “I’ve been up north and hadn’t heard about it.”

“There was talk along the barrier reefs,” Hyacinth put in, “but no one had facts.”

“Our information suggests that the attack is going to take place across quite a distance.” The Sir gestured with a paw in the direction of the ocean, far away. “It will be centered near the state that the Beasts call Georgia. The heinous sonar will be sent from submarines. I assume you have some experience dealing with submarines? I’ve never seen one myself.”

Chicoutimi, Naomi, and Hyacinth looked at each other. “Oh, we know about submarines,” Chicoutimi said gravely.

“In fact we’ve encountered the whole range of Beast water contraptions,” Naomi said.

Hyacinth said, in what was clearly her understated way, “I could talk all night about wet suits.”

The Sir saw clearly their high level of expertise. “The sonar will rupture the brains of whales and dolphins and destroy the hearing of others.”

“Which of course will also be fatal,” Chicoutimi said, “since all us whales and dolphins need our hearing to survive.”

The Sir shuddered. “Can anything be done? Those of us currently at the Demesne don’t have much underwater ocean ability.”

“We’ve dealt with sonar problems before.” Chicoutimi bobbed back and forth in the water. “This time it sounds like the scale and degree of the attack will be massive. Still, I think we can put together a workable response.”

“We already send our own version of sonar, see.” Naomi swam in several quick circles that seemed both excited and anxious. “If Beasts send out frequencies that disrupt our frequencies, we can send them back. In our own special way, of course.”

“In other words,” Chicoutimi’s melon head pulsed thoughtfully, “if we set up the right perimeter of magic defense, we should be able to send their own sonar back at them. In surprisingly concentrated form.”

Ling Ling swayed back and forth, embarrased. “That’s pretty much what I do sometimes.” She giggled.

“How will you set up this perimeter?” the Sir asked.

“We’ll have to call in magic whales and dolphins all over the planet,” Chicoutimi said, “and have them prepared for the moment. Precision and coordination will be crucial.”

The Sir turned to Lucky. “Can we intercept Beast underwater communication?”

Lucky nodded. “Should be possible. I’ll try to rig something up.”

“Ling Ling would have to send us the information quickly,” Chicoutimi said.

“I can do that,” Ling Ling said, “as long as you don’t try to kick me out afterwards.”

“I like you too much to kick you out,” Chicoutimi said calmly, with no irony. “We’d start sending the counter sonar in time to disrupt theirs, jam their communication waves with our own. We could then force back the sonar into the ears of those on the submarines, as they mean to do to us.”

“Meanwhile,” Hyacinth’s colors flashed, “we lionfish can harass any Beasts operating too openly on the water. Beasts hauled us far away from our original homes. Now they’ll have to deal with the fact that as a species, we’re doing better than they intended in Georgia and many other places.”

“That all makes sense,” the Sir said. “A sonic wall of whales and dolphins, with water surface cover by lionfish.”

“Spread across many miles.” Chicoutimi’s melon head brightened agreeably on the water. “It’s a challenge, but I think we’re up to it.”

“With what results?” the Sir asked.

“It’s murderous sonar.” Chicoutimi’s melon-head pulsed softly, thoughtfully. “There’s no way to scramble it without murderous results. Human divers under water can be harmed by sonar nearly in the same way as ocean mammals. It makes them dizzy and distorts their vision. They can’t hear and some can’t breathe. I’m afraid that to do the job right, the sound audible even inside the submarines will be violently high-pitched.”

“This Navy will be attacked in a way similar to the attack it intends?”

“Yes,” Chicoutimi said.

The Sir considered the problem. “It could cause a lot of Beast casualties?”

“I’m afraid it will. But not as many as they want to kill of us.”

[thinkingagain]

Beasts were leaving the university grounds rapidly.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 29

Beasts were leaving the university grounds rapidly. Many rushed to their Beast vehicles and tried to drive away, causing brief jams in several main parking lots, but the low campus population that morning helped most Beasts leave easily.

Some more frantic Beasts, and some who had not come in their own vehicles, left campus on foot. They spilled onto the nearby highway or ran into the woods; there was plenty of Beast habitation nearby and so no real danger. There was a lot of shouting, fearful or angry or both. Several Beasts verbally assaulted each other in confusion, but there were no serious mishaps. Or at least Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest saw none as he moved along the edges of the Campus Drive towards his meeting with Muffin. Muffin had maybe witnessed a bigger range of action and could fill him in.

Soon enough the Sir saw his henchman crouched in the bushes near the edge of Campus Drive. The Beast on its rope stood alongside him. Just south of Muffin, on the drive, an abandoned campus security car sat motionless in the road, front tire flattened.

“Used the pistol,” Muffin said. “I know we want to use Beast weapons as little as we can. But if you want to clear the security guards, instead of their coming after us...”

“Indeed.” The Sir looked at the terrain spreading out in front of them. “On the way over, I popped tires on two Beast security vehicles.” He patted his sword gratefully. “The Beasts hovered around the vehicles, looking confused. Someone came along in each case and told them what they believed was going on. After that, the security Beasts left promptly.”

“There’s a lot of Beast security on this campus for a quiet summer morning. Hard to believe, except it isn’t.”

“Beasts turn everything they can into armed Beast camps,” the Sir agreed. “Especially if Beast Madams are involved. Do they want to keep the Beast Madams safe or hostage?”

“I can’t say. We should move along.”

“Let’s stay near the drive,” the Sir nodded, “as we planned. I’m not sure how many Beast security vehicles are left, but we need to disable as many as we can. Now that Beast weapons have been used, we have less time.”

Muffin yanked their Beast along with them.

“Did it perform?” the Sir asked.

“Adequately. It had stopped shouting by the time I came back to it. I gave it a kick or two of encouragement and it found its voice again.”

The Sir nodded. “We must not expect miracles.”

They continued on their way along the edge of Campus Drive, keeping an eye out for vehicles. As they did, a loud siren started up above them, the sound covering the campus. The siren paused, then a voice boomed across the grounds. “Evacuate. Evacuate. Danger, evacuate.”

“Sounds like Lucky made it to the Emergency Communication Center,” Muffin said.

On their way to the grounds near the Alumni House at the front and center of campus, the Sir and Muffin disabled two more security vehicles and dispersed several security Beasts by slashing their clothing. The Emergency Evacuation warning continued sounding in the air above them.

“I’m still surprised Jack was right.” The Sir took a moment to catch his breath. “Although I don’t know why I would have overestimated Beasts. It doesn’t seem to occur to them that rabbits don’t attack when they get rabies. Jack said all they’d know about rabies came from movies—and in movies, animals with rabies always attack.”

“You don’t have to instill fear in Beasts,” Muffin said. “They have a whole bag of them always pre-filled. All you have to is let them out.”

“No fear, it seems,” the Sir agreed, “is too ludicrous for a Beast.”

They soon arrived near the Alumni House. Busterella and Love Frog and Sir Henry were there, along with the Madam. Her totem friends had blocked off the road leading onto campus with orange traffic cones like ones that the Sir had seen several times on Beast highways. Big signs reading “Detour” and “Warning: Hazardous Materials” had been propped in front of the cones.

The Madam wiped some sweat from her forehead. “Busterella let me know it’s going well. Several people just arriving for the day got out of their cars and stomped around in front of the signs, upset or angry. But banging on trash bins, and a few trumpet roars from Sir Henry, who was hiding, convinced them that the situation was dangerous.”

“I am grateful to you and your friends, Madam,” the Sir said. “I hope you did not find your morning’s work too distressing.”

“Actually it was fun.” The Madam smiled. “All my life I’ve wanted to help people leave their offices. Never had a way until now. I hate this suit though.” She picked at the buttons on it.

“I find it quite becoming,” the Sir said.

Scruffy came up to the group, face freshly washed. “Had to pick off a few stragglers here and there. Some of these young Beasts can sleep through everything short of a quick nip on the skin. I had Beast cafeteria food all over me too. Gross. I had to clean.”

A car came down the entrance drive onto campus and stopped at the traffic cones. The Beast behind the wheel looked at the cones and the signs and was clearly trying to decide what to do. It cocked its head and finally seemed to comprehend the emergency warming booming across campus, turned around and headed away again. Busterella looked at the Madam and nodded.

“Most of the Beasts have turned around just like that,” she told the Sir.

“They really are confused by the simplest tricks,” the Sir said.

Over the next few minutes, several more Beasts came down to the entrance and turned around at the cones. Some Beast stragglers on campus drove their vehicles shakily up and out the open exit.

Jack emerged from behind some trees and walked up to everyone. He was still wearing his horror bunny makeup. “Figured I might as well keep in costume. Gives me an edge to have Beasts rocking back on their toes at the sight of me.” He watched a car turn back at the entrance gate. “Look at that.” He had the radio with him. “I wonder if there are reports yet.” He turned on the radio.

Under the sound of the Emergency Evacuation warning still filling the air, they listened on the radio to several different Beasts, in frantic voices, trying to sell objects to other Beasts.

“It’s awfully high-pitched,” the Sir said. “How can they stand to listen?”

“In advertisements,” Jack said, “Beasts try to be as shrill as possible so other Beasts will remember key phrases.”

The Beast radio calmed a bit and reported on Beast traffic and the day’s weather. Then there was some news about Washington, D.C.

“Nothing so far,” Jack said.

“Do we have to keep it on?” the Sir asked.

“I’ll drag it behind that tree over there,” Jack pointed, “and turn it down. I think for right now I should be listening.”

 Jack dragged the radio away. The Madam and her totem friends and Scruffy continued to watch the Beast front entrance. A few more Beast vehicles came down the entrance drive and turned around when Beasts in them saw the cones or heard the emergency warning. Then, from campus, a final stray car lurched up the road and off the grounds.

Soon the Beast evacuation warning stopped sounding. A few minutes later, Lucky joined the group. “Couldn’t see any Beasts left from where I was. The evacuation seems pretty complete. Everybody here?”

“All but Leo,” the Sir said. “I hope he hasn’t been delayed.”

It was only a few moments before Leo, strolling calmly, joined them. “Management has left the grounds. I had to critique the Provost’s rejection of Derrida, but otherwise the conversation was fine. Still, even the learned Beasts around here don’t know how behind the times they are.”

Jack rushed out of the bushes with the radio. “We’ve made the news now.”

All the rabbits listened in.

“Again,” the radio said, “we have just now received reports about an evacuation at Fallons University. Details are still emerging, and reports are conflicting. Some have claimed that there was a shooter, or several. Others report sightings of rabid animals, perhaps escaped from on-campus scientific facilities. No injuries have been reported. Police are on their way to the scene.”

“And now the Beast police will be coming to get us.” The Sir looked at everyone. “As expected.”

[thinkingagain]

“You’re talking?” The Beast’s eyes opened hysterically. “I heard that. Go back to hell where you belong, you Communist death rabbit.” It fired.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 31

The animals regrouped around the Alumni House and told each other what they had been doing. They kept their eyes on the bedraggled police Beasts hovering nervously around the cars.

“They’re calling reinforcements.” Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest looked at his companions. “We can assume we’ll be outnumbered. Think any of them know anything? The Beast in charge saw me, but I don’t think it understood. Or didn’t want to.”

“You can’t fire on what you don’t believe exists.” Muffin huddled briefly like a panda.

“If they come in spread out,” the Sir rubbed a paw across his mouth, “I’m not sure how we’ll cover all them all. But we only have to keep them off until nightfall. Then the Magic Rabbit can go to work.”

The other animals nodded.

That moment, gunfire began. Rounds thudded into the sides of buildings and shrieked through ripped underbrush. “Go to ground,” the Sir shouted.

The animals split apart and hid under logs and behind trees. The Sir looked to see where the shots were coming from. It was certainly not the police Beasts. They had taken cover from the shooting also, behind their car doors, and were looking around trying to gauge who was doing the shooting. More rounds came slamming through the trees.

The shooting appeared to the Sir to be coming from the long hill to the northeast. The hill wasn’t far from where the rabbits had camped when they had first arrived on the hills above Fallons.

Scruffy rushed out from a bush and sped towards the source of the shooting. The Sir startled. “We better follow him,” he said to the others. “I need two of you with me. The rest should stay here and wait for the next set of police Beasts to arrive.” Jack stepped forward.

The Madam looked at Henry the Valiant and said, “You might be needed.” Her blue elephant stepped forward too. All three headed after Scruffy, out of sight now in the direction of the firing.

Intermittent rounds slashed through the trees, headed generally towards the front of campus but still chaotically random. Whatever group of Beasts was firing hoped to pin down an enemy they couldn’t see.

“What I’m thinking,” the Sir said to Jack and Henry as they hurried through the trees, “is that whoever this is, they seem to have a clearer idea about us than anybody so far. They’re not marching in and stomping around like everything belongs to them.”

Paw marks of Scruffy appeared here and there. It slowed the others a little to follow them. Scruffy seemed to be taking a path towards the center of the gunfire, although the shots were spread out and sounded from different places along the hillside.

The Sir and his companions reached the foot of the hill. They picked their way up it following Scruffy’s trail. Gunshots were now whistling over their heads, screaming across the front of campus in what seemed a more conscious fire path.

Beasts on the hill began shouting. One or two screamed. The gunfire stopped, then switched directions. Shots cascaded wildly along the ridge. For a moment it seemed that the Beasts might actually be shooting at themselves. The Sir and his companions ducked down briefly behind a rock before heading forwards.

There was increasing Beast commotion on the hilltop. Angry shouts mixed with a bit of whooping and some vicious laughter. “Hurry,” the Sir said. He and his companions dashed up the final stretch of hill and emerged onto a field.

There in the field, five Beasts had surrounded Scruffy. They were looking at him and laughing maniacally. Nearby, two Beasts lay wounded on the ground, groaning and writhing. Scruffy’s face and paws were sloppy with Beast blood. He skirted back and forth, looking for a way out of the Beast circle that trapped him. He found none. One of the Beasts took a potshot at Scruffy’s feet, laughing as the trapped rabbit leaped to dodge it. Another did the same and also laughed.

“Damned Communist trained rabbit robots,” a third Beast said. “We’re going to take you out, one robot at a time, and we’re gonna have fun doing it.”

Scruffy leaped at it, ripping its exposed leg open above the sock. The Beast screamed and fired at Scruffy, close range. The front half of one of Scruffy’s feet blew apart. The little rabbit dropped to the ground, shrieking. The Beast was shrieking in pain too as it moved his gun right towards the center of Scruffy’s chest.

