Prompt: Write about something that appears one way, but is (or acts like) something else.


Smalls pushed aside an overhanging branch as he walked through the woods, ensuring he made as little noise possible. Though they were close to the safety of Cloud Mountain, the wolves were growing bolder, and Smalls knew the less noise he made the better. He glanced behind him, still holding the branch out of the way as the young doe walked past. "Thank you," she whispered, smiling gratefully. Smalls nodded, resuming his steady pace beside her. Heather was a very agreeable doe, unlike her melancholy brother who hobbled far behind them. Wilfred had finally talked the youngster into wearing a bandage on his bad foot, and now they were walking in pairs of two- Heather and Smalls at the front, and Picket and Wilfred bringing up the rear.

For the moment, Smalls enjoyed Heather's company. He was not going to deny that she was very beautiful, despite the slit in her ear-tip, and the few words she said did credit to her intelligence and awareness. But though he was forming an easy friendship with Heather, he knew what her brother Picket thought of him. Picket had made his disgust clear to Smalls on multiple occasions throughout their travels. Smalls knew better than to let it bother him too much. Under Wilfred's guardianship, he had learned many invaluable lessons, including self-discipline. But though he was guarded in what he said and did, Smalls could not help but feel the injustice of it all. It was difficult to live a life where almost no one knew who you were.

The refusal of his elder brothers to accept him as heir still pained him, as well as his banishment from First Warren. As the future king, he had had to conceal his identity from so many people, for safety's sake. The small, white rabbit that Picket saw, who seemed to be a nobody, yet was too righteous and well bred for his years… yes, that was what he appeared to be. But it was all because inside he housed the struggles of an exiled heir. He felt the constant stabs of justice at the demeaning way he was so often treated. He felt the gnaw of pride that tried to whisper his nobility. He felt like he had bottled himself up, and was trying to be true to both sides of a person. Smalls glanced at Heather, who had outpaced him slightly and was now walking ahead of him. Even she doesn't know who I am, he thought. He almost considered Heather to be family, seeing as she was Wilfred's niece. He didn't like to hide who he really was, especially from her. It felt nearly like lying.

Smalls sighed, putting one foot in front of the other. Protecting his identity was a sacrifice. And a king, he reminded himself, must sacrifice a great deal for the good of his kingdom. It would not be the last sacrifice he would have to make, nor would it be the hardest. He set his jaw, knowing that for a while still, at least, he must continue with this way of life. It was what had to be done.

But it will not be so in the Mended Wood, he reminded himself, and it was with a determined smile that he hurried to catch up with Heather.