Rabbit and Elf
The old folklore hummed with whispers of a rabbit laced with sly magic, a furtive creature whose paws danced through the gloaming, nose twitching for scraps in the fading light. One shadowed evening, as the sky bruised purple and the wind hissed through the trees, his luck faltered—a hulking human loomed from the dusk, hands swift and cruel, snaring him for that night’s stewpot. The rabbit’s heart hammered, his small body dangling in the man’s grip, but his voice cut through, high and desperate, “Wait—spare me, and I’ll give you gold! A pouch of nuggets, hidden in my burrow!” The human froze, his gaunt face splitting into a jagged grin, greed flickering in his narrowed eyes. He knotted a coarse rope around the rabbit’s neck, tight enough to choke, and rasped, “Move, then. And no tricks.”
The rabbit stumbled forward, the cord biting into his throat with every lurching hop, leading the man to a hollowed-out nook beneath a twisted oak, its roots clawing the earth like skeletal fingers. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of damp soil and something sharper—anticipation. The human dropped to his knees, breath ragged, and plunged his calloused hand into the burrow. His fingers scraped through cold dirt, brushing a shard of bone, a slick stone—then closed around a small, heavy sack. He tore it free, the faint clink of gold nuggets singing in the silence. His eyes gleamed, fever-bright, but his lips curled into a snarl. “This it?” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “You’re hiding more. Where is it?”
The rabbit’s ears twitched, his voice trembling but firm. “We had a deal—my gold for my life.” The man’s laugh cracked like a whip, chilling the air. “Deal’s changed. I want it all—every last nugget. Now.” The rabbit’s gaze darted, a flicker of fear beneath his calm. “My siblings,” he murmured, “the older ones—they’ve got burrows stuffed with gold. I’ll show you.” The man yanked the rope, and they pressed deeper into the woods, where the trees leaned close, branches snagging at their shadows.
They reached a warren of black-mouthed burrows, each one a gaping wound in the earth, ringed with thorns that glinted like teeth. The man’s boots slammed the ground, each step a shuddering quake that rippled through the soil. Below, the elder rabbits—hulking, gray-furred beasts with eyes like embers—stirred in their lairs. They peeked out, glimpsing their trembling kin, the rope a noose around his neck, and the man’s looming silhouette. A silent signal passed between them, and they melted back into the dark, waiting.
The man, blind to the tension coiling beneath him, thrust his arm into the first hole, fingers clawing through the void. The silence stretched taut—then snapped. A guttural yelp erupted as iron-strong jaws seized his wrist, teeth sinking deep into flesh. The eldest rabbit lunged, dragging the man’s arm down with relentless force. He thrashed, boots gouging the dirt, voice rising into a frantic scream as his shoulder wedged into the tunnel, then his chest, the earth swallowing him inch by clawing inch. The rabbits’ grip held, their fury a quiet, unyielding storm, pulling him deeper until only his twitching legs jutted out, clawing at nothing.
The night stretched on, heavy and still, until a lone traveler shuffled past, lantern swaying in the fog. A muffled wail—half-choked, half-mad—pricked his ears. He froze, pulse racing, then grabbed a branch and stabbed at the soil, unearthing the man: wild-haired, dirt-caked, eyes bulging with terror, still clutching that cursed pouch. The rabbits had vanished, leaving only the faintest rustle of leaves—and the weight of their unseen triumph hanging in the air.