The Sir, screaming with fear and rage, leapt at the Beast. His scream caused the Beast to turn its head away from Scruffy and straighten up, distracted.

The Sir brought his sword down on the Beast’s head. It sliced in half nearly to the neck. A rainbow of blood blew upwards. The Sir pulled out the sword and looked in the direction of the other Beasts. They were screaming and began firing at him. One of the bullets whistled off his sword, nearly knocking it from his paw. He regained his grip, jumped and leaped forward. His sword buried deeply in the shooting Beast’s stomach.

In a blur, Jack flew past him, lodging his teeth in the neck of a Beast about to fire, ripping open its jugular and pulling it to the ground.

Other Beasts were running towards the source of the commotion. Henry, from behind a rock, used his trunk to trip them. Then the blue elephant, smaller than a Beast, stepped out into the open and began grabbing Beast weapons. The disarmed Beasts ran away through the trees.

The Sir faced a Beast which was backing away from him slowly with its rifle cocked. “Shoot at me,” the Sir said. “Prove to me what kind of Beast you are.”

“You’re talking?” The Beast’s eyes opened hysterically. “I heard that. Go back to hell where you belong, you Communist death rabbit.” It fired.

Just before the shot, the Sir darted to one side. He leaped forward enraged, plunging his sword repeatedly into the Beast’s chest. The Beast fell, convulsing through its gushing blood. The Sir turned to look around at what was nearby.

A Beast in the trees took a shot at Jack. Jack dodged and lunged low and ripped open the Beast’s leg so that it crumpled at the knees.

More Beasts were coming along the hill towards them. Henry was knocking down many, but more kept coming.

“There’s too many to fight off,” the Sir shouted at Jack, “and we need to help Scruffy.” He hurried over to Scruffy and Jack joined him, dodging a bullet or two as he went.

More than a dozen Beasts were down. Others were disarmed and running. The Beasts who had made it up to the field had taken cover at one end of it and for the moment weren’t moving.

“Oh Scruffy.” The Sir reached out a hand to the chest of the tiny rabbit, who was shivering. His shot foot was a mangled mess of bone and blood. “You didn’t have to fight them alone.”

“No Beast shoots at me and gets away with it,” Scruffy managed to gasp. He groaned in agony.

“I don’t know how to help you,” the Sir said.

“I never asked for help,” Scruffy said. “I wanted a chance to fight, and I got it.” He groaned again. “Oh it hurts,” he cried out. “It hurts bad.” He gagged and coughed in the dirt.

Henry the Valiant joined them, dropping at their feet six guns he had been holding in his trunk. He saw how terribly wounded Scruffy was.

“What do we do?” the Sir cried.

With his trunk, Henry picked up Scruffy as gently as he could. The little rabbit groaned. Then Henry hurried with him down the hill in the direction they had come. The flexible, thick and gentle muscles of his trunk kept Scruffy from bouncing around.

Jack said, “Looks like our elephant friend knows how to help.”

“Oh Jack, I hope so. Otherwise I’m not sure Scruffy will make it.” They set off running behind their friends. Beast gunshots battered the trees above them.

[thinkingagain]

Lucky moved leisurely across the classroom towards the computer podium in front.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 28, Part One

On the morning of the attack, a light rain began falling not long before dawn. Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest, still asleep, snuggled further under a bed of protective leaves in the soothing hum of the shower. When dawn came, only a little lighter than the night which it struggled to put behind it, the Sir stood up and stretched and saw the others doing the same.

The Beast had slept in the Beast vehicle undisturbed, since the parking lot was not often patrolled by the Beast police. The Madam and her totem friends had slept in a small tent which she carried along with her backpack and sleeping bag. Busterella, Love Frog, and Sir Henry had helped her put up the tent the night of their arrival, the Sir commenting on the excellent way it provided protection while keeping one outdoors.

Muffin hauled the grouchy Beast out of the Beast vehicle. He propped the Beast under a tree whose heavy leaves provided shelter from the still lightly falling rain.

Scruffy, Jack, Lucky Blue and Leo came out from their various sleeping spots. The Madam and her animal team put away their tent rapidly and joined the group.

“I think the rain will help,” Jack said. “Beasts don’t like to be out in it. It makes them slower to respond even in serious situations.”

“Do we all know what we have to do?” the Sir asked.

Everyone signaled that they did.

“Then after each of us has done our several tasks, I will meet you all later today at the field beside the Alumni House, near the campus entrance.”

The animals dispersed to begin seizing the university. ---------------

When the morning’s first classes started, Jack entered one of the classroom buildings. He had made up his mouth a bright red with drops of red makeup along his chin. His mouth dripped with foamy toothpaste. He leaped up and turned the knob of the first classroom door he reached. He darted into the room and jumped on the first available desk, growling his deepest growl at the young male Beast sitting there.

“Oh my God.” The young Beast stumbled out of its chair. “What is that?”

The other Beasts in the room were all looking. “It’s just a rabbit, you idiot,” another young male Beast said. Jack jumped, bringing his teeth close to that second Beast’s neck but missing on purpose and landing smoothly on another desk. “It’s got blood all over its mouth!” the Beast shouted, scrambling backwards. “And some disgusting white stuff.” It rushed towards the door, tripped over a desk leg and fell to its knees before dragging itself to its feet and going out.

Other students were shouting and shrieking, pushing past each other and knocking each other down as they fought towards the door.

The older male Beast professor at the front of the room was shouting, “Be more orderly please. Hurry now, hurry. This animal must have rabies.”

The Beasts kept shouting and pushing their way into the hall. Soon the classroom was clear of them.

Jack followed them out the door at an easy pace. He saw other doors opening along the hallway.

“What’s happening out here?” said a male Beast professor from one of the doorways while several other Beasts looked on.

“Rabies!” shouted several of the most panicked young Beasts.

“What?” The Beast professor stepped into the hallway. Its shoulder was grabbed by the Beach professor from the first classroom.

“A rabbit with rabies in the building,” the first professor said. “Lock everyone in your classroom or lead them all out.”

“A rabbit?” the second professor said. “Are you kidding?”

Jack jumped up on a small table at one end the hallway, growling and showing his bloody teeth and white frothy lips.

“Everyone out now,” the second professor shouted to the classroom behind him. “There’s a rabid animal in here. Hurry.”

It didn’t take Jack long to clear the building. He had only several more classroom buildings to clear. Then it would be time to clear the gymnasium.

Lucky Blue walked into the science building and opened the door to one of the large classrooms. A PowerPoint lecture was in progress. Lucky moved leisurely across the classroom towards the computer podium in front. He called no significant attention to himself but didn’t try to hide either. A few students, almost all young female Beasts, noticed him and began pointing, unsure whether to laugh. He reached the podium.

The female Beast professor, who had been standing next to the film screen talking, was walking back towards the podium and hadn’t yet seen him. Lucky jumped up on the podium and started operating the PowerPoint screen. The professor gasped and froze. Lucky moved the pictures back and forth rapidly, as if in a random pattern, while he plugged in the little flash drive he had brought with him.

Some student Beasts were looking around confused, still not knowing what had happened. Others had seen Lucky or were seeing him now. “It’s like that rabbit walked right in here to use the computer,” someone was laughing. Other students were standing up, nervously, at the idea of an animal, no matter how small, loose in the room. “Why is it blue?” somebody asked.

“Maybe it’s a frat prank, like they do over at Danford,” a young Beast female said. “Painted that rabbit and set it loose in here.”

Lucky flashed the word “rabies” in large letters on the screen and clicked quickly through a number of online photos showing rabid animals attacking.

The professor stepped backwards, away from the computer.

The students were now milling around, initial amusement now giving way to anxious shouts and questioning asides. “How can that be happening?” a young woman shrieked.

“It’s just an accident,” another woman shouted. “Rabbits can’t operate a computer.”

The next photo on the screen was one of a snarling collie, teeth bared, mouth foaming. “Does it have rabies?” a third woman yelled.

The word “rabies” swept across the room faster than rabies could have. In moments, everyone was headed for the doors. -------------------

Scruffy looked into the dining hall where breakfast was being served. A number of Beast students, most young but a few full adults, sat at tables eating or had their heads in books or down on them, napping before their first classes. Others strolled unfocused from here to there or stood in the food line. Behind the food counters, the Beast cafeteria workers in light blue uniforms took orders or served food slowly but efficiently, some friendly, others indifferent, a few glaring. Scruffy took in the whole scene and moved forward.

He nipped at the feet of a few student Beasts. He tore holes in a few shoes and sent the Beasts wearing them them into shrieking panic. Then, zigzagging, gnashing his teeth at feet and legs, he hurried to the cafeteria line. He jumped onto the top of the long glass window behind which the cafeteria food sat in metal bins. From there he dropped down to the bins themselves and started sampling Beast breakfast options. He spat out most of them but enjoyed bites of the breads and cereals.

“There’s a yellow rat eating the food,” one male Beast in line was shouting. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. They make us pay for this food.”

“That’s not a rat,” a female Beast said. “It’s a small rabbit. It looks sick.”

“There are rodents in the food,” another female Beast student was shouting. “Gross gross gross.”

It was the food that was gross, Scruffy decided. Beasts polluted themselves with this junk for years on end and didn’t notice it was disgusting until a rabbit tried a few bites? He spit out some scrambled eggs.

One of the cafeteria workers came up with a broom and tried to smack Scruffy into a bin of what Scruffy saw was warm grits. Scruffy leaped away and nipped at the worker’s wrist, missing it on purpose, tearing open a shirt sleeve and jumping away. The worker dropped the broom and darted backwards.

People were already leaving the cafeteria. Some rushed out frightened and others moved away disgustedly from their food trays. Some, though, still watched fascinated as Scruffy went back to sampling more cafeteria food.

“Somebody should be sued for this,” said a full grown Beast male starting at Scruffy from the other side of the long glass window guarding the food.

Scruffy took a bite of hash browns, smeared some across his face and dipped his nose into a small ketchup bin. With the food and condiment dripping down his face, he stared at the Beast male, then jumped back up on the top of the glass window.

The Beast, horrified and disgusted but unable not to look, began slowly backing away. Scruffy scurried to the floor and ripped the Beast’s pants. The Beast tried to kick Scruffy off and Scruffy jumped away, biting at people’s feet, again and again.

Soon the last few Beasts in the dining hall were hurrying out shocked.

-----------------

Two security Beasts walked out the door of the Campus Security building and across a lawn, headed obliviously towards Muffin. Muffin set his own Beast on a patch of grass behind a bush where it wouldn’t be disturbed. He tied its rope to a nearby bicycle rack. The drizzly rain had stopped, although the air was still heavy and wet. Muffin finished the tying before the security Beasts reached him. He darted away to hide behind another nearby bush, just to the side of the path they were walking up.

“What say we get a beer after work?” the younger guard Beast said to the older. They were both large, lighter-skinned Beasts, the older one balding and with a big stomach. Both were carrying bags full of Beast objects. “I’m going to want one after a really tough day handing out parking tickets.”

The older guard laughed a moment. “You going to the range late afternoon?” it said in a phlegmy voice. “I could pull off a few rounds. Haven’t had time to do any hunting for a while. Looking forward to ducks this fall though. Gonna bag me some good eating for sure.”

“I’d like to,” the younger one said, “but I don’t have the time. Maisie wants me to take her and her kid for some dinner and mini-golf. I’ve got a few minutes for a beer before, but that’s it.”

They reached Muffin’s hiding place in the bushes and he scurried out, getting under their feet and dancing around. He tripped the older Beast easily. It went down shouting “Agggghhh” at the top of its phlegmy voice. Its walkie-talkie bounced across the sidewalk before landing in the wet grass.

“You all right?” the younger Beast asked. Muffin kept jumping around, back and forth, up and down, making the younger Beast look at him. “What’s this rabbit doing?” The younger Beast’s eyes grew wide and confused. It reached into its carrying bag and pulled out a heavy stick. Before the younger Beast could use the stick, Muffin slipped behind the Beast, kicked the back of its legs behind the knees and knocked it down.

While both Beasts struggled to their feet, Muffin dashed in the direction of the Campus Security building. He looked to see that they were watching him. He jumped up on the door handle, opened the door and went into the building.

He found a female Beast on Campus Security phone duty and jumped on her desk. He pulled the phone to the floor and yanked out the plug, then bit at her. She fled the room. He began breaking all the available computers, pulling out wires, smashing monitors. He saw a mop and a large bucket full of cleaning water. He dumped several walkie-talkies into the bucket, jumping back from the sparks.

The two security Beasts entered the room and looked around shocked at the damage that Muffin had already done. They tried to grab him but he dodged them. From a table he sent a computer screen crashing at their feet. “There’s something wrong with that rabbit,” the older Beast said. “I’ve shot a few in my time and I never seen one like this. It’s sick or crazy or both. We’ve got to kill it and get it out of here.” The Beast began opening, with a key, a black box where Muffin guessed a locked pistol was kept.

“You don’t have authorization for that,” the younger Beast said.

“Present danger here,” the older Beast said. “Communication is gone. If that doesn’t meet the recs, I don’t need this job. Grab some extra rounds, will you?”

Muffin dashed past them, into the hallway and towards the back door. He pushed the door open and headed out. He crouched down in some bushes just to the side of the door.

The security Beasts came out the back door, the younger one with a bag on its back. They passed Muffin and moved some feet up the sidewalk. “Outside or not, if it’s rabid, we need it dead,” the older Beast said. It was carrying the pistol. It struck a tough posture, arms folded, chest out. It looked around not seeing what it was looking for.

Muffin scrambled out of the bushes, took a quick sprint and aimed a full kick directly at the older Beast’s back. The Beast jolted forward grunting and fell, the pistol flying out of its grasp. The younger Beast lunged at Muffin, but Muffin got away easily, onto the grass near where the pistol had landed. He stepped into the pistol grip with one of his back legs and spun it and himself around, faking a deranged snarl.

“That sick rabbit got itself tangled in the gun,” the younger Beast shouted.

Muffin spun the gun with one back paw and slammed a shot into the security building wall a few feet to one side of the younger Beast, which continued shouting. The older Beast regained its feet. Muffin took another purposefully wild shot in its direction. The Beast lumbered away across a field that led to a hill and the edge of campus. The younger Beast followed. Before it picked up speed, Muffin kicked it behind the knees and sent it down. He pulled the Beast bag from its shoulders. The Beast lurched to its feet, but made no effort to regain the bag before following the older Beast across the field.

