AN - Sorry for the wait. The beginning's been slow, but things should start picking up pace soon. There's more stuff in this chapter. Leave a like if you enjoy!
Golden sunlight poured through the window, illuminating a small wooden room. It had few furnishings — a nightstand, a chest, a straw mattress. On the last could be observed a threadbare blanket, creatively patterned but worn with use and age. A pair of gray ears poked out from under it.
Judy, snuggled beneath the covers, was still dreaming, for the first time in quite a while. She was a hero, beloved by all, scourge of evildoers and sworn enemy of lawbreakers. She had just finished defeating an outlaw gang, in suitably dramatic fashion, and she was sitting by the bank of a stream as the villagers cheered in the distance.
She wasn't at all surprised to find that as the stream babbled by, it was carrying her away with it, even though she was still sitting on the grass. The scenery distorted around her, and she calmly kept pace with the flowing water as she slid through the forest. The celebration of the villagers receded behind her.
Up ahead, she knew, was someone she had to meet. She wasn't sure who, or why she had to meet them, but she knew it was going to happen. Any minute now.
But in her dream, as she slowly began to swim up through layers of unconsciousness, she dimly remembered something. It was something she was supposed to do — maybe almost as important as the mammal she was on her way to meet, and more urgent. She knew her meeting could wait. In the meantime, she needed to do something. What was it?
She sensed that if she didn't do it, bad things would happen... Yes, it was becoming clearer. She had made a mistake, or at least it wasn't her fault, but she had to go to an appointment with someone — a different someone — and clear it up. If she was late, she wouldn't be able to... what? It was still fuzzy.
All at once, the memory made itself clear. Judy sat bolt upright, face frozen in horror. In her mind, dozens of different alarms were going off at once. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no!" she whispered, feeling as if she must still be dreaming. The light coming through the window told her it was late morning, at least. This had to be a nightmare. Surely she couldn't have overslept for her lessons with Ingvar. Surely that couldn't have happened.
She felt herself teetering on the edge of total panic, when just as suddenly as before, she remembered the rest. She didn't have any lessons today. Ingvar had told her to take the day off and get some sleep. She wasn't in trouble. Her life wasn't over.
A massive wave of relief swept over her. Flopping back onto her bed, she thought back to yesterday. She knew she hadn't really done anything wrong, but it had been hard not to feel like that at the time. At least he hadn't shouted at her, or told her to get out and never come back. Still, what if he was disappointed in her? He might change his mind and decide that she wasn't good enough.
She thought about going back to sleep, but her sudden awakening had driven all the clouds from her mind, and she didn't think she could fall asleep again if she tried. Throwing back the covers, she leapt out of bed and strode through the door.
Remembering what had happened last time she was in similar circumstances, Judy scanned the path carefully for any kits on a collision course, and set off through the streets. Around her, mammals went about their day, engaged in all the tasks that kept the village running. Recognizing her, many waved and greeted her, clearly wondering why she was out so late, and not at lessons. She greeted them in return.
As she went along the lane, her mind turned backwards, remembering another time she had come this way, and her meeting with the two kits. She hadn't seen either of them since. She wondered how they were doing — Janie in particular. The little kit's predicament reminded her a great deal of her own, and Judy hoped she'd been able to help.
She couldn't really be mad at Phillip, she thought to herself. Although it was tempting, she knew that he was only repeating what he'd heard everywhere — from all the bucks in his life, and probably many of the does. She was glad that her mother didn't hold for any really egregious nonsense, and still made sure her daughters could take care of themselves, but the Hopps family matriarch wasn't too keen on the idea of any does swinging swords around. Judy knew that from experience.
Although it was frustrating, Judy didn't see any immediate way to change mammals' minds. Nobody wanted to support her, and nobody thought that she was going to succeed. Her family doubted her because she was a girl, and the rest of the world doubted her because she was a bunny. Well, that was alright. It didn't matter if nobody stuck up for her. She was going to stick up for herself.
This straightened her spine and put fresh resolve into her stride, which lasted approximately four seconds before she realized that she didn't know where she was going. By this time she had left the village almost entirely and was on the path out to the fields. Huh, she thought. Well, what was something she could do? Was there anyone she should spend time with? Well... not really. She had mostly fallen out of touch with her old friends — the episode at market day had shown her that they, too, doubted her — and had since had little time, thanks to her own and, more recently, Ingvar's training. Bucks her age thought she was too independent, and her female counterparts never seemed to take anything seriously enough.
She couldn't go train, she was supposed to be resting, and she couldn't even imagine paying Ingvar a visit just to chat. She didn't really want to spend time with any of her family either.
