Arsene dreamt:
Snow fell all around him. A howling blizzard engulfed him, filling his vision with angry phantoms of swirling white and threatening to pitch him off the narrow, treacherous cliffside path to his doom, several hundred feet below him, his blood staining the pure white of the tundra. He dimly recollected having walked for hours now. It was a false memory, as he had only just fallen into a dream, but time never made sense in dreams. Still, his mottled grey and white fur was plastered down, giving him a rather undignified bedraggled appearance. Bunnits were not built for climates like this, especially Bunnias, who were marsh Bunnits, and he couldn't think of a sensible reason why he was here at all. His joints ached from hopping without rest, and from gripping his spiked club, a vicious businesslike weapon rather than his ceremonial mace, in the large hand that grew from the end of his tail. His long ears, through drooping at the tips due to his discomfort, were erect and alert from the tiniest sound that could indicate one of the many large predators that lived in the snow-covered mountains and, though it probably wouldn't know what a Bunnit was, might guess that it was edible. Making out any sound or spotting any movement over the relentless gale was a virtual impossibility to any but the most keen-sensed of Bunnits. His sense of smell was completely useless, as everything just smelled of cold. However, it wasn't exactly difficult to spot the towering figures that awaited him at the peak.
Giants, with gorilla-like frames, beetling brows and ferocious maws bristling with sharp fangs, their foreheads ending in two jutting curved horns. Crystalline growths, or possibly worn ornaments, had camouflaged them when they stood still in a circle, waiting, obviously having spot Arsene from a lot further away than he had noticed them. They muttered to each other in low rumbling whispers that sounded like tiny avalanches. After a few seconds, the largest of them by a significant margin walked towards him. The Bunnit did not back down. His gaze never wavering, glaring up at the giant creature in clear indication that he considered them equals, he loped forwards.
As his eyes met those of the Slobos, Arsene caught a glimpse of the elaborately carved stone tower ahead of him, the goal of his expedition all along…
Then his danger sense woke him up, flashing red light cascading into his vision, accompanied by a general atmosphere of urgency that sent a bolt of energy through his mind. He uncurled and grabbed his mace in one smooth, practiced movement, springing upwards and bringing the weapon down over his head in an arc. His attacker yelped and rolled backwards, his own club sent skittering out of his tail-hand by the force of the unexpected blow.
"Got you, you honourless assassin!" screeched Arsene, "Did you really think you could murder me in my bed?"
"I'm happy to take you face to face!" hissed the other Bunnit. By his voice and the style of club he used, Arsene quickly identified himself as a Bunnit proper, then narrowed down the mental list of Bunnits he knew the names of, and were therefore important enough in Bunnit society to be in a position to challenge him, until he finally remembered who his assailant was.
"Rhangrot!" he growled, "I should have known it would be you, using such dirty tactics! Take your weapon back, then, and let's have at you – I've always wanted an excuse to deal with your endless petty treachery for good!"
Arsene was fairly confident he could defeat Rhangrot in a straight fight. Persistent and enthusiastic though he was, the other Bunnit was smaller, weaker and less ambitious, as well as being laughably easy to predict the moves of. True, Arsene was unusually gifted in this area, to the point that a small cult was growing around him among his more superstitious vassals. Even as they paced around the brightly decorated confines of the Imperial bedchamber, watching and waiting for the first sign of movement, Arsene's vision flared with tinges of blue light, through which he could see vague images of things that hadn't happened yet, the ghosts of the future. The warm, dark burrow under the hill next to the Nopon Refuge was a little cramped for a fight, to the extent that they were forced to glance around them every now and then to avoid tripping on a cushion, getting wrapped up in a wall hanging or knocking over one of the ether lamps and releasing its motes of light into the air, a scenario that would inconvenience both of them and alert the guards. Arsene would rather the idiot Bunnit had sent him an official challenge so they could fight formally in an arena. Even if Rhangrot did somehow manage to defeat him, the other Bunnits would be far more likely to accept his leadership if he had proven his strength in an open, fair fight than if he used his cunning to assassinate a rival. There was only one reason to sneak up on him: Rhangrot wasn't really confident he could defeat Arsene, and he was aware that the Bunnia would demand a fight to the death in the arena, whereas he had some kind of plan to escape this chamber.