Muffin scooped up the Beast bag, checked to see what was in it. Much of it was junk but there was also some ammunition for the pistol. “A bunny who knows the fundamentals gets the breaks,” he said. He picked up the pistol lying a few feet away and stuffed it into the bag too, then went around the side of the security building, back to where he had parked his Beast. He untied the Beast from its bicycle rack and stood it up.

“Okay, Beast. Here’s your moment. If you run, I’ll have to come get you. You won’t like that, you hear me?”

The Beast grunted what might have been acknowledgment.

“Then you know what to do.”

The Beast stared, confused.

“We practiced this for an hour.” Muffin jumped up and rapped the Beast firmly on the nose.

The Beast faked a small attack but immediately gave up. “Rabid animals,” it said quietly. “Run.”

“Louder,” Muffin said, “or I’ll have to smack you again.”

“Rabid animals!” the Beast shouted. “Run!”

“Keep that up awhile, and I’ll come back to you and bring you lunch.”

“Rabid animals!” the Beast shouted again. “Run!”

It shouted several more times. When Muffin was sure that it would keep shouting, he hurried off to meet the Sir near the Campus Drive for their next task.

--------------------------------- Stay tuned to this blog for the conclusion of Chapter 28, coming one week from today.

[thinkingagain]

Soon they were all back in the field overlooking Fallons University where everyone was meeting. The arrival of the Madam and her friends led immediately to energetic greeting and commentary.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 27

“Over centuries of history, Beasts have killed many thousands of those they called witches,” Lucky told Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest. They were now walking back, along with the Madam and her totem friends, to the agreed-upon spot to gather with their other companions. After the story about the purple rhinos that the Madam had told her totem friends, and her introductions of them to the Sir, she looked tired of talking and watched quietly.

“Most witches,” Lucky went on, “were innocent Beast Madams whom Beast groups blamed for their own problems. If a group of Beasts ran out of food or got sick for reasons they couldn’t understand or even stole things from each other, they often went looking for someone to call a witch and punish. A witch is a kind of scapegoat.”

“I’m beginning to believe,” the Sir said, “that a list of reprehensible Beast behaviors could never be completed.”

“The term ‘witch,’” Lucky nodded, “means different things in different contexts, and is often associated with connection to the mysterious powers of the universe. What’s strange though is that when Beasts come across someone like the Madam, who really is part of Animal Magic, they almost never notice her actual powers.”

“Ah Madam,” the Sir turned to her and her animal friends bunched up closely around her. “Your life must be difficult.”

“In some ways it is.” The Madam pushed her hair back from her face. “Many people have tried to make me live like they do. They’ve wanted me to cook or clean for them. They’ve put me behind desks in little rooms where I spent all day counting or labeling objects and putting them in storage stacks. Some have even tried to hit me. I’ve spent a fair amount of my life fighting them off. But there has been nothing, so far, that has stopped me from being who I want to be. By now, with the animal friends I have, my protective magic is strong.”

It was true that as the Madam walked along, a physically palpable aura surrounded her and her totem friends. They seemed bonded inside a magic circle. It wasn’t a circle that kept others out. Instead it suggested that others could come in if they wished.

Soon they were all back in the field overlooking Fallons University where everyone was meeting. The arrival of the Madam and her friends led immediately to energetic greeting and commentary. Jack of course knew The Madam. Leo had heard of her and her friends, but they had never met. Muffin was delighted with all of them, especially Love Frog. “Now there are two frogs fighting for the Demesne,” he said several times, doing his frog routine. Love Frog gave him some pats on the head and a brief tummy rub.

Scruffy looked over the newcomers carefully, then finally said, “She’s a huge improvement over that worthless Beast we’re dragging along. But I’m not sure we can trust all this.” He looked directly at the Madam. “I can see how much your animal friends love you, but we’re going to be fighting Beasts. When it comes down to it, whose side will you be on?”

“There’s no need to be wary of the Madam,” Lucky said. “She’s as committed to Animal Magic as any animal I know.”

The Sir spoke up. “I too do not doubt her sincerity and concern. We have only just met, but being in the presence of the Madam for even a few moments has left me convinced of her bravery, beliefs, and dazzling abilities.”

“You are gallant, Sir.” The color in the Madam’s face flared up. “But your small, clearly tough friend has a point. There are people who appear to be friendly while hiding a hidden desire to destroy. Some attempt to access Animal Magic in order to pervert it. I know a few of them well. If any animal thinks that no human being can be trusted, I’m sure that comes from a set of experiences whose importance should never be rejected.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” Scruffy said warily. “I just don’t know how we’re going to fight Beasts if we have Beasts on our side—or think we do.”

 “I remember feeling much the same way.” The Sir gripped his sword while thinking of darker days. “Now, well, one has to see things that are true even if one is not sure how they can be. To be open to changing one’s mind on the basis of new information: is that not one main way animals distinguish their openness from the closed, claustrophobic world of Beastly delusion?”

“True.” Scruffy pawed the ground as if trying to make it more comfortable. “But noticing a threat when there is one, and not being swayed by figments of your own imagination, also distinguishes animals from Beasts.”

“No doubt,” the Sir said. “In this case, the Madam’s sympathies for, and histories with, animals tell me everything I need to know.” He looked at everyone. “I for one am glad that they are with us and believe that their additional help may turn out to be essential. How do all of you feel?”

The animals gave a cheerful assent to their new companions. After a pause, even Scruffy came over and sat near Busterella, nodding at her as if her ready-to-fight-at-any-moment stance appealed to him.

“Did everyone find what they were looking for?” the Sir asked, changing the subject.

“Before I saw the Madam,” Lucky said. “I found a campus map and a summer course schedule. With that and some walking, we can get an accurate picture of the landscape.”

“I picked up a radio and some batteries,” Jack said. “We’ll be able to hear, live, any local Beast Media reports about what’s going on. Plus I got supplies we might need to help us in our various roles. We’ll look it over and see if we need anything else.”

“My training session with the Beast went as well as it could, I guess.” Muffin nodded in the direction of a nearby bush. “It’s over there sleeping. Maybe I’ve taught it a thing or two that can help us.”

“I’ve given much thought to the issue of how best to invade Fallons without harming anyone.” Leo’s voice was soft and thoughtful. “And now we have more friends with us than before, and more options.”

The Sir looked thankfully at all of them. “You have all been doing excellent work. I wish I could claim to have been as productive. Still, I believe we are ready to sit down and talk about how we’re going to do what we’ve set out to do.” He held his sword out in front of him, looking at the engraving along its blade.  “Starting right now, we begin our direct struggle to found the Demesne. We need the full range of each of your excellent skills if we are to succeed. Let me say that I could wish for no braver set of companions. With all of you here, I believe we shall prevail.”

The gathered animals, and the Madam, agreed that they believed it too.

“I began as one small bunny, alone in the world, dreaming a dream bigger than I could do anything about.” The Sir paced, looking at each of his companions in turn. “And yet the aid of animals and Animal Magic has come to me, and to us. The world of animals does not have to be destroyed by the world of Beasts. Together, we shall prove it.” He raised his sword high.

The animals cheered; even Scruffy nodded assent. Then they settled down to work out the details of the scouting they would do the next day.

The day after that, they would attack.

[thinkingagain]

“Look at that Beast, walking around like it owns everything.” Scruffy bared his teeth, glaring.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 19

When the first splotches of sun sparkled through the trees, Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest roused himself from his comfortable spot among leaves and brush. His sleep had been brief but restful. Sweet aromas from the foliage had replaced the odors which had smothered him in the Beast car. He looked around at the other rabbits, also waking and stretching. He was a bunny among bunny friends, waking early for the day’s adventure. “A fine morning, is it not?” he said to Scruffy, who was rolling around in some dew.

“I’ve known worse,” Scruffy said.

“On a morning like this,” the Sir said, his fur tingling, “I feel my Demesne may indeed come to exist, and sooner than I think.”

“Can’t say I know.” Scruffy rubbed a shoulder vigorously against the grass. “I wish you well with it, whatever happens. Me, I don’t have your capacity for dreaming big. The world right in front of me is world enough for me. Still, whether you get your Demesne or not, and whether or not there’s any home for me there that I can stand, I’ll fight on your side.”

“Thank you. I respect your skepticism, believe me, given your experiences...” The Sir stopped. The grinding metallic hum of a Beast vehicle had separated itself from the low hum of vehicles on the main Beast track. It was pulling into the area where the rabbits had parked the Buick.

Lucky and Jack came back through the trees towards them. “Police Beast,” Lucky said.

“I’m going to make sure Muffin keeps our Beast quiet,” Jack said. He slipped back into the trees. Scruffy was staring angrily, his body tense, towards the parking area.

    “Police Beast?” the Sir asked.

    “Beasts make lots of laws about their behavior and enforce them on each other,” Lucky said. “Police Beasts usually do the enforcing. It’s against the law to leave cars overnight in these rest areas.” Before the Sir could ask, he went on. “Mainly it’s Beasts who have no other home who might want to sleep here in their cars. But most Beasts don’t consider it acceptable to have no home or no place to go.”

“Beasts consider it unacceptable to have no place to go? I myself have never had any place to go.”

Lucky looked momentarily surprised, then nodded thoughtfully. “The question right now is, what will these police do with the Buick?”

Through the brush, the Sir, Scruffy, and Lucky slipped up closer to the parking area. A Beast car with a red light flashing slowly on its top and two Beasts inside it had pulled near the Buick. One of the Beasts stepped out of the car. Large, outfitted in gray cloth weighed down with an array of gadgets, it walked around the Buick, peering into it.

“Too early in the day probably for the car to have been reported stolen yet,” Lucky said. “We’ll see.”

The Police Beast began speaking something into one of its gadgets. The Sir couldn’t make out what it was saying. Some words barked back at the Beast over the gadget. The Sir couldn’t hear those either.

“Routine check, it sounds like,” Lucky said. “Probably calling in a tow truck to haul it away.”

“Should we stop it from calling?” The Sir held tight to his sword.

“I don’t think so. Once the police car leaves, we’ve got to leave too, right away. We can get as good or better a view from a rest stop further down.”

“Look at that Beast, walking around like it owns everything.” Scruffy bared his teeth, glaring. “It has no idea how much danger it’s in.”

“It has done nothing harmful to us,” the Sir said, “although clearly it would attack us, given the chance. And if it did, we would attack back, and hard.”

Scruffy was still glaring at the Police Beast. “I’m ready any time.”

The Police Beast looked around, then got back into the car and spoke to the other Beast still sitting in it. The car pulled away.

“Let’s get everyone,” Lucky said. “We don’t have long until the tow truck comes.”

Scruffy hurried around with the news. In a few moments, all the rabbits were in the Buick again, with their own Beast seated carefully. They left the rest stop.

“I could have hotwired another car,” Lucky said, ‘but it might have taken a long walk to find a good one.”

On the George Washington Parkway, they were now driving in full daylight. The Sir, to better examine his surroundings, sat on top of the seat that the Beast leaned back on. He saw occasional startled expressions on the Beasts passing in other vehicles. That was worrisome, but no doubt those Beasts weren’t sure what they were seeing and would either forget about it quickly or be startled enough to later garble the memory further. Still, a Buick full of rabbits, or whatever the passing Beasts thought they saw, was a spectacle that shocked a few Beasts out of their morning daze.

The Sir kept glimpsing Beast structures on the far side of the river they were driving above. Structure after structure after structure, tall and in deep rows, loomed on the far bank. The Sir had seen Beast towns before, but nothing as massive as he was seeing now. “This Beast city,” he said, “just goes on and on.”

“One of the best views I’m aware of is coming shortly,” Lucky said. “We don’t want anybody to see us getting in and out of the car. The gawking Beasts here on the freeway are bad enough.”

Soon after, Lucky pulled into another parking area. “Everybody get down for a moment, please. Even you, Leo. Can you duck?”

“By all means.” Leo leaned over in his seat and put his head down.

“It’s a good thing not many Beasts use these viewpoints.” Lucky was peering out the window cautiously, keeping most of his body out of sight. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to get out at all.”

Eventually he took a calming breath. “There’s only one Beast here, and it looks like it’s headed back to its car. Once it’s gone, we can pile out. You’ll see a clump of trees off the back end of the parking lot. When I say ready, make your way there.”

The rabbits all hunkered down. When Lucky gave the word, they jumped out and headed towards the trees. Muffin came more slowly, the Beast behind him.

“Well done,” Lucky said when they were all together in the trees.

They were still on a ridge above the river, less wooded than the earlier ridge, though with enough places to hide. From here, the view of the Beast city wasn’t blocked by foliage.

The Sir looked down on the sprawling blur of Beast structures that piled one upon another out to an appalling distance. Some were square and squat, others taller or massive. One strange structure, by far the tallest, shot up into the sky like a Beast weapon with a sharp tip. Other sharp but smaller tips shot up from this or that structure, as if the Beasts who had built them were trying to arrange a group of swords to protect themselves from invasion by the sky.

Much of what the Sir could see was shaped into square grids. Maybe Beasts preferred that kind of artificial shape to the more pleasing contours of trees and rocks and hills. Although there were some hills, and many trees, the Beast city clearly tried to control all things, whether made by Beasts or not. The trees were no more than decorations that had been strewn around the structures Beasts considered important—as if Beasts or any of their structures could have survived without trees.

“I have to fight back against all this?” the Sir cried. “This failure of principle and imagination, this massive outpouring of defensiveness, outrage, and violence against the earth itself? That is my enemy?”

Muffin threw himself on his back. “The frog is afraid.” He pulled himself into a sitting position and glared at the city. “But the panda is eager.”

“I can barely stand to look at it,” the Sir said.

“It’s actually an attractive-looking city compared to most others,” Jack said. “And small.”

“Small?” The Sir, trying to understand, looked at Jack. “Beast breeding habits are far more out of control than I realized. Do they have no constraints?”

“As you can see,” Jack said, “Beasts take over huge areas of land and devastate them, making them hospitable only for other Beasts. That’s what a city is. Some animals survive in the devastation, because they’re smart like that. Beasts throw away so much food waste that many animals learn to live off it. It’s a terrible diet, but if you live in the devastation you have to take what you can. I learned to live pretty well in cities, but it took me awhile.”

While the other rabbits were talking, Leo wandered over to a nearby tree and sat beneath it, chewing a bit of grass, his face peaceful. The Sir noticed and walked over to him, the other rabbits following. “You wanted me to see all this?” he said.