So she had nowhere to go, nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. Lacking any better ideas, she decided to go down by the river and think. If it was a day for relaxation, then by gum she was going to relax, she thought determinedly. After a few seconds of reflection, she admitted that that maybe wasn't the best frame of mind for relaxation, but whatever.
Letting her paws carry her down by the riverbank, she listened to the babble of the stream and let the cool shade wash over her. In the calm, she tried to recall her dream. It had happened next to a river, she could remember that much, and there had been a feeling of something going wrong. Yet that was due to her fears over missing her ordinary meeting; it wasn't originally part of the dream. She had been going to meet someone... She left before she could, but somehow that was okay. More than any other, the feeling Judy had gotten from the dream was that of patience and inevitability. Whoever she was supposed to see, she would find them eventually. It wasn't something she needed to worry about.
She wondered who it was she was going to meet, and decided she probably didn't need to waste her time about it. She had heard that some mammals could have dreams about the future, or important things that were going to happen to them, but Judy had never considered herself a very spiritual rabbit. And even on the off chance that the dream was going to come true, there was no way to know when or how. It could happen the next day, or twenty years from now.
Letting her thoughts wander, Judy idly kicked her paws in the swirling water. Warm light filtered through the leaves and dappled the ground with shifting beams of green and gold. Birds chirped around her unseen.
The question was, she pondered, what was she going to do after her training with Ingvar was over? It was all well and good to say that she would simply strike out on her own, but if her parents refused to let her go, and she disobeyed, she would cast quite a pall over their relations, maybe for the rest of their lives. She wasn't sure which would be worse — leaving without telling her parents, or going in spite of their refusal.
And if she was completely honest with herself, she didn't have much of a plan, even if her parents did let her go. Would she just wander around in the wild? How was she supposed to know where to go? What if there were mammals somewhere who needed her help, but she didn't know about it? Would anyone even want her help? Would mammals take her seriously?
Trying to ignore all the troubling questions muddling up her mind, Judy brought her attention back to more immediate concerns. She wasn't really lying to her parents about her training; she just wasn't telling them things. But what she was leaving out was that she was training for something of which they disapproved, and readying herself to leave them all behind — perhaps for good. If she told them, they'd never let her go, but what would they think of her if she didn't?... She was going in circles.
The thing to do, she reasoned, was to make it as clear as possible that she was going to leave no matter what. If they knew she wasn't bluffing, they might decide to just let her do what she wanted. In that case, she should make her announcement public. Then she realized she was overlooking something. Even if she told them she was going to become an adventurer, they might not believe her. All of her sparring was being done in secret. Nobody would have any reason to believe that she was telling the truth. There had to be some way...
She sat straight up, her ears stiffening in shock at the realization. There was a way. She could enter the tournament!
It was perfect! If she entered, she would have a chance to show her skill in front of the whole village. Not only would it prove that she was for real, it would show everyone that she could be great even as a bunny. Bunnies never competed in the tournament. Sure, there was a wrestling section for the bucks, but it was just sport. The real challenge lay in the arena, where rams and badgers and porcupines vied for the golden trophy. That was for the real fighters. Deaths were rare, but not unheard of. Injuries were common. Only the best — or most foolish — entered.
If she entered and won, everybody would see that she had achieved something she had wanted for years. Her childhood dreams were no secret. And they would also know that she had done it in spite of her parents, against their wishes. She would be calling them out in front of everyone. Nobody could say later on that she slunk away like a weasel — that is, like a thief in the night.
She was filled with conflicting emptions at the idea. She wanted to show off what she could do — assuming Ingvar actually got around to teaching her how to do things — but she quailed at the thought of flouting her parents' authority so openly, as though she didn't care about them at all. That just wasn't true! She did love them, and she didn't want to make them unhappy, but it wasn't fair of them to make her choose between her happiness or theirs. They had plenty of other children to make them happy.
Alright, that's enough, she told herself. She'd been thinking about this for too long. Shaking her head, she picked herself up and began the trek back into town, hoping to distract herself. It didn't do to worry too much about the future — it stopped you from concentrating on the present.
The next morning she was waiting outside Ingvar's hut in the misty predawn stillness. Though she had been standing there for almost ten minutes, he had yet to emerge, and she could only guess what game he was playing. He couldn't possibly have failed to pick up her scent.
Just as the edge of the sun's disc broke the horizon, the door was roughly shoved open, and her teacher's baleful eyes were staring down at her. "You," he said without bothering to greet her, "are early."
"But we always start at this time!" Judy protested.