As Arsene had predicted, Rhangrot aimed a vicious swipe at his tail, trying to disarm him knock him off-balance. The Bunnia sidestepped his opponent, hopped into the air and smacked Rhangrot squarely on the head. The would-be assassin yelped, launched a pillow at Arsene's face, then darted into the pile of soft rugs and silk cushions that served as a lounging area. He must have burrowed a hole down there, somehow avoiding notice for the weeks it probably took. The pillow had a tear in it, strategically placed to be hidden from casual notice but to explode into a cloud of Quadwing down feathers upon impact, giving Rhangrot the few seconds he needed to disappear. Spluttering, Arsene shook the feathers out of his ears and mouth, then immediately dove into the hole in pursuit. He silently cursed his moronic servants and guards, none of whom could apparently notice trivial things such as assassination attempts. He made a mental note to sniff his food carefully before eating it in future. Not that he didn't already have to constantly defend himself from harm at the hands of other dominant Bunnits, Bunnias and Bunnivs. It was a staple of life as an heir to the Imperium of Bunnitkind.
The tunnel branched out into around ten more paths and he soon realised that the place was a tangled subterranean maze. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. It might not have been created entirely by Rhangrot – all Bunnits enjoyed burrowing – but this was an environment that the enemy was a lot more familiar with than Arsene. Maybe I should just find a new home, he thought to himself, one entirely designed by me, and therefore properly fortified. As he fell almost automatically into the repetitive tasks of memorising his route, so as not to get horribly lost in the near identical passageways, while staying alert for Rhangrot's possible ambush, he felt his thoughts drifting back to the dream he had been woken from.
It wasn't just a normal dream. He was sure of that. Even more so than most Imperial heirs, Arsene was aware of the deeper connection he had to the Bionis and the spiritual gifts it gave him, as well as just making him a stronger Bunnit in general. Visions, prophetic dreams, were nothing new to him and he recognised the signs straight away. This one had been particularly obvious. The dream's emotions and sensations unusually vivid, his awareness was lucid but the dream's narrative absolutely forbade him to diverge from the path it intended to show him. The scenario was unrealistic – he would never voluntarily go to Valak Mountain, get his fur soaked or encourage things twenty times his size to eat him – but it made much more sense than most dream logic, never too ludicrous to be logically possible, and it seemed as familiar as a memory, somehow feeling right and even important.
The fact that it had involved giants set his fur on end. The three species of giants – Gogol, Slobos and Orluga – were constant problems for the much smaller Bunnit races. While they mostly showed no interest in deliberately attacking the Bunnits as long as their territory was not invaded, their constant warring with the Arachno race overflowed into the affairs of every other sentient race on the Bionis. They also ate a tremendous amount and had a devastating impact on their environment compared to everyone else. It had long been on the agenda of the Imperial family to send an army to put the clumsy giants in their place and remind them that others lived on the Bionis as well. The Bunnits were the superior race of the Bionis so it was their duty, as well as their right, to put the giants in their place.
That still didn't really explain why Arsene had to go to Valak Mountain, though. Plenty of Sloboses lived right here in Satorl Marsh, there were Gogols in Tephra Cave and on the Bionis' Leg and, if it was really necessary to talk to Orluga, they could go to Makna Forest. In other words, more civilised, warmer places where Bunnits were meant to live.
He couldn't answer this question by himself, he realised. He needed to consult an older, wiser Bunnit, one of the spiritually gifted elders who no longer participated in Bunnit politics and instead focussed on less corporeal pursuits, someone who could be trusted with sensitive information that could potentially be used against him.
Arsene knew just the person. Sniffing and brushing his whiskers against the tunnel to double-check his relative location, he determined the quickest route to the innermost depths of Tephra Cave. The tunnels weren't going there, so he began to burrow his own.