“Yes.” Leo nodded calmly. “A bunny destined for great things needs to know what he’s up against.”

[thinkingagain]

“What kind of Beast vehicle are we seeking?” the Sir asked. “Something a little older.” Lucky was marching up and down the rows of vehicles. “The new ones can be trickier to hotwire.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 17

“We need to find the right kind of Beast vehicle,” Lucky said to Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest. The rabbits were moving carefully and quickly along the side of a wide, much used Beast track made of the usual dark, oddly uniform stone with lines marked along it. Beast vehicles of different sizes and colors rushed down the track as it wound through open fields, patches of trees, and layers of small hills. All the vehicles gave off a bitter odor, some even spewing smoke that clouded the air. Every now and then, a Beast vehicle careened down the track with out of control wildness. Beasts inside it yelled or made other loud sounds: whoops, whistles, grunts.

“I hope being in the vehicle will not make us lose control like these Beasts do.” The Sir had been watching with increasing concern the vehicles passing them. “It’s a wonder they don’t soil themselves unintentionally.”

“Actually that’s been known to happen. Especially if a Beast drinks too much and loses consciousness in the vehicle.”

“Why would drinking water lead a Beast to lose consciousness?”

Lucky laughed. Another Beast vehicle whipped past them. “I don’t mean water. Beasts concoct many drinks with what they call alcohol. The alcohol makes their brains blurry and lets Beasts temporarily forget they’re Beasts. It puts them into a mindless frenzy which sometimes leads to losing consciousness. Some Beasts get drunk only while sitting or walking. Other Beasts drink lots of alcohol before getting in their Beast vehicles.”

“I think I’ve seen that.” The Sir recalled some earlier incidents that had confused him. “It seems reckless.”

“Yes. Beasts die in their Beast vehicles often, much of the time because of alcohol.”

The Sir scratched himself behind the ears, puzzling. “So they create a vehicle, then create this alcohol, then drink the alcohol they have created and get in the vehicle they have created and die in it?”

“Commonly,” Lucky said.

“But Beasts must know that other Beasts die in these vehicles?”

“Sure. I can’t prove that no Beast ever learns from something that happens to another Beast, but it’s rare. Each Beast has a powerful drive to believe it’s the only important Beast. It usually thinks that whatever happens to another Beast could never happen to it.”

A large, tall vehicle with long silver sides lumbered past them, spewing smoke and screeching. The Sir bristled. “Many of these vehicles seem dangerous even for those of us simply walking near them.”

“It’s true.” Lucky frowned, which he seldom did; he was a rabbit of good cheer and calm moods. “Beast vehicles kill many animals. Some of the time, Beasts don’t even know they did it.”

The Sir shook his sword at the large rumbling vehicle now fading into the distance ahead of them. “Beasts should be treated with the lack of respect they have earned.”

The sun had gone lower in the sky. It glimmered and flashed off the Beast vehicles which continued past the rabbits in an endless stream. The air near the Beast track kept its heavy bitter odor, but now and then the Sir caught a whiff of flowers or greenery on moments of light breeze.

Farther along, on one side of the Beast track appeared a large open field, not full of grass as it should have been. Instead it was covered with the same uniform dark stone as the Beast track and contained long rows of Beast vehicles sitting quietly. A large, low building made of something that the rabbits could see into (“Big glass windows all around,” Lucky explained to the Sir) stood at one edge of the field. Inside the windows were several more Beast vehicles.

The Sir had never before seen this kind of massive Beast vehicle storage area. He tried to take it all in: the rows of vehicles, each with numbers in their windows. Big boards with Beast signs on them were raised above the field: “Used Cars,” “Take One Home Today,” among many others.

“Excellent,” Lucky Blue said to all the rabbits. “Should have no problem finding what we need.”

“What kind of Beast vehicle are we seeking?” the Sir asked.

“Something a little older.” Lucky was marching up and down the rows of vehicles. “The new ones can be trickier to hotwire.”

“Hotwire?”

“Starting the car without the key. Done it a number of times. Sometimes I have to climb up in the engine first. With luck I find one that I can just get into the cab and start from there.”

“I’m not sure I understand, but I wish you luck.”

Lucky looked closely at a number of Beast vehicles. He disappeared under them for a few moments here and there, then came out shaking his head. He continued walking along the rows.

“Ah, here’s one.” He stopped at a long, large blue Beast vehicle. “A Buick. Done them before. It has the old-fashioned hand locks, and looks like the back door locks are open already.” He jumped on the vehicle and had soon opened one of the back doors by pulling hard on a piece of metal on its side. He looked at the other rabbits, then at the sun sinking between the trees on one side of the field of vehicles. “Let’s wait until after dark for the rest.”

“Won’t Beasts be coming for these vehicles?” the Sir asked.

Lucky shook his head no. “The owner of these cars doesn’t use them. They sit here until he sells them to another Beast, for Beast money.”

“I understand.” The Sir had several times seen Beasts involved in loud, brutal discussions over money, some of them berating or mocking others for not having it or using it wrongly. “Many Beasts love money more than they love themselves.”

“Never forget it,” Lucky agreed. “It’s one of their worst weaknesses and can be used to our advantage. Let’s go over into those trees and take a quick rest until dark. I don’t think any of us are going to sleep much tonight.”

All the rabbits, with Muffin herding the Beast dutifully, went into the trees and looked for brush to hide in. The Beast and Leo were less easy to hide, so Leo and Muffin took the Beast deeper into the trees, where they couldn’t be seen at all from the field of vehicles.

As night settled in, several Beasts strolled lazily through the field, looking in this vehicle or that, not too closely, as if doing some duty they didn’t believe in. They then moved away, got in other nearby vehicles and drive off. Soon it was dark. Eventually no more Beasts seemed nearby.

Lucky went out to the Buick. The other rabbits followed. He jumped on the Buick again, opened the door and scrambled inside, then opened the other doors. The Sir looked in the Buick. A number of places seemed comfortable enough to sit. There was also a strange array of devices along one of its inside walls. He could read the numbers and letters but didn’t understand their purposes.

Lucky was scrambling around inside. He came out again and stood on the ledge beneath the open Beast door. “Easy. We have some things to decide first. Once I have it going, we’ll want to leave quickly.”

“What do we need to decide?” the Sir asked.

“I can drive,” Lucky said, “but we have to consider what will happen if we’re on the road and somebody sees me driving. Especially a member of the Beast Police. We could get pulled over. That would be trouble. Beasts can’t fathom the idea that a rabbit can drive a Beast vehicle.”

The Sir looked over at Muffin, who still had the Beast on a rope behind him. “Maybe it’s time for my Beast to labor for me. Do you suppose it could drive and be made to do so properly?”

Muffin and the other rabbits looked dubious.

“My guess is that this Beast probably can drive,” Lucky said, “but I’m not sure how much control over itself it has. The driver of any Beast vehicle has a lot of power. I don’t think we should give this Beast that power.”

“Power?” The Sir looked shocked. “This Beast should be given no power of any kind.”

“Then I’ll be doing the driving.”

“But what should we do with the Beast?” the Sir said. “We do need to bring it.”

“We could stuff it in the trunk,” Scruffy said.

The Sir said, “I’m not opposed to that.”

Lucky shook his head. “Yeah, but if we get pulled over, and a rabbit’s driving and there’s a Beast in the trunk, things could get difficult. But listen, I used to drive with my friend the Madam.”

The Sir perked up, as before, at mention of this strange Beast Madam who had been a companion of Lucky’s. “You drove in Beast vehicles with this Madam?”

Lucky nodded. “What worked well is that I would drive, but she would sit in the front seat with me. It looked like she was driving and had a small animal friend along for the ride. My question is, can we get this Beast to sit still while I drive?”

“I believe we can. This Beast will do my bidding. Especially if Muffin and I are sitting nearby to smack it if it gets uppity.”

“We’ll all be sitting close to its teeth,” Scruffy said. “Smarter to risk the trunk. Who knows what kinds of diseases this Beast might have in its mouth?”

“We have checked the Beast’s mouth,” the Sir said. “As unpleasant as it is, I think all is well there. But the Beast will smell up the car, it’s true.”

“We’re not planning on living in the car,” Lucky said. “Just on getting where we’re going.”

“Most of us can stay below window level easily enough,” Muffin put in. “What about our friend Leo? He’s even larger than the Beast.”

Leo laughed. “I appreciate you thinking of me, little friend. I will sit in the front seat next to the driver. Beasts never expect to see a bunny my size. When they do, they take me for a bear or a large dog, or else they think, if you can call it thinking,” —he chortled good-naturedly— “that I’m not real. One time I spent the day in the woods on the edge of a Beast fair. A child saw me and asked if he could take the big toy bunny home with him. It turns out my size is not much of a disadvantage when it comes to subterfuge.”

Jack, who had been watching the conversation quietly, spoke up. “Any Beast that actually did see who you were would likely get chastised for it by the others. Beasts always force other Beasts to share their delusions.”

“It seems we have a plan,” the Sir said. “Lucky?”

“I’m going to start the car,” Lucky said. “Then we need everybody in fast, in case there’s a Beast on duty somewhere nearby, or even some poor mistreated guard dog.” He got back in the car, scrambled into the space underneath the various devices. There was a spark of light and the vehicle rumbled to life. “Everybody in,” he shouted. He moved to a spot just under the vehicle’s front window, above the wall of devices.

Jack and Scruffy jumped in the back. Leo came around and slipped into the far side of the front seat. Muffin yanked at the Beast, which growled and looked confused. “In, Beast,” the Sir said. He pointed at the car and thwacked the Beast with his sword. The Beast climbed in the door closest to Lucky. The Sir and Muffin did too, placing themselves on either side of the Beast, which whimpered quietly.

From his perch above them, Lucky grabbed the Beast’s Fleshy Piedmonts and wrapped them around the circular object jutting out from the wall of devices. Then he jumped onto the Beast’s shoulder. “I’ve got the wheel. Everybody shut the doors and hold on.”

Soon the car was moving away from the other vehicles in the field. Shortly thereafter, Lucky had it on the wide, main Beast track. “We’re on our way, bunnies,” he said.

The rabbits drove from this Beast track to that. They passed many Beast vehicles and were passed by others, some going in the same direction, others the opposite. Any Beast who was alongside the Buick long enough to look in the front window saw a young male Beast driving a Buick while some small animal, probably a puppy, apparently sat on the Beast’s shoulder. Something that looked like a very big dog sat next to the driver and gestured energetically, as if it had more to say than the driver did.

[thinkingagain]

Most Beasts would have attempted to escape the rope and probably could have, the Sir said to Muffin, but this one made no serious effort to do anything.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 14

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest took over watching the Beast while Muffin went back to the spot where they were staying and returned with an item from his recently scavenged Beast objects, a long interwoven strand of rough material. He said it was called a rope. He wrapped the rope firmly around the Beast’s chest, below its arms. He yanked the rope, pulling at the Beast.

The Beast groaned and growled in response but finally stood and came along quietly. The Sir rode on its shoulder. Most Beasts would have attempted to escape the rope and probably could have, the Sir said to Muffin, but this one made no serious effort to do anything. Now and then it lunged and tried to bite half-heartedly. Each time, the Sir whacked it on the nose with his sword, no harder than necessary.

They reached the group resting spot still leading the Beast. Scruffy saw them and hurried over, his eyes balls of flame, mouth twitching. “What’s happening? Does this Beast think we’re going to fall for its lies?”

The Sir smacked the Beast’s nose with his paw and jumped off its shoulder. “No doubt this Beast is capable of endless lies. Mainly it doesn’t do anything but bemoan its fate.”

“Why you’d bring it here?” Scruffy’s voice was a throaty growl. “Why not kick it and send it away?”

Muffin said, “We considered that.” He shrugged, as if the question was beyond him. “It seems defenseless. The Sir felt that he had to bring it along. I’ve even taught it a trick.” He jumped on the Beast’s shoulder.

The Beast refused to look at him. Muffin used a paw to pull the Beast’s chin up and back so that the Beast had to stare at the lanky white rabbit perched on its shoulder. “It will look at you if you force it. Basic, I know. But it doesn’t automatically reject training.”

The Sir straightened his rumpled suit of stars. “I doubt it’s more than instinct. Nonetheless it’s surprising.”

Scruffy eyed them both distrustfully. “I thought the whole point of your Demesne was to fight against Beasts. Not to coddle the weak or confused ones.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Muffin said.

“I find it hard to understand also.” The Sir, puzzled, scratched his ears. “We can’t let it go because it could inform other Beasts. Still, I don’t know what makes me feel that I need to take charge of it. It’s an odd Beast. Recites a thing called poetry and pities itself. Clearly it has been outcast by other Beasts. I’m not sure that without me, it would survive.”

“It could be laying a trap,” Scruffy insisted. “Pathetic Beasts can be especially conniving.” He sniffed at the Beast and walked around it, looking it over. Then he nipped it lightly in the leg. The Beast growled and lunged, unconvincingly. Scruffy frowned, unimpressed. “You’re right though that this one does seem lost.”

“From its expression,” Muffin said, “being led around by a bunny might be the best thing that ever happened to it.”

“No doubt,” Scruffy grumped, pawing the ground skeptically. “If it were up to me, I’d smack it good and send it away.”

“Doing that would certainly spare us the awful odor.” The Sir sniffed the air and frowned. “But I think it’s best to hold onto it for now, until I figure out what else might be done with it. I’ll take responsibility for its care and feeding.”

Leo walked up. “You have captured a Beast, I see.” Leo was taller than the Beast by a head and looked down on it curiously. “Have you checked its teeth?”

“I have indeed had that dubious pleasure,” the Sir said. “It’s not unhealthy, although as you can tell, it smells horribly.”

“I’m doing my best not to judge it on those grounds,” Leo said.

“For now at least,” the Sir said, “I shall keep it. If it misbehaves significantly, I will feel free to cast it out.”

“If you ask me,” Scruffy said, “that day can’t come soon enough.”

The Beast stood there, dazed and silent, essentially passive. Now and then it opened its mouth slightly as if intending to bite. “Even its threats aren’t entertaining,” the Sir said. “Sit it down somewhere?” he asked Muffin.

“Over here, Beast.” Muffin yanked it forward and swatted its legs, then sat it down against a rock.

“Strange,” Leo said, still musing. “I’ll have to give this some thought.”