"We start whenever I say we start," Ingvar snarled. "And I say we don't start for another five minutes."
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. They both stood there. He never took his eyes off hers. Feeling as if this was probably a test, she stared resolutely back.
After what felt like an hour but was certainly a lot less, he cleared his throat and said gruffly, "Very well, get inside."
Still wondering at his behavior, Judy walked in and sat down. He followed, placing himself opposite her. The dim light threw shadows on his face.
"You may be wondering why you're here," he said. "I would hope for the opposite, but then again your deliberate ignorance of your problem is why I find myself wasting so much time on you."
She was speechless.
"I rarely need to say this to an apprentice, but the truth is — you're trying too hard."
Still speechless.
"That wouldn't even be a problem if it weren't for the fact that you can't take proper care of yourself. You abuse your mind and body with overwork, and you neglect to get the rest that you need. Too often, when I see you come in, it's clear that you haven't gotten even half the sleep you should have. Not only do you push yourself harder than you should, you don't allow yourself to recover afterwards."
She was trying to process his words, but she couldn't accept what she was hearing. She had been working too hard? How was that even possible? When was that ever a bad thing? Wasn't she doing well?
"Yes, you're doing exceptionally so far, but that comes at a cost. You won't be able to maintain this for long, and if you try, you could cause permanent damage to yourself. Now, I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. If you don't shape up and treat yourself right, you're going to fail. Your reflexes and your attention will be dulled, your energy will be low, you'll lose one fight and you won't be able to get back up afterwards. If that happens, I won't bother teaching you any longer. You're out."
She didn't know what to make of it all. She was doing exceptionally, but she was going to fail? Purposefuly working below your limits went against every instinct she had, but after only a little thought she was forced to admit that he had a point. She had found herself to have less energy lately, and a little more sleep would be nice. More than anything else, however, the thing which swayed her the most was his flat statement that he'd fail her — just like that. That terrified her. And if there was anything she could do to prevent such an outcome, she was going to put everything she had into it, even if that meant not putting in everything she had.
"I'm sorry for my excessive zeal, sir," she said, deciding to risk a little humor. "I'll try to be as unenthusiastic as possible in the future."
He stared at her for a long moment, before his muzzle quirked up slightly. "See that you do," he said. "Now, to review your assigned reading from last time..."
And everything was back to normal again.
As far as Judy could tell, he didn't slacken off on her at all, although he didn't try to push her any further. From the few subtle hints he dropped, she gathered that it was up to her to keep a better schedule. When she put her mind to it, it was easy. She didn't stay up as late — candles were expensive anyway — and she took more breaks while working. She spread out her reading and interspersed it with casual stretches to keep herself limber. She tried to remain a relaxed attitude, and difficult as that was, she found it helped keep her in better spirits.
Of course, a relaxed approach for Judy was still hyperactive for any other mammal, and she continued to excel in her studies. Though he never remarked on it, Judy thought she was doing well. At least, she hoped. If she had ever met a more difficult mammal to read than Ingvar, she didn't remember it.
They continued to examine the sciences, politics, history, language and mathematics. She learned to speak the basics of Tropican and Polaric, as well as a smattering of Bovinian, Cervish and Felinese.
In addition, they continued the routine workouts, now augmented by basic paw-to-paw combat drills and practice exercises. Just like the first time they sparred, Judy fiund herself completely unable to land a paw on him, but she learned a great deal nevertheless.
One day they were going over the reading from a week or so ago, as the summation of a brief foray into recent philosophy. It had been an engaging but oftentimes aggravating experience for Judy, as she read page after page of infuriating monologues on the status and purpose of females, in every case written by male mammals, and she was dying to have her say.
"...And note how Locke's proposition that all mammals are essentially equal leads us to Fawntesquieu's notion of inherent rights, belonging to every mammal in equal share, never to be infringed. This is contrasted with... Yes, Hopps?"
"I agree with Fawntesquieu," Judy said, "but do his ideas hold true in practice? If all mammals have equal rights, that should include does, and yet females of every kind remain subject to male influence. Not to mention that many species, like foxes and weasels, are considered untrustworthy and still aren't accorded the same rights as others. Predators as a whole are treated with indifference at best and outright hostility at worst, just because of how they look — oh."
She realized then that she was talking to a wolf, who surely didn't need her to tell him about how unfairly he had it.
"I know how predators are treated, Hopps," Ingvar said mildly. "I also know that rabbits are given their own share of disdain, simply for being small and unthreatening, and while I can't share the burden of your gender I can at least say that I've seen many disparities in how males treat themselves as opposed to the other sex. I do my best to discourage that. It's always been my opinion that character has little to do with one's appearance."
