I don't own this, and I gain no profit from writing this.
This is written from the point of view of one of Blackavar's guards, which one is up to your personal preference.
Watch. Listen. Feel. Run-No, don't run. Don't move. Don't relax. Tense, ready to pounce. Like a cat; elil kill rabbits, so must you. If he runs.
Did he move? Is he tensing to run, or twitching in boredom, in pain? Don't get paranoid, but don't get naïve. Watch. Listen. Feel.
He's whimpering. Pain? Boredom? The need to run? You know how it feels-No! No sympathy for him! He's doing it on purpose, trying to make you drop your guard. One second is all it takes for your disgrace.
Don't move. For Efrafa. He has to stay, or Efrafa will fall. Everything, everyone, dead. Gone, stolen, by man, by elil, by sickness. And all your fault, for moving, for running. Don't move. Don't run.
Watch.
His tattered ears hanging limp, his cowering form. Empty tunnels.
Listen.
Silent whimpers, claws on earth. A breath, a heartbeat, rain hitting the grass outside.
Feel.
Moist air, dry soil, cold warmth from the broken rabbit.
Death, coating the runs, the burrows, the fields, the warren. The Black Rabbit of Inle sits next to you, waiting, always waiting. Don't move. Watch. Listen. Feel. Survive.
The need to run. Feel the wind in your fur, racing past your ears until you can't hear, can't see, and the world is nothing but black. Black, black, black as night, black as the rabbit next to you, the rabbit that comes all the way from Inle to challenge the General, the rabbit that will rain death on the entire warren if you let him. But you won't, you can't.
Don't move.