[thinkingagain]

“The question is how far you’re willing to go to survive as a bunny in a world overrun by Beasts.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter Eleven

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest stepped clear of the trees. His foot and ankle where the Beast had grabbed him were sore but no worse. The stench of Beast blood still filled the air. He had the same sickness inside him that he had the first time he killed a Beast, like something fine inside him had been wounded. He shook off the uneasiness with a quick swoosh of his ears, fur, and cottontail. He looked around at the day through fresher rabbit eyes.

Muffin was standing near him, smirking shyly. A good-sized Beast carrying object, other Beast objects in it, was slung over his shoulder.

“I thought you were going to rejoin me,” the Sir said.

“Momentary Beast delay. One of the big ones came at me and I had to dance around him. I kicked him a few kicks, he started running and I let him go. By the time I came over here to you, you didn’t seem to need help. Then I found this bag.” He looked at the Sir’s gold suit of blue stars slathered in Beast blood. “You’ll have to clean that.”

“Luckily,” the Sir agreed, “I’ve found it cleans quite easily.” He pointed at the Beast carrying object. “Anything worthwhile there?”

“Evidence maybe,” Muffin said. “Haven’t had a chance to examine it all.”

The Sir moved forward across the field, eyes alert for any sign of more Beasts. “I wonder how the others are.”

Muffin fell in lankily beside him. “They seem resilient.” Muffin glanced at the Sir’s sword. “You’re quick with that blade. That last thrust had power behind it. I wouldn’t want to face you in battle. Not that,” Muffin grinned, his ears flopping, “I wouldn’t if it came down to it.”

“I’d rather not face you in battle either.” The Sir put a paw lightly on Muffin’s back. “Those beasts were ravenous for destruction. Such appalling dull-witted blood lust.”

“Clearly,” Muffin said, “they didn’t like bunnies.”

They continued forward, looking for the others. First they found Lucky Blue. He had stepped up from the protective bowl of earth from where he had been firing. He was now sitting spread out in the grass, panting a bit but shaking off the tension. His white tummy and blue fur began to puff out.

“I’d never seen a rabbit fire a gun before,” the Sir told him. “I hadn’t considered the possibility.”

Lucky puffed out a bit more. “I’ve picked up a few skills here and there in difficult moments.”

“You don’t feel contaminated by it? I find the Beastly environment and all its creations so heinous that I can barely stand to touch any of it. But to use it?” The Sir shuddered, then looked at Lucky, concerned that he might have given offense.

Lucky took none. “The question is how far you’re willing to go to survive as a bunny in a world overrun by Beasts. I don’t respect what they’ve done, but I don’t hate them enough, or myself, to get killed because of that hatred. If I can make use of something, I make use of it. For me, that’s the bunny way. If you’re questioning my approach, I can tell you right now I don’t intend to change it.” Still spread out in the grass, Lucky and his blue fur stayed relaxed, but the expression in his eyes was firm.

The Sir bowed politely. “My apologies if I have given that impression. Your intervention was most timely and useful. Far be it from me to criticize what another bunny might do in a difficult situation. I just wondered how it felt to you. Obviously, if I am going to create a Demesne, I will need all the abilities of all the bunnies willing to help.” His ankle throbbed with pain for a moment, and he reached down and rubbed it. “Besides, fighting Beasts from a distance has advantages.”

Jack and Scruffy walked up. A tuft of fur on the top of one of Jack’s ears was singed, a few blackened hairs still clinging around it. Scruffy had a cut along one of his forelegs, a long scratch more than a serious wound. He dabbed at it occasionally with his tongue.

“We circled the field and counted,” Jack said. He reared up on his long back legs as he tried to make sure he had the figures straight. “Thirteen Beast dead that I saw, including your final kill there on the other side of the road. Another dozen or so wounded; they’ve all managed to carry themselves off. Maybe another dozen who ran when they saw how things were going.” He looked musingly at the other rabbits around him. “That’s the largest group of Beasts I’ve ever fought. More than 30. We needed every one of us.”

The Sir nodded. “I can’t say how much I appreciated that we were all on the same side. The different fighting talents on display amazed me.”

The Sir felt a small tug on his shirt. It was Thomas, pointing in the direction of Scruffy. That little rabbit’s head bobbed and weaved as if he wasn’t quite sure the fight was over. “In fact,” the Sir said, “none of us might have survived if it weren’t for the quickness of Scruffy in taking out that first shooter. He was moving before the rest of us were even aware what was happening.” He bowed in Scruffy’s direction. “We owe you thanks.”

“Weren’t nothing.” Scruffy dabbed at his cut. “Can’t even say I had a choice. I sleep so light I barely sleep at all. I bit that first one before I even thought.” He looked up at everyone. “Do you know I can figure almost everything important about a Beast from the slightest sound they make, and from a distance? Whether they’re male or female, how much they weigh, how much they carry on their back and whether there’s anything in their hands. I can even tell when they’re excited or fearful. When you grow up caged by Beasts, you know more about them than you know about yourself.” His head shook almost involuntarily, as if casting something out of it.

“You have an impressive set of skills,” the Sir said, “although it’s unfortunate that you had to learn them the way you did. But you were the first line of defense today. I want you to know that it matters, whether you had any choice or not.” He glanced at all the rabbits in turn. “I guess now we have to decide what to do next.”

“Here’s the thing.” Jack’s eyes surveyed the now quiet field, Beast bodies scattered across it, before his stare finally settled on the Sir. “Thirteen dead, and nearly that many wounded, is too big a defeat for the Beast Dream Machine to overlook.”

The Sir, uncertain, considered. “Explain, if you would? If my idea for a Demesne ever becomes real, I may have to take on this Dream Machine.”

“All right.” Jack eased onto his back legs, settling into an explanation. “One part of the Beast Dream Machine is what the Beasts call the ‘media.’ In many ways, The Beast Dream Media works no differently than the rest of the Beast Dream Machine. It tells Beasts what they want to hear and flatters their vanity and keeps them stuck in foolishness by pretending that it’s wisdom. With one big difference. Beasts claim that the goal of their Dream Media is explaining things that actually happened, instead of just inventing things that Beasts find pleasing.

“Don’t misunderstand. It’s still all Beast fantasy invention. It’s just that the media tells Beasts they’re reporting something real. That doesn’t mean they say what actually happened; they just fantasize about what happened. But the fantasies are built around things that actually did happen. Understand?”

“I’m not sure. The pseudo-logic of the Beast is reprehensible and absurd, but if one pays close attention, it does seem to have its own unique, delusional pattern.”

“Right,” Jack said. “So. If one Beast dies, or two, Beasts will still make a big deal out of it, but usually they’ll find some other Beast that’s responsible, or find a Beast that isn’t responsible and claim that it is. But thirteen? That’s too many at once. It’s going to send the Beasts in these parts into mass hysteria.”

“What’s mass hysteria?” the Sir asked.

“Sort of like the attack we just witnessed. Beasts all frenzied. But with mass hysteria, Beasts can’t figure out what to attack. They run around wildly, making up fantasies even faster than usual. Mass hysteria has to run its course, but to do that, Beasts usually have to find something that they call—get this—a scapegoat.”

“A scapegoat?” The Sir crinkled his nose. “What do goats have to do with it? Brilliant animals, quite complex.”

“Scapegoating has a long history with Beasts. Many ancient Beast groups would pretend that blame for what they had done wrong could be transferred to a goat. Then they cast the goat out into the wilderness to die, or cut its throat, as a way of claiming they weren’t to blame for those things anymore.”

The Sir’s ears bristled with rage. “Do things that are wrong, then kill a goat and say that the killing means you did nothing wrong. I see.”

“That’s it.” Jack scratched his ear near the singed spot. ‘My point is, they’re going to come searching for something to blame. And there’s no telling what ridiculous, yet very dangerous, things they’re going to do.”

“So how do we look out for all that?”

“We have to stay aware on the ground, but we also have to find and read Beast media.”

“What is reading? How does one do it?”

The other rabbits shared an odd glance. “Unless I’m mistaken,” Jack said, “all of us who have been visited by the Brain Trust know how to do it.” The rest nodded assent. “It’s likely you can too. All it requires is being able to understand what Beasts are saying and interpret the markers they make. You can interpret Beast markers, can’t you?”

“Of course. Beast markers are hardly subtle.”

“So my guess is you can read. You’ll see when the time comes.”

“All right.” The Sir dug the tip of his bloody sword into the ground. “The other thing I want to know is why all these Beasts were gathered here so early in the morning. The Beast abode was deserted yesterday. Today, more than thirty Beasts arrive, before light, and shoot at us.”

Muffin said, “I think I may know.” He reached into the Beast carrying object and brought out something small and folded over, which he proceeded to unfold. “It fell out of one of the Beast’s pockets and I saw it might be important.” He handed it to the Sir. “Here’s a chance to see if you can read.”

The Sir took the small, fluttery Beast object in his paws. He looked at the markers printed on it. “Secret KKK Meeting,” he read. A series of markers on the small object matched markers he had noticed on the front of the Beastly abode. “And apparently the meeting was happening here. What’s the KKK?”

“So that’s what it was.” Scruffy’s voice was low and furious. “Explains a few things.”

Jack nodded and turned to the Sir. “The KKK is a dangerous Beast organization, often hidden from other Beasts. It dedicates itself to the idea that Beasts with light-colored skin are superior to Beasts with dark skin. Light-skinned Beasts in the KKK spend their lives trying to harass and murder dark-skinned Beasts, whose existence they claim contaminates them.”

“Excuse me?” the Sir said.

“Not something I could make up.”

“There is a belief abroad among Beasts,” the Sir asked, a stunned expression in his eyes, nose twitching, “that some are better than others because of pigmentation caused by the sun?”

“Yes,” Jack said.

The Sir remained stunned. “Leaving aside the absurd idea that a Beast could be superior to anyone, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything so stupid.”

The rabbits stared at each other. The Sir, with his creamy brown fur, looked at Jack, with his sun-hardened brown fur, at Muffin with his smooth white fur, at Scruffy with his roughed-up yellow fur, and at Lucky, still sitting plumply with his blue fur spread out around him.

They all burst out laughing except the Sir, who watched quietly, and Scruffy.

“Beasts have killed millions of other Beasts for just that reason,” Scruffy said.

The rabbits stopped laughing and looked at the ground. It wasn’t funny at all.

“We need to keep moving,” the Sir said. “Beasts will be returning to this scene soon, won’t they?”

“In big numbers,” Jack said.

They readied themselves and began walking. Muffin still held the Beast carrying object. Their first stop would be a stream or a lake where they could clean off.

The Sir, marching just ahead of the others, looked down into his shirt. “What?” he said. “Oh yes, I see. Oh Thomas, I apologize. You’re right. Everything could have been much worse. I won’t start so slowly ever again. Please do accept my apology. It was unforgivable, to be so confused at the outset.” The Sir bowed his head, ashamed.

The other rabbits politely ignored this conversation.

[thinkingagain]

“I was born in a cage.”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter Nine

“I was born in a cage.” Scruffy’s fur bristled, and his eyes reflected the fire in quick slashes. “A small one with too many rabbits stuffed in it.”

He hunched in lower towards the earth. His back feet dug in as if ready to lunge. A small rabbit to begin with, when he compacted himself he became a tiny ball of hostile energy. Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest watched, fascinated.

“I knew my parents only a day or two. They were hauled out, dragged away and slaughtered.” His fur, in saying this, stiffened with anguish. The Sir’s ears tingled sickly. “For the first part of my life, cages, and rabbits in cages, were all I saw. Sometimes I think to myself that’s all I’ve ever seen. I don’t know much about other rabbits and their travels and adventures and dreams to do something. I know cages.”

“Your story is important,” the Sir said. “We need to hear it.”

“I’m not sure.” Scruffy’s eyes turned inward, as if remembering something impossible to explain. “Who can it help? My whole young life, I looked every day for a way out. The rabbits around me were desperate, afraid, and soon enough sick. Terror doesn’t just eat your emotions. It eats your whole body. Some rabbits taken from the cages were glad enough to die. Sometimes living is worse than death. If you don’t know that’s true, you don’t know what living is like, not for some animals.” He scratched his head hard against the ground.

“Please tell us, if you wish to,” the Sir said.

“I had the same desperation and fear,” Scruffy said, “but I had rage too. Rage so big it felt like it would destroy everything, given a chance. But it didn’t have a chance, and I didn’t. What chance is there for a rabbit in a cage?”

Muffin rolled over on his back and lay flat out, like a dead grasshopper, then sat up and gathered his legs. “But you’re here. You got out.”

“Yes.” Scruffy eyed him closely. “For now.”

Muffin hummed agreement. All the rabbits looked at each other through the flames. They knew their time might be short.

“I never learned,” Scruffy said, “why we were in those cages. It doesn’t matter. Reasons and Beasts, they don’t go together. No reason could be good enough anyway. I ate what food there was, which was never much. Sometimes rabbits in one of the cages would fight over it. Most were too beaten to care. I ate when I could. I tried to get exercise for my legs and to chew anything that would keep my teeth sharp. I tried to keep vigilant. There was nothing to do but get my chance or die.”

“And you got your chance,” the Sir said. “Remarkable.”

“I did. Beasts usually came to take rabbits during the day. There wasn’t much to do then because they had the size advantage, and they could see any move I might make. Every now and then though, some Beast would come at night. One night, it was dark in the big room where the cage was. A Beach reached into the cage anyway, using one of those little portable Beast flashlights that show only a few spots at a time.” Scruffy smiled a small smile with something cracked and dangerous in it. “The Beast reached in. Maybe because I was little, his hand reached right over my head to grab a rabbit behind me. Over my head, you understand? As if I didn’t exist.”

 “No Beast will ever reach its Fleshy Piedmont over my head,” the Sir said. “I’ll tear it right off.”

“I’m not sure I understand that fleshy phrase,” Scruffy growled, “but I agree. I bit. Right into the place where the veins are soft, just beneath the hand. I dug deep. The Beast screamed, and slammed its hand wildly against the side of the cage. I bit again.

“The Beast flailed its hand out of the cage and accidentally pulled the whole cage off the table where it sat. The cage toppled over, the gate flapping loose. I didn’t think, just jumped. Out and away. I ran and I kept running, found the entrance to the building and got outside that too. Never saw what happened to the other rabbits. Just went, and went some more. I got out finally to a place where there weren’t any Beasts or even Beast lights.”

“Impressive,” the Sir said. “I’m not sure any of us could have done it.”