"Exactly!" Judy cried, feeling vindicated. "But somehow other mammals don't feel the same way. How could that be? I know," she said, answering her own question, "it's mostly because they were raised the wrong way, and they can't help that. But they should be conscious of their own actions. Even if you can't help thinking that way from time to time, you should be able to say 'I know that every mammal has the same rights, and I'm doing my best to show that I support that through my actions.' Yet somehow Mousseau writes that females ought to be subordinate to males in everything, except for washing dishes and doing chores!"
"Which has gained him no small following among females," Ingvar pointed out, probing her arguments.
Judy inhaled through her nose, calming herself. "That's almost more infuriating," she said. "Of course, it's because they would rather have greater authority in something familiar than gain the choice to venture out into a world full of discouragement. And it's not fair to demand that every female feel the same way I do. My family is well off, I'm educated, and what with having so many siblings, I've had to become more independent. My circumstances aren't the same. But as long as we continue accepting the limits that males set around us, we'll never make any progress."
"Not all revolutions are accomplished in a day," Ingvar responded. "Some, not even in a single lifetime. And you can't overthrow generations of tradition alone. Focus on yourself. Change what you can around you, and that will spread outward, like ripples in a pool. That goes for any such cause. Sometimes, however, a few words in the right place can spark a riot or a rebellion. It's important to know the right time for anything."
Privately thinking that sounded more than a little vague, Judy tried a different tack. "Not to be too prying, but... has anyone ever treated you differently just because you were a predator?"
"All the time," his answer came promptly. "It's not something you can escape from, especially in my line of work. Not all of it's bad — most mammals tend to avoid irritating wolves, especially since we stick together. I've found that a growl or a few fangs can be useful in the right situation. But yes, the reverse has happened to me. It's usually either large prey looking for a fight or rich prey looking for someone they feel is lower than them. I don't let it bother me too much — they rarely do more than sling a few insults."
"But it can get to you," he continued. "And I've seen worse things happen to other predators, mammals who'd never harmed a soul. I've seen angry mobs looking for a target for their anger, and seizing upon the first fox in their path. Fists flying, blood spilled... I've seen predators pulled out of a crowd just for looking suspicious, then killed when they try to defend themselves. I count myself lucky no one's tried that on me. There are worse things than insults."
Eyes wide, Judy listened to his words with mounting horror. "Killed?" she whispered, not wanting to believe it. "I knew things were bad for you, but not that bad..."
"Just be grateful you've never seen a slave ship," Ingvar told her grimly. "Death is worse than insults, but some things are worse than death."
"My family don't keep slaves!" she protested. "They wouldn't!"
"If they did, I'd not be here," he responded. "The world is full of injustice, Hopps. As much as we try, sometimes it's a long time going away."
Feeling wracked by guilt, Judy left Ingvar's hut with ears drooping. What right did she have to demand rights for females when predators were being killed in the streets? Nothing like that happened here, but it was awful to know that it was going on that very moment. And slaves! She almost wept to think that somehow, the slave trade was still thriving. What sort of monsters could be running that enterprise, pocketing gold bought with the flesh and fur of innocent mammals?
She wasn't sure she could ever be comfortable with herself again, knowing what went on outside her sheltered hamlet. She was the daughter of nobles. She had never wanted for food or money, although her family was frugal, and she had been relatively free to pursue her own interests. She could even go into a trade if she wished — after all, that was what her parents thought she was doing with Ingvar.
At this fresh reminder of her deception, Judy felt the shame threaten to overwhelm her. How could she live like this? It wasn't healthy.
Alright, fine, she thought. Compared to most, she lived a life of privilege. Well, the rest of her family might be okay with that, but she was not. She was going to go out into the world and help people. So she could comfort herself with the knowledge that at least she was going to do something; she just hadn't yet.
Still feeling in need of something to lift her spirits, Judy scanned the horizon in search of something to distract herself with. There! In one of the cornfields, she spotted the telltale wisps of light that meant someone was doing magic. Strands of gold and green twined up through the air and vanished, glowing softly before they winked out into nothing. She resolved to go over and see what was what.
Pushing the stalks of corn aside as she moved through the field, Judy emerged into an open space betwen the rows, where her attention was arrested by the source of the magic. A young doe with dingy gray fur was crouched down into the dirt, eyes closed in concentration. Her paws were rising and falling as they traced sinuous motions in the air. Following each paw were streamers of light, rippling with energy. Vibrant, living colors — sap green, harvest gold, sunshine yellow — shifted as the magic continued.
