Some time in the 13th century, rural United Kingdom.
Curled ferns lined the path.
Spiralling, up, up, and away.
Huge barky old trees
Looked as if had been there for a century.
The dirt road snaked through the green.
Up to the crooked old inn.
All animals came to that inn
For more reasons than I could list.
For a meal, for a sleep
For a bath or a bet or a birth
The inn supplied them all.
All animals came to this crooked old inn,
From a mouse, to a bear.
No matter kingdom, genus or food chain position
They were welcome.
For the most part.
For some species were banned from the inn,
For events that did occur some days.
The Mockingbird told one joke too many,
And the landlady was called an ass.
An Elephant, caused a large hole,
Where the wine storage used to lay.
A Chameleon, performed a colourful scam,
Involving a bleeding red "wound", and pleading for a "small" donation.
But the worst incident of all,
Was that of the raven.
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A moody old cloud hung in the sky,
Blocked out the moon, like a star sized cloth.
The trees blew in the wind,
And the crickets sang their song a hour early.
The craven wandered down the old path,
His feather tail leading behind his pace.
His black coat tussled and hustled in the wind,
Flapping rapidly, yet stuck to his feathers.
He came up to the old inn he saw,
Candles glowing through the window pane,
Laughter echoing in the storm.
The raven hoped he would be welcome.
Welcome enough,
For a prey to die tonight.
The landlord of the pub, a well dressed hare, welcomed him in,
Said something about the weather,
How he was lucky not to be thrown by the atmosphere.
The pub was full of laughing animals, joyful of the occasion.
A lion musician played on the fiddle,
A olden tune the raven recognised as;
"Ballad of the Savage Mammal."
But none of that,
It was a good time to drink tonight.
The landlady donkey served up some golden beer,
And the raven began to sip it down his gullet.
The table he sat down on, was unused, empty.
No living soul sat on a table this far away,
In a shadow that rideth his appearance.
No soul could identify this youthful murderer.
In front, read a daily paper.
The title blurted:
"YE CLAWSWOOD TIMES.
NEW CITY, ZOOTROPOLIS GROWS WITH NEW VISITORS "
The raven dismissed the title.
He had no interest in what went down west.
After all, prey and predator in peace?
Hah, none of that!
He was a omnivore, built to consume flesh.
Why should he of all mammals, have to live without other's flesh.
After all, the raven had already eaten two victims.
Why should this victim be different?
He spotted a tired bunny,
Hop to the door and ask for a sleep till noon.
For a bare second, he spotted the key.
As room number 23.
This was it,
The time to pounce,
To claw this old bunny down to death.
And consume his bones.
The raven looked around,
Wary for any soul that could watch.
No, no soul took heed,
And the raven disappeared up to room 23.
Room 23, located on the upper floor,
At the end of a crooked corridor.
The raven pressed his skull against the door,
Heard a happy rabbit's hum,
And the crunch of a half eaten carrot.
This bunny was dumber than ever.
Dumber than the cow, dumber than the mouse.
It had left the door open by a crack.
The raven took its chance,
It took upon the blind prey.
The rabbit had half open a suitcase,
When a black raven took through the door,
And pinned her ears down to the floor.
She now had started to screech,
But the raven shut his mouth with his wings.
The raven: what was he about to do?
Oh no- a dagger!
The dagger was small,
Rusted away, blood encrusted,
And was about to thrust upon her skin,
When the raven dropped it, and it span up to the wall.
In this time,
For the raven to fetch the dagger back,
The rabbit began to shout,
For a saving soul to give the raven justice.
And yes!
The rabbit did win,
For in the second when the raven was to bite into the neck,
The door opened,
And the entire inn saw the near murder of
Jancey Mel Hopps.
As in, the great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great...
Ancestor of Judy Hopps.
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The raven's corpse hung from the rope,
Suspended over the rocky ground.
The crowd had emptied after the hanging.
The hanging of the suspect canibal.
The 2 time murderer, who had plagued Eastern England for this month now.
Meanwhile Jancey Mel Hopps walked back home,
Happy that the raven had been hanged, and that her neck still remained intact.
But this event had gave her the thought:
Maybe she should move to a safer place?
After all, being near murdered is a pretty bad sign of where you live.
Where could she go?
Greece: Too hot for her taste, and she wasn't that good in the arts.
Africa: She liked vast places, but she can draw a line in the Sahara Desert.
But then there was that new city…
What did they call it?
Zootopia? Zoomania? That Crazy Animal City?
Whatever it was…
Maybe she could go there.
And farm carrots.
And start a family.
That sounded good.
The beginning of the Hopps family started on a wood road.
And with that,
The Butterfly Effect began to take its toll.