“Maybe not,” Scruffy said, “but you need to understand. The cage was terror, but it was all I knew. I didn’t know how to find food or water. It’s hard enough for a rabbit to survive even knowing all that. But I’d had no chance to learn. I had escaped one kind of death only to head straight for another. Maybe somebody will say, ‘Better to die free than to live abused in cage,’ and maybe they would be right. But that doesn’t change the fact that if you’re robbed of your life and die free because you don’t know how to live, you’ve still been robbed of your life.”

“By Beasts.” The Sir gripped his sword.

“Yes.” Scruffy wasn’t really listening. “I watched other animals and tried to learn. I found rivers here and there, and streams and small lakes. I tried to eat anything that looked like it could be. Sometimes that worked and sometimes it made me sick. I got scrawnier and scrawnier. Growing up like I had, I wasn’t ever going to be big. I wanted to fight, but there wasn’t anybody I had a chance against. My only advantages: I had sharp senses, and always knew what or who was near me. Also, since that first time I’d been able to, I knew how to run. ”But it wasn’t enough. Every day I was sinking. I’d been bitten and scratched and clawed, but no one had pinned me down. Still, I could feel the heat leaving my body, more every day. Soon I was going to be nothing but a cold, tiny corpse. I knew it, and I was furious, but I didn’t know how long my fury could hold out. Any of you know what it’s like to have nothing but fury and to feel even the fury draining away?”

The rabbits stared, silently, through the fire at Scruffy. Their eyes said yes, they knew, though they also realized he was talking of something even worse than they knew.

“It was late one fall afternoon,” Scruffy said. “Clear air, coming on towards winter, that made everything seem real, but like it’s about to vanish. I’d actually eaten well that day. I felt my old energy there like the light, powerful that moment, but soon gone forever. I was thirsty. Looking carefully, I went to the edge of a little stream with a few trees on either side. There was no other animal there. I leaned down into the stream. The sun, behind me, showed my face in the water.”

Scruffy swallowed heavily, as if willing himself to continue his story. “It’s hard for me to tell it, what I saw then. Because the reflection of myself wasn’t a rabbit. I was looking at my own face, but what I saw was the face of a Beast. I had everything that made a Beast inside me already, and it was staring back at me out of my own eyes. It wanted me to know what I was. Nothing, and less than nothing. Worthless waste product of the Beast.

“My legs nearly gave out. I might have died right there, anything so I’d never to have to see that face again. For a moment I shut my eyes and hoped never to open them. But I did. I bared my teeth, and I looked straight into the eyes of the Beast—the thing Beasts say rabbits can do never do. I looked at the Beast and said, ‘If that’s how you want it, that’s how you’re gonna get it.’

“I stayed there, looking at the Beast, while the Beast looked at me. I wasn’t going to back down. When the sun left the stream, I don’t know how long it was, I was still looking at the Beast, until the reflection vanished in the water. I stared the Beast down until I was the only one left.

“So I tell you this.” Scruffy looked up at all the rabbits listening rapt at the tale. “Sometimes you’ve got to look straight at the wound. You’ve got to go down into that dark place, even in the brightest sun, where the Beast always stares. You’ve got to stay there, looking at the Beast until you know all that the Beast is, all that it’s done. You’ve got to keep looking at the Beast until the Beast stops looking. Because then—only then—do you know anything about the Beast or yourself at all.” He shivered, as if shaking water off his back. “So I walked out of the stream. There, on the bank, stood The Magic Rabbit and Mr. Puffy.”

“Ah,” the Sir said. “Of course.”

“I don’t know about that.” Scruffy’s voice grated harshly, and the Sir startled. “They seem like good rabbits to me, and they helped. But this Dream Time, I’m not sure. It’s a nice thing to believe in maybe. Way I see it, belief is for rabbits with luxury enough to be able to believe. Me, I’ll fight for any rabbit who wants to fight, but don’t go telling me about some great Dream Time where bunnies dream all the dreams they want. When it happens, I’ll believe it. Until then, it’s just rabbits telling stories to rabbits so they don’t have to stare down the Beast in the dark of the sunlight.”

The Sir thought carefully. Scruffy’s story had left him winded. “I cannot say how much I admire your strength,” he said at last. “I’m sure every one of us, here, has listened to everything you have to say. None of us, whatever we’ve been through, would say we can understand all of what any other rabbit has faced. I could certainly use your help in my attempt to establish a Demesne.”

Scruffy stood and walked up close and threatening to the Sir. “That’s the second time now, you telling me what to do. Nobody does that.”

The Sir remained calm. “My great pardon, if I have expressed myself so badly as ever to imply that I would make you, or any bunny, do something that you do not wish to do.”

“That’s all right then.” Scruffy relaxed. “I’m tired, and need some rest.” He walked away from the fire. The other gathered rabbits heard him rustle into some brush in the darkness.

Jack came up to the Sir who stood, doubting, looking after Scruffy. “Don’t take it personally.” Jack nuzzled him. “I’ve known Scruffy a while. When a bunny has lived the kind of life he’s lived, it’s not easy to get over it and see anything in too good a light. But I’ve never seen him turn his back on an animal in need. Things get to him, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t believe in the Dream Time,” the Sir said, astonished. “And The Magic Rabbit and Mr. Puffy have visited him.”

“I don’t think he ever will. But it’s not up to us to make him believe it. There are some things a bunny has to do alone. I’ll tell you this though.” Jack laughed. “It’s about time for us all to stop talking and get some rest too.”

The Sir and the other rabbits agreed. Lucky put out the fire, and all of them found sheltered spots to sleep in.

[thinkingagain]

“Beasts choose these presidents freely?” The Sir’s eyes narrowed. “They attempt to do something that approximates fairness?”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 18

“A number of the best views of Washington can be found on the George Washington Parkway,” Leo said to Lucky Blue across the front seat of the car. They’d been driving for a while. Outside the car, the night was deeply dark. “You know how to get there?”

“Sure do.” Lucky was still sitting on the Beast’s right shoulder and keeping its Fleshy Piedmonts firmly on the wheel. “I’ve taken in those views several times. We’ll pick up the Beltway and then be around to it. Not too much longer now.”

“George Washington?” Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest looked up from his low spot on the seat between Leo and the Beast, which was staring passively at the landscape while Lucky guided its driving. It seemed calmed by movement.

“A famous Beast leader,” Leo said. “He was the first of what is called the President of the United States.”

“How does one get to be a president?”

Leo’s beard fluffed out happily at the question. “Over the history of what Beasts call the United States, Beasts have divided themselves into different political groups. Each group picks the Beast they’d like to be president. Then the Beasts chosen by the various groups are judged together in a thing called an election.”

The Sir looked at Leo curiously. “An election?”

“The general idea is that the Beast chosen by the largest number of Beasts becomes president, but it doesn’t really happen that way. Beasts split themselves into artificial geographic regions called states. Within each state there can be only one Beast winner, and each state has a different number value assigned to it, based on its population, and,” Leo frowned, “well, I’m not sure it’s worth going through all the details. Let’s just say that ultimately, after many complications, one Beast wins.”

“Beasts choose these presidents freely?” The Sir’s eyes narrowed. “They attempt to do something that approximates fairness? I have to say I doubt it.”

“No no no.” Leo shook his head vehemently, his big bunny beard flying around and catching the headlights of a passing Beast vehicle. “There’s no fairness. Only powerful Beasts are eligible to be president. Then Beasts manipulate each other frantically until a final decision is made. As with all Beastly things, what they tell themselves an election is, and what it actually is, have little in common. The goal of an election is for Beasts to do something unfairly while claiming it’s fair.”

Unsurprised, the Sir shook his head. “A few key principles make clear everything about Beasts that a bunny needs to know, it seems.”

Leo nodded. “Maybe so. In theory, each individual adult Beast gets a vote, although in practice, many Beasts don’t vote or are prevented from voting. Each group that’s supporting a Beast tells as many lies as it can about the goodness of its own potential President Beast and about the evil of the other potential President Beasts. The group whose lies are most convincing to the largest proportion of Beast states has their potential president become president. It’s not always obvious which lie will flatter the largest percentage of Beasts at any given time.”

“What happens to the smaller Beast groups that do not win?”

“They become available for abuse. Although they often defend themselves well enough to fight another time. Of course, the most abused Beasts, in the election process and any other, are the neediest or sickest or most helpless Beasts, most of whom play little or no role in elections. A Beast that senses weakness in another Beast will tear it apart if it can.”

“Yes.” The Sir looked at the Beast on the seat next to him as it stared placidly at passing lights. “This Beast is helpless in the face of other Beasts, but it would be a mistake to let it loose around any weaker animal.”

“Of course even the Beast that wins an election becomes available for abuse,” Leo said, “since the losing Beasts immediately start a new round of lies in order to prepare for the next election.”

The rabbits lapsed into thought in the darkness of the Beast vehicle. The lights of other Beast vehicles continued flashing past them.

A while later, Lucky said, “Here’s George Washington Parkway. First rest stop with a good view of the city coming up shortly. We can probably park there, get out, and have at least a little sleep before morning, when we’ll be able to see the city.”

Soon Lucky pulled into the rest stop and parked the car. The rabbits jumped happily out of it. It was still night, although bits of lighter darkness hovered along the horizon. “How can Beasts stand being in those things so often?” the Sir asked.

“You get used to it,” Lucky said. “Still, of all Beast creations, Beast cars are maybe the most damaging. Kills Beasts in them, kills animals that get near them, kills the air, kills the land and water that needs the air. It’s not any one car that does it. But the sum total of all Beast cars all over the world is more deadly than any of their intentional weapons.”

“Story of Los Angeles,” Jack chimed in. “One, anyway.”

“I shall find some grass and brush to lie down in and get clean,” the Sir said. “I realize that we had to use the Beast car and will have to use it again. Still, there’s only so much that a bunny can stand.”

The Beast was whining, trying to stay in the car. Muffin was yanking at it.

“The Beast could get in a lot of trouble if another Beast found it sleeping in the car,” Lucky said. “Make it step out.”

“I kept its Beast ground cloth for situations like this,” Muffin said, “as well as several Beast blankets. It probably feels exposed outside, although it’s a feeling more than a fact.”

“We’ll find a way to keep it warm,” the Sir said. “We can’t tolerate misbehavior. Smack it, will you?”

“Sure.” With his long legs, Muffin gave the Beast several firm kicks, none that caused any pain. It stumbled out of the vehicle.

[thinkingagain]

The roar kept coming. The rabbits were under fire.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter Ten

A sharp thud near his head spun Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest over where he slept. Rabbit feet sped past him. The roar came from everywhere. He leapt to his feet and pulled out his sword. The roar kept coming.

The rabbits were under fire.

“No damn rodents gonna tear up my property,” a Beast shouted.

All traces of sleep gone, the Sir maneuvered, eyes searching for the enemy who continued to shoot.

It was Scruffy who had burst past him. The Sir watched the small yellow rabbit, a few feet away, bury his teeth through the sock of a Beast. The Beast screamed. Scruffy pivoted and kicked it in the wound. The Beast dropped its gun and reached down to swat Scruffy away. Scruffy chomped it, hard, in the big veins below one of its Fleshy Piedmonts.

A thud again ripped the dirt near the Sir. He turned in the direction he guessed it had come. A few feet away, a big Beast, hair covering its face, laughed wildly in the Sir’s direction. The Beast exuded a sense of command, to the extent that a Beast could command anything. The Sir zigzagged, trying to close the distance between them, but the Beast lumbered off to another part of the field.

Behind that Beast was another, taller Beast, which had just fired a long gun and was turning to fire it in another direction. A brown blur slammed against the side of its head and stuck there. It was Jack. Jack leaped away. Where the Beast’s throat had been, a massive gash spouted blood. The tall beast went down into the grass, its cry of agony cut off in a gurgle. Its body heaved and twitched.

The Sir collected himself enough to survey the field. At least a dozen Beasts that he could see, easily, with more hanging back in the trees on the other side of the Beast road. So many armed Beasts. The Sir had no chance to consider why they were all here, but it was odd.

A nearby Beast turned and leveled its small gun, held in one of its Fleshy Piedmonts, in the Sir’s direction. The Sir cut one way, dodging the thud in the ground beside him, then back, dodging another. He crouched down and leaped. He gave a quick, tight swing with his sword and sliced thickly into the Beast’s shooting arm. Its Piedmont dropped the weapon and started shaking. A look of blank terror emptied the Beast’s focused expression. It turned away.

The Sir sliced the Beast again, this time along its back. The Beast groaned and ran, staggering, then regained its feet and ran even faster, howling.

The Sir, on the ground again, looked in all directions. Next to him, Lucky Blue had picked up the small gun dropped by the fleeing Beast. Lucky steadied the base of the gun against the ground and aimed it at another firing Beast. The shot exploded into the Beast’s leg, carrying part of it away in a gunky splatter. The Beast crumpled.

“You know how to use a gun.” The Sir stared, shocked, at Lucky.

“I’ve learned to use any Beast machine I’ve needed to use.” Lucky moved off.

The Sir stepped behind a small tree. Beasts were still firing. Rabbits dashed aggressively, in off kilter rhythms, through the undergrowth and out again. Near the Sir, a Beast stepped forward from a tree, long gun raised in the direction of something the Sir couldn’t see.

The Sir dashed forward, then jumped, slicing the Beast’s arm after it got off a single shot. The Beast screamed. Its other arm brought its Fleshy Piedmont down towards the Sir’s head. The Sir twisted away and rammed his sword upwards, straight through the center of the Piedmont, ripping it open to expose Piedmont innards. The Beast, screaming, surged with energy and a sulphurous odor. Its other Fleshy Piedmont, connected to the wounded arm, grabbed and squeezed the Sir’s hind legs.

Unable to break free, the Sir put the sword over his head and rammed it backwards, catching the Beast on a fleshy edge of its gaping mouth. The Beast dropped to the ground. Its remaining Fleshy Piedmont held even tighter to the Sir’s legs, nearly breaking them. The Sir stabbed and stabbed again, anywhere on the Beast that he could, Beast flesh ripping open there and there and there.

The Fleshy Piedmont relaxed its deadly grip, though the Beast’s heavy arms and legs continued to try pounding the Sir until he had stabbed it into motionless shuddering.

The Sir, covered in Beast blood, his legs pained but not deeply hurt, pushed away. He turned. Close behind him, another Beast had raised its long gun and was using it as a cudgel to bring down on his head.