After a few minutes the spell faded, twinkling motes lingering in the air for only a few seconds before they too were gone. The doe opened her eyes and stood up, stretching. When her gaze landed on Judy, a brilliant smile broke out across her face. "Judy! I didn't know you were out here!"
"Not really, I just saw someone doing magic and thought I'd stop by. How's it going, Lexie?"
"Oh, you know," the other doe answered casually. "This cornfield had a touch of blight a few months ago, so I'm just checking in to make sure it's healthy. Otherwise it might come back. You can never be sure sometimes; it depends on what you're dealing with. Pretty sure this one was just rot — I gave the plants a little boost to keep 'em strong."
"Really?" Judy asked, her curiosity aroused. "How does that work, anyway? I saw you waving your paws around... is there something specific you have to do?"
"Nope," Lexie answered cheerfully. "I just do what feels right and go with it. It's worked so far."
"Huh," Judy said thoughtfully. "Don't spells need to have words, or symbols, or something?" She had only a foggy understanding of how magic was supposed to work. So far, it hadn't come up in her lessons with Ingvar. He'd said that was a more advanced topic.
"Well, some spells do," came the answer. "Usually those are the more complicated ones that are meant for one specific function. The really complex ones have whole diagrams that have to be drawn out all precise, with string and chalk and whatnot. Although, really, you can draw a diagram for anything if you want, if it helps you. Whatever works to help you focus."
Judy mulled that over for a few seconds. "I didn't know that," she said. "So if you concentrate enough, you don't need anything else at all?"
"Well, it's tricky to keep your mind in the right state without any outside assistance. Not many mammals can do it. Me, I don't try for absolute calm or anything like that. The world is too busy for calm!" Lexie said, eyes bright. "I feel the earth under me, the sky above, and all the growing things in between. I feel the rhythm of life, and I move to it."
Closing her eyes, she began to sway slightly, as if in response to music only she could hear. Slowly bringing her paws up from her sides, she teased thin strands of light out of the air, as if unweaving some discorporeal fabric. Gathering the strands together, she rolled them into a little ball of light between her paws. Without warning, she pitched the ball at Judy —
— who tried to catch it, only for the little orb to go right through her paws. Not between or around, but straight through the fur and into her chest, where it burst soundlessly within her. Judy gasped, feeling a tiny explosion of heat spreading warmth throughout her body, from the ends of her hindpaws to the tips of her ears. It didn't hurt at all. On the contrary, it was somehow deliciously comfortable.
Judy laughed, suddenly filled with an unaccountable feeling of happiness. "I know," Lexie said, grinning. "I feel the same way whenever I do that."
"What exactly did you do?" Judy asked, breathless. "That was wonderful!"
"Oh, not a whole lot," her cousin replied. "I just gathered up some of the energy of life around me and sent it to you. Doesn't take much out of me, energy-wise, but that doesn't mean it's easy. Makes you real peppy, though, huh?"
"Absolutely," Judy said gleefully. "I bet I could run ten miles and still have a little left over."
"I bet you could," Lexie said keenly, scrutinizing Judy's form. "Sure looks like you've been keeping yourself trim. Well, nothing wrong with that, I suppose."
"Wh-what do you mean?" the doe stammered nervously.
"Nothing," Lexie replied innocently. "After all, you're going to go out into the big bad world and start your own business. Stands to reason you wouldn't want to be dependent on others all the time, 'specially knowing you. All I'll say is that some of us — not many, but some — are proud of what you're doing, even if Mom and Dad aren't."
With that, she winked and bounced away, leaving Judy to reevaluate her opinion of Lexie. It seemed like a lot had happened today... first there was that talk with Ingvar, and then she was learning about magic, and now she was finding out that she wasn't alone after all. Her family wasn't completely against her.
Things might just work out.
A small smile spreading across her face, Judy began walking back to town, feeling happier than she'd been in a while.
AN - Wow, that was quite a chapter. Didn't think it was going to be that long, but I wasn't sure where to end it. Could have put the bit with Lexie in the next one, I just wanted you guys to have something lengthy after the break between updates, and now we're finally getting into magic!
Fair warning — the magic system in this fic will be pretty loose. (Mostly because I don't want to spend a ton of time agonizing over how to make logical, consistent laws.) Anyways, the plot is moving forward! First two chapters were pretty dull. Hopefully only one or two more before Judy bids farewell to the fief of Bunnyburrow... and after that, anything can happen!
As always, I value your feedback. Leave a review and let me know what you think!