A flash of a white rabbit leg came from one side of the Beast. Muffin’s kick snapped the Beast’s head around. The Beast turned towards Muffin, groaning, and Muffin kicked it again, harder this time, at a disciplined angle. The Beast’s head flew sideways with a crack. All the strength in its legs evaporated and it dropped to the ground.

The Sir nodded thanks at Muffin and they turned. A big lumbering Beast, its belly flopping over its pants, stomped through the brush towards them, gun raised in one of its Fleshy Piedmonts. The Sir zigzagged one way, Muffin the other. The shot rammed into the ground where they had been.

Muffin threw himself into a running kick. The Beast brought a massive arm up just in time to protect its head, turning away Muffin’s kick, which still slammed the Beast backwards to the ground. Muffin fell, darted back onto his legs. The Beast struggled against its own weight to get itself upright.

The Sir jumped forward, slicing one of the Fleshy Piedmonts so that the Beast fell back again onto the ground. It tried to roll over, using its elbow and shoulder. Muffin kicked it in the head, spinning its neck and leaving it heaving in the dirt.

Both rabbits turned towards other gunfire. The Sir got a visual impression of movement happening in several directions. A gunshot off to his right was followed by a brief brown blur flying in its direction: Jack again, followed by a shrill Beast scream behind a tree. The Sir saw Lucky, firing and pivoting the gun from a sheltered spot inside a small bowl of earth.

Shouts of Beast voices in agony and disarray, questioning and confused, crossed the field from various directions. Farther in the distance, the Sir could make out several fleeing Beasts.

In a clump of trees on the other side of a small open field, the Sir saw a Beast who looked familiar: the one with hair covering its face. A conniving expression of low murderous cunning was painted under its hate-filled but now also shocked eyes.

The Sir sensed again, not knowing how, that the hair-faced Beast commanded all the others. Maybe it was the way it surveyed the field, not looking merely for its own self-protection and advantage but as if trying to comprehend a larger strategy that it couldn’t find.

“That’s the one,” the Sir shouted at Muffin. “We get him and the rest will crumble.”

The Sir took off across the field, zigzagging through the high grass. Muffin darted off at a different angle, though headed in the same direction. The Beast gunfire was more sporadic now, but not over. The yellow streaks of Scruffy and the brown streaks of Jack moved like vengeful wraiths among the underbrush.

The Sir arrived at the trees on the other side of the clearing. The hair-faced Beast was hiding somewhere. The Sir felt and listened for a moment before he heard the Beast’s unsubtle thump behind a tree not far off. “What a cowering, slavering thing,” the Sir said to himself, hot with disdain. “It would sneak up on me if it could, or poison me with some heinous Beast drug.”

The Beast thumped a few more steps at a different angle. The Sir hurried forward, determined to cut it off.

Darting swiftly around a large oak, the Sir found the hair-faced Beast only a few steps away. The Beast’s expression, devoid of the sensitivity of a finer animal, started at the Sir in a moment of odd recognition, as if seeing something it hadn’t believed possible. One of its Piedmonts held a gun loosely at its side, and the other a cudgel. For the moment it made no move, standing taut as if preparing to react.

The Sir pointed his sword in the Beast’s direction. “We’ll see whose life has no value. One on one, in a fair fight.” He took a step forward, carefully, and then another.

The Beast raised the pistol. The Sir dashed forward and sliced deeply into the Beast’s ankle. The gunshot went past him and the Beast went down, groaning and scrambling but still on the move. The Sir threw himself into a small cavity in the dirt. A second shot slammed past him. He lunged and sliced several times into the leg above the Beast’s already wounded ankle. The Beast, screaming, slammed its cudgel on the ground close to the Sir, several times. The Sir dodged it and sliced, dodged and sliced.

The Beast, groaning, dropped the pistol. It rolled over on its back, flailing helplessly on the ground, its wounded Fleshy Piedmont lying beside the cudgel, which it had also dropped.

The Sir stepped onto the Beast’s chest and walked across it until he stood just below the Beast’s hairy face. He put the point of his sword upside down against the Beast’s throat. “You wanted to kill me while I was sleeping. And if you had, you would have laughed and then forgotten I ever existed.”

The Beast looked at the sword terrified, oblivious to anything but its own fear. Even at the point of death, it wasn’t able to acknowledge its wrongdoing or that it had been beaten by an opponent whose values, understanding, and sensitivity should have been a model for its own. The Sir, enraged, raised the sword and plunged it towards the Beast’s throat.

“Ah, no.” The Sir caught himself as the point of the blade creased the Beast’s skin. “This Beast is defenseless and can’t hurt me. I don’t intend to eat it. There’s no reason to kill it even if it deserves to die. I have protected myself and disabled it. If I killed it now, I would be doing so only because I want to, not because I need to.”

The Sir pulled his sword away and stepped off the prone Beast. He hardly expected to be thanked, because a Beast was a Beast. But as a rabbit, he had principles, and a rabbit’s principles always mattered more than the passions of the moment. He had a Demesne to create. Its goals would not be served by slaughtering defenseless Beasts, even if they were conniving and murderous.

He took a few steps across the open ground. He looked at his blood-soaked gold suit, many of its blue stars obscured, a few still visible.

Groaning, the Beast grabbed the cudgel and raised itself up, then brought the cudgel down towards the Sir’s head.

The Sir leaped to the side, no thought even registering. The cudgel pounded the ground where he had been. He turned, and the cudgel was in the air again, headed down on him.

The Sir dodged the second blow more gracefully. With a sideways jump, he buried his sword into the heart cavity of the Beast, slamming it through Beast flesh up to the hilt. The Beast fell back in an explosion of blood and a last howl. Its body hissed as if deflating.

Enraged at the Beast’s self-destructive stupidity, the Sir pulled out his sword and left the Beast corpse in the grass.

He turned around and looked at the field behind him. Rabbits moved across it. There were no more shots and no more Beasts.

In the field, and behind him too in the trees when he looked back a final time, the ground steamed and stank with hot Beast gore.

[thinkingagain]

“Why do Beasts block off even things they’re not using?” the Sir asked. “Related to their hoarding instinct, I guess?”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter 6

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest and Muffin had covered a lot of ground by early evening, even with occasional rests out of the sun.

“I’m not sure what’s next.” The Sir looked out towards the rolling hills around them. “Confronting more Beasts? Finding more companions? Trying to engage a Madam in conversation?”

 “A quest is a complex thing,” Muffin said.

The Sir nodded at the wisdom of that. “I’m not sure how one goes about building a Demesne. I’ve never done it before.”

They had come close to a few Beasts during the day, several times hearing groups of Beastly voices. One group had been filled with the vicious arrogance that the Sir most hated. He had stood in the road, ready to confront them when they came around a corner. At the last minute, the Beasts turned another way. Before the Sir could catch up to them, they climbed on to some contraptions and roared away, the grinding shrieks of the contraptions splitting the air.

“Beasts can be fast.” Muffin sounded as disappointed as the Sir that there would be no confrontation.

“Beasts have speed instead of thought,” the Sir said. “They’re always looking for thrills to startle them out of their dulled condition. Yet the contraptions only further ruin their hearing and sense of smell. Like all Beast inventions of course, they use speed most, I’m sure, to attack those who are weaker.”

“A Beast likes nothing more than an unfair fight,” Muffin agreed.

“All animals have to look for whatever advantages they can, in order to eat and to nurture new animals. But only a Beast pursues unfair advantages because it believes in unfairness.”

Muffin shook his head sadly at the truth of this insight.

Now it was late in the day, the sun sinking towards the distant hills. The rabbits came around a curve in the wide Beast track they were following and found, on one side of the track, a smaller track. Some Beast had blocked off with boards and several of the little metal devices Beasts used to close off their structures and fenced-in land.

“Not a bad spot to check out,” Muffin said. “Beasts won’t be casually coming through.” He looked at the fence to either side of the blocked track and slipped between its open spaces easily. “It might be a good place to rest for the night. And who knows what we might find?” He grinned.

After walking down the smaller track some distance, the rabbits came to a Beastly abode, long and low, built of red stone with a wide, wooden edge open to the air on which Beasts could stand. Its long windows were carefully closed. It seemed no Beast had been there for awhile. In the fading light, it looked forbidding and well-defended though it was defending no one.

“Why do Beasts block off even things they’re not using?” the Sir asked. “Related to their hoarding instinct, I guess?”

Muffin nodded and continued around to the back of the abode, the Sir following.

The rabbits heard the air crackle, not too far in the distance. They went towards it cautiously. Down the small hill behind the abode, a small, controlled fire was burning, sparks leaping from the logs. The Sir looked at Muffin, who looked back. There were no Beastly voices. Maybe some Beasts had made a fire and then gone away?

The Sir and Muffin approached the fire quietly.

Then a voice spoke—but it was a rabbit voice. “I’ve been to France and Belgium and the Netherlands, to Portugal,” the scratchy rabbit voice said. “I’ve been to Romania, to California, to Mexico and Canada too. I go to places just to see what’s there.”

“How’d you get all those places?” asked a smaller rabbit voice, with a harsh, tense edge to it.

“Anyway I could. I’ve traveled with Beasts, I’ve traveled without them. I’ve walked, I’ve been in airplanes. Once I was even in a balloon.”

The Sir and Muffin walked up near the edge of the fire. Beside the fire, three rabbits snapped to awareness.

“Who are you?” said one of them, a slender but muscular brown rabbit, with long back legs of a powerful kind that the Sir had never seen. “You try anything, I’ll go right for your juggler.”

Not understanding what that meant, the Sir stepped forward politely. Rabbits considered initial greetings essential, unless they had already decided they didn’t like someone. “We have no intention of trying anything,” The Sir sniffed at their fur gently, “though we would be glad to join your conversation. I see you’ve built a fire. I’ve never known rabbits who build fires.”

Another of the rabbits stepped forward, becoming more visible near the fire. This one was an astonishing bold blue, with paws and face of  light grey. “I learned to make fires long ago,” he said in the scratchy voice that the Sir and Muffin had already heard. “Nights are sometimes cold in Romania or Canada, even here in the Piedmont. A bunny on the road picks up any techniques necessary.”

“A bunny can never be too adaptable,” the Sir agreed.

A third rabbit stepped forward. The smallest of all, his tattered yellow fur had been ripped in places. Several long scars creased his wiry frame. One of his ears was half torn away. “You’re welcome here, friend, but I tell you right now, you start trouble with me, it’s the last you’ll start.” His posture was one of greeting, but only barely.

“I wouldn’t dare start trouble with you.” The Sir bowed gracefully. “Clearly this fire belongs to the three of you. I am Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest. With me is my henchman Muffin, and”—he opened his shirt—“my bosom companion Thomas.” Muffin stepped forward and nodded. Thomas, sleepily, winked at the three rabbits, then closed his eyes again. “We are on a quest.”

“Well what do you know?” the long-legged rabbit said. “I’m Jack. I’ve always loved quests.”

“And I’m Lucky Blue,” the blue rabbit said in his scratchy voice.

After a pause, the scarred little yellow rabbit said, “Call me Scruffy.”

“You seem an exceptional trio,” Sir Sleepy said. “Have you traveled together long? What brings you to the Piedmont?”

“We’ve been together just a couple days,” Jack said, “covering a lot of ground but not sure where we’re headed. It’s been fun being in a group, but it’s not easy to find land in these parts that doesn’t have any Beasts crashing around on it. The house up there looks like it hasn’t been used lately, and the gate is heavily locked so we’re likely free of Beasts down here, at least for a while. We settled in just a few minutes ago and started this fire and figured we finally had time to tell each other our stories more fully.”

“May we sit by the fire and hear of your exploits?”

“Glad to have you join us,” Jack said.

Although Scruffy still eyed the newcomers skeptically, all the rabbits sat down by the fire and settled in for the tale-telling.

[thinkingagain]

They were probably getting ready to destroy something, and maybe he could prevent it.

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter Four Three Beasts stood in a clearing surrounded by small trees and tangled underbrush. Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest, sword warm against his paw, watched them from inside the edge of a thicket. Their caterwauling voices had grated on his ears as he traveled along the edge of the woods. He had heard this kind of rough cynical tone in Beast voices before.

In the past, he would have hurried away. This time he came in closer. They were probably getting ready to destroy something, and maybe he could prevent it. With the forest behind him, he figured he could get away if he had to.

“Either of you want to say something about it?” one of the Beasts said to the others.

“No,” another replied. “You want to say something to me?”

“Aww, man. I’m just playing with you guys.”

All three laughed their grating Beastly laughs.

They were large males, not quite mature adults. They held gleaming Beastly containers of some sort in their Fleshy Piedmonts. They raised the containers frequently to their mouths and drank from them as they maneuvered around each other in a dominance ritual near a log in the clearing. From experience, the Sir knew that mature males were more organized in their destructiveness, but the random excitable viciousness of immature ones was less predictable. They could veer instantly from jovial to murderous.

“How come there ain’t no damn girls in this town no more?”

“We could go up to Winchester later on maybe. There’s girls in them clubs.”

The one who hadn’t spoken yet looked bitterly at the other two. “Clubs?” He spit. “Who you kidding?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Go up there to Winchester and throw away a bunch of money on nothing. Hell, I’d have more fun burning a turtle.” The bitter Beast grinned with hostility. “Remember that time?”

Sir Sleepy twitched in startled shock but didn’t run. The other Beasts laughed. “Oh yeah,” one said. “I remember that all right. Turned it upside down, stuffed a bunch of straw in it and watched it sizzle. Turtle on the half shell, huh?”

“That it was,” the bitter one said. “Only wish I could have done the same to Joe Sanderson.”

Sir Sleepy blinked hotly. It made his stomach churn to stand by while Beasts did whatever they wanted to animals. He stepped out of the thicket, sword held tight.

“Beasts,” he shouted. “I shall not tolerate your vileness any longer.”

The three Beasts looked at him. “Never heard a rabbit hiss like that,” the bitter one said. “Almost like it hates us.”

“Rabies?” one of the others said. “I don’t see anything around its mouth. What’s that weird cloth stuck to it, and that shiny thing?”

Sir Sleepy saw that while he could understand Beast language, these Beasts couldn’t hear any voices other than their own. He wasn’t surprised. Apparently they also couldn’t make sense of his attire or his weapon.

One of the Beasts stamped hard on the ground, certain it would scare the little rabbit off. The Sir didn’t move.

“Look at that,” the bitter Beast said. “Guess this one wants to be rabbit stew.” The Beast kneeled, picked up a stone with one of its Fleshy Piedmonts and walked towards Sir Sleepy, who held his ground.

The Beast threw the stone. Sir Sleepy dodged it with a small leap to one side, not an inch farther than he had to. He stood still again.

“Look at that,” the bitter Beast said again. “Quick, but it’s still frozen there. I’m gonna be able to grab it right up.” He stomped towards the Sir, unleashed a Fleshy Piedmont and let it swoop down.

With a quick jab of his sword, and a turn of the wrist for emphasis, Sir Sleepy sliced between the groping tentacles into the sensitive part of the Fleshy Piedmont’s underside.

“Unnggh,” the Beast groaned, jumping back. Its wounded Fleshy Piedmont flew into the grip of its other Piedmont. “Damn thing bit me hard.”

The other two Beasts roared laughter. “Lil’ bunny bit you, did it?” one said.

“Shut up,” the bitter Beast shouted back. “After I kill this rabbit, you’ll be next.”

Sir Sleepy dashed into the protection of the trees, not far, no more than the length of a few Beasts. He found a spot of shadier darkness that had a thicket behind him and, in front, some open ground for maneuvering.

The Beast came in among the trees, stamping its legs, grunting, cursing. It used the arm above its wounded Fleshy Piedmont to crash through whatever brush got in its way. Its other, healthy Piedmont carried a heavy, long cudgel, large enough to kill any small animal. The Beast paused in its chaotic frenzy and looked around, trying to find its enemy.

Sir Sleepy walked clear of the thicket. “Here I am, vile Beast.”

The Beast startled, seeing the rabbit so close. Then it grinned and slammed the cudgel down.

Sir Sleepy slipped to one side. The cudgel slammed into the wet dirt. The Beast raised the cudgel and down again, and then again, once within inches of the Sir’s head. Each time the Sir slipped lightly away.

Setting his legs properly, the Sir leaped, several feet, as all rabbits can. His sword sliced into the Beast’s chest, once and cleanly. Beast blood burst out. The Beast howled, agonizingly and long, in a sound that seemed involuntary. Holding onto the Beast’s loose-fitting shirt, the Sir sliced with the sword into its chest, again and again.

Shrieking, the Beast toppled and lay in the dirt, its body convulsing. Blood poured from its wounds and burbled up from its murmuring and finally motionless lips.

“What’s going on in there?” shouted one of the other Beasts fearfully from the distance of the original clearing. The Sir could hear them walking warily closer towards the trees.

Sir Sleepy, tired from the exertion, body shivering with effort, looked down at the Beast. It was dead. He felt sickness surge through him, a deep revulsion at having killed another creature. He could have let these Beasts alone. Yet if he had, some other animal would likely have been their victim.   

“Preposterous and horrible,” Sir Sleepy said to the ground in front of him. “No cleverness in that Beast at all. It charged me utterly heedless of the danger.”

Beast blood still covered his sword and had splattered thickly over his gold and blue starred clothes. On the far side of several rows of trees, a small stream meandered. Sir Sleepy went to it.

Behind him, a moment later, rose the screams of the other Beasts. Then came shouts and lamenting and the noise of Beast feet rushing around chaotically and finally running away.

Sir Sleepy dipped into the stream and washed off the blood. The water was cool and refreshing after his exertion. His clothes cleaned with remarkable ease. He stepped out of the stream and shook his fur and clothes free of water and tension and disgust. A rabbit had to be able to shake off moods easily to prepare for whatever might happen next.

“Thomas?” The Sir looked down at his shirt front at his small grizzly friend. “Are you okay?” The Beasts, still shouting, were now in the distance.

Thomas shook some of the water from his own fur, pulled the Sir’s outfit closely around him, and grinned. The small grizzly, it seemed, felt fine.

[thinkingagain]

“Skepticism is essential to thinking,” Leo said. “There’s no reason to pardon it.“

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book One: Conquest Chapter Twelve

After several hours of walking, putting the scene of their fight behind them, the rabbits stopped for some water in the shade near the side of a stream. Just ahead of them, a tree-lined hill rose above the stream.They cleaned themselves, drank, and relaxed. Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest breathed deeply, taking in the smells of grass and plants and trees.

Muffin was inspecting the ground along the banks, the Beast carrying object dragging behind him. He reached down and something crinkled loudly. “Well look at this. An apple! And in good condition. Anybody want a bite?”

The other rabbits looked over. Out of a thin brown Beast carrying object that had made the crinkling sound, Muffin pulled a dark red fruit.

“Sure do,” Lucky Blue’s ears perking up.

“Glad to partake,” Jack chimed in.

“Not for me.” Scruffy frowned. “That stuff hurts my stomach.”

The Sir came over and looked. The apple had reddish streaks with lighter colors around it. It smelled richly sweet. He had seen them many times but had been wary of trying to eat them. “Are they good?”

“A special treat.” Lucky Blue came up eagerly behind him.

“You shouldn’t eat more than a little,” Muffin said. “Scruffy’s right that they can be hard on the stomach. And you need to be careful; the little black seeds are poisonous. But if a bunny eats it properly and in the right amounts, it’s quite tasty.”

The other rabbits nodded at the excellence of Muffin’s advice. He passed the apple around and everybody took a bite.

The Sir finished his bite thoughtfully. “You’re right that it’s sweet, but it doesn’t have the disgusting sweetness of those other Beast snacks.”

Muffin pushed back one of his long ears, which had flopped forward in his eagerness to pass the apple around. “Obviously, Beasts didn’t invent them. They’re better than artificial Beast snacks. But Beasts do cultivate them, although they have the bad habit of putting all sorts of odd things on and in them. They usually try to make them look redder. Beasts get mesmerized by pretty objects, as you know, but they have no color sense. They think a bright, fake-looking red, instead of more naturally mixed colors, somehow makes an apple taste better.”

The Sir, after an already tiring day, felt his limbs sag at the prospect of being yet again disgusted by Beasts. He scratched his head wearily, took another small bite of apple, and went to the stream for another drink.

“To be or not to be?” A deep voice boomed from the hill above them. “Why is that the question? It doesn’t seem the question at all.”

The Sir and his companions sprang to readiness. Still the voice, loud as it was, was a rabbit voice. The Sir moved up the hill and through the trees towards the voice, the others close behind. He kept his hand on his sword but didn’t draw it.

Near the top of the hill, the trees opened out onto a sloping grassy field, not large, dotted with grey rocks. Leaning back against one of the rocks, his own gray color blending into them, was a rabbit. The largest rabbit the Sir had ever seen, in fact. The rabbit was cleaning his face contemplatively, wiping his forepaws carefully along his nose and whiskers. His neck was covered in a long flowing bunny beard. His back paws, steadying him on the ground, were also the largest the Sir had ever seen. Could it really be true that this rabbit was bigger even than most Beasts?

The Sir looked at the other rabbits, suggesting with a silent nod that they wait for him back in the trees. A lone rabbit was more likely to become defensive if approached by what seemed a gang.

When the Sir came onto the field, the huge gray rabbit looked down at him. “Hello, little bunny.” The rabbit’s forepaws, smaller than the back ones and stretched out in front of him, wiggled in what seemed a greeting. “Sunny afternoon, isn’t it? Days like this always make me think.”

“What are you thinking?” the Sir asked.

“Thoughts.”

“Ah. What could be more admirable than a bunny thinking thoughts?”

“To be or not to be,” the big rabbit said jovially, “seems a ridiculous question. No bunny would ask it. A bunny would ask how to be, since whether to be has been decided already.”

“A most sensible reflection.” The Sir walked up until he was standing, entirely, in the big rabbit’s shadow.

The big rabbit leaned back against the rock into a more relaxed sitting posture. He stuck his huge back paws out in front of him oddly, so that the white pads of them showed outwards. Sitting like that, his face still towered about the standing Sir’s. “My back paws and you are the same size,” the big rabbit noted. “Makes one think, doesn’t it?”

“What I think,” the Sir said, “is that I’ve never seen a rabbit your size. If for some reason the question was ‘to be or not to be,’ there would certainly be no doubt that you are.”

The big rabbit laughed cheerfully and deeply in his throat. “That’s Hamlet in Shakespeare’s play. Hamlet’s wondering whether to kill itself.”

“To kill itself?” The Sir scratched his shoulder, puzzled. “No one’s trying to kill it?”

“Not at that moment, no. I’ve been thinking about it.” The big rabbit fluffed out his beard. “As far as I know, Beasts are the only creatures who hate themselves so much that they think about eliminating their own lives.”

“I doubt they’d be willing to do us that favor.”

The big rabbit laughed again. He was, without doubt, not only an extremely large rabbit, but also a good-natured one. The Sir nodded towards the trees. The other rabbits stepped into the field carefully, making sure their postures indicated their friendly intentions. “I am Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest,” the Sir bowed gracefully. “And these are my friends: Muffin, Jack, Lucky Blue, and Scruffy.”

“Pleased to know you.” The big rabbit was unperturbed at being approached by everyone. All of them together were still smaller than he was. “My name is Leo.” He turned back to the Sir as if there had been no interruption in their conversation. “What I’ve been thinking is, it’s difficult to imagine a creature so cruel to its own kind that some of them can look at everything in the plentiful world and still feel that they’d rather not be part of it.”

“You do a lot of thinking, it seems.”

“I think all the time.” Leo wiggled his outward facing back paws. “I think I’m good at thinking. When I’m thinking, one of the things I think about is whether I’m really thinking or am only thinking I’m thinking. Beasts, of course, also like to think they’re thinking, although they rarely do.”

“Rarely?” the Sir said. “Are you implying that you believe Beasts do sometimes think?”

Leo’s rabbit face went bright, as if he loved nothing more than being asked a question he had thought about. “After a lot of thinking, I’ve decided that Beasts, at least a few, have the capacity to think. Even the ones with that capacity seldom use it though. Instead, like Hamlet, most go around hating themselves too much, or loving themselves too much, and telling themselves that’s the same as thinking. For most Beasts, what they call thinking is really a method of not noticing anything but themselves. If they do that long enough, some of them decide they’d rather be dead.”

“No other animal would behave like that,” the Sir said.

“I’ve seen more than a few rabbits wished they were dead,” Scruffy burst in. “But that’s only because Beasts had them caged.” He bared his teeth, involuntarily it seemed.

“Yes.” Leo looked at Scruffy closely. “You’re a thoughtful tiny bunny, aren’t you? Beasts do have the terrible habit of imposing their own wretched behavior on other animals. What’s worse, they have a theory that they themselves are not the cause of their behavior. Fascinatingly though, a few Beasts have actually identified this Beastly problem.”

“You’ll pardon me if I’m skeptical,” the Sir said.

“Skepticism is essential to thinking,” Leo said. “There’s no reason to pardon it. A Beast by the name of Jacques Derrida called the problem ‘The Center Elsewhere’ and claimed it as a basic flaw in much Beast thinking.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Lucky Blue jumped in. “I talked about it once with my friend the Madam.”

“A Madam?” Leo stared curiously. “I’m impressed.” He looked at the other rabbits. “Shall I go on? Not everyone is interested in thinking, and especially in thinking about thinking. I wouldn’t want to delay any pressing business.”

“I for one,” the Sir said, “would greatly appreciate the enlightenment you offer.”

Muffin threw himself on his back. “I’m a frog and would like to listen.”

“Remarkable.” Leo looked at Muffin spread out on the ground. “I’ll have to give some thought to your abilities, my frog-bunny friend. But since you’ve asked, The Center Elsewhere is the desire Beasts have, when they claim something is true, to pretend that they aren’t the ones claiming it.

“They say that some power that lives above the world, or outside, or all around—Beasts disagree about where this power spends its time—is the thing that makes it so. Often they call this power God, although they have different names and versions and are unsure whether God is one or many. When they fight each other, or hurt something, they often claim they’re doing it because this God power told them to and therefore it’s right.”

“In other words,” the Sir said, “The Center Elsewhere is a way of Beasts claiming that they aren’t responsible for what they say and do.”

“There are many nuances,” Leo said, “that I’ve thought about. But yes, that’s the idea.”

Lucky Blue said, “You seem like you know about things. Have you traveled?”

Leo nodded. “I’ve gone many places wanting to know what animals of all kinds are thinking. Still, on a day like today, I’m happy to sit right where I am and consider what I think I know.”

“I find all that fascinating,” the Sir said. “I myself have not been many places, and I don’t know how many thoughts I’ve had. Your thinking would help me in my quest to create a Demesne.”

“A Demesne?” Leo rolled the word around in his mouth, musing on it. “What is the idea of a Demesne?”

“It’s a magic land where animals can live freely in the ways they wish,” the Sir said. “Any animal can come there if they like, and we will try to be champions for those who do not or cannot come.”

“What a wonderful thought.” Leo clapped his forepaws together. “Any animals who wanted to think could think as much as they wanted.”

“Yes. I’m not sure how to make it happen. Right now we’re still mainly fighting Beasts.”

“Ah.” Leo considered again. “I believe in the value of your idea, but I must tell you that I’m a pacifist by principle.”

“A pacifist?” The Sir looked puzzled.

“I think that fighting is wrong and killing is worse.”

The Sir, surprised, shifted from leg to leg. “No animal ever kills another for fun,” he agreed. “But animals do eat each other, and surely they also have to defend themselves?”

“Ah, little bunny. They do. Believe me, before I looked into the Dream Time, I fought and killed often enough. I am a large bunny and there were days when I demanded that everyone know that. But all I really wanted to do was think.”

“And you became friends with The Magic Rabbit and Mr. Puffy?”

“I know them well. I’ve talked with them many times with many other members of the Brain Trust. What a thoughtful group they are. The Magic Rabbit helped make it possible for me to be the kind of thinker I always thought I could be. I think I like the idea of your Demesne, and I’d love to help. I’m afraid I won’t be killing anyone, but I can promise to help with other aspects of defense if it proves necessary.”

The Sir bowed. “I would be most pleased to have your help in whatever way your thoughts allow. I’m sure your insights will be as important as any defending you might have to do.”

Leo laughed his big jovial bunny laugh. “You are a diplomat, Sir. A trait that should be more admired than it is.” He looked at everyone. “The value of good comrades is something that bunnies should think about more than they do.”

The rabbits, some also laughing, agreed.

“Then lead on, good Sir.” Leo stood onto his paws. All the other rabbits gathered together in his shade.

Then they all set off across the hill.