Author's Note/Disclaimer: I'm ba-ack. Well? Didn't you miss me? No? Too bad.

Yes, this chapter was written by yours truly, azuretears. So if it sucks, y'all can flame me. And if you do, you'll find some nice little 'presents' in your inbox. (evil grin)

Chapter Three: Hunted

Retreating steadily, the large imaginary rabbit glanced uneasily at the house, already far in the distance. How could such a normal occurrence suddenly metamorphose into a nightmare? Nonetheless, despite rising panic, he assured himself he'd triumph over adversity, but, more importantly, get the hell out of here. Supposing he outran the hybrid, leapt over the front stairs, unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked the creature out, he might stand a chance. Unfortunately, that discounted two crucial elements- one, a rabbit running on his hind legs tended to come in last in any race and two, the large tree limb behind his right foot paw.

He tripped, landing hard on his back and head. Wincing and seeing stars, Mr. Herriman pushed against the ground and, then, forgetting the creature hot on his trail, proceeded to brush himself off. How ever would he explain the mud stains on his elbows? Irritated, he wiped stringently, freezing when the footfalls and fetid growl hit his large, fluffy ears. Oh, right…he was running for his life.

Agitated, he spurted through the trees and soon lost his way. A vast canopy concealed the moon and his path back to Foster's. The sensible part of him wanted him to mark trees so he'd know which way he went, but his survival savvy part snapped, "stop being such an idiot and get out of here!" Thankfully, the hybrid's renewed snarls shut up the sensible part quite quickly. On and on he ran, ill adroit and a comical sight, were this a laughing matter. Of course, if he simply threw away his pretentiousness and got on all fours like a normal rabbit, he might have eluded his predator. But Mr. Herriman was no common beast and, therefore, would run willy-nilly through unknown woods without resorting to innate traits.

Panting, sweating profusely beneath his fur, he tripped once again, this time over a tree root. Scrambling on his back, he forwent the agitation over scuffing his tuxedo half and leapt to his feet to knock headlong into a too small cave. Meanwhile, gaining because spurts were its specialty, the creature rent a potentially dangerous hunting cry into the night. Its shrill declamation pierced his ears and small, real rabbits ran underground to safety. For once in his life, Mr. Herriman sincerely wished Madame Foster had imagined as any other animal, particularly one a hybrid wouldn't pursue in the dark of night when he'd accidentally wandered away from Foster's. Still, his pride refused to let him contact her or acknowledge the doubtless worry escaping him into their mental bond.

In his delirium, he swore he heard it contemplate where to start when it caught him. He pictured it tearing into his stomach, then his chest cavity. Unable to stop shuddering, all caution and posturing abandoned, he fell to all fours and scampered off, getting himself further lost in the process. Yet no matter how often he paused minutely to catch his breath, he heard the footfalls.

Decaying wood snapped under his gloves and the putrid stench of dead animals, plants, and spilled blood entered his nostrils. By his left foot paw laid the skeleton of a real rabbit, by its side what looked like a dog. Terror threatened to choke his throat- not only was this creature after him, he was no stranger to cannibalism. The primp, proper Mr. Herriman might have given him a stern talking to about burial rites and how intrinsically evil it was to digest others of your species. The terrified one, however, really couldn't care less. It only heightened his fright.

Trembling in the frigid wintry wind that rattled the bodies' ribcages and played a death melody, he whimpered and set off into a tight grove of trees. Maybe if he nestled in a bramble, the creature might get discouraged and leave him alone. Of course, its exposed ribcage, pressing against its mangy fur, told a different story. It also, lamentably, told him that if it feasted on him, it wouldn't be hungry for too much longer. A squeak, all he was capable of at the moment, escaped his lips.

Ironically, as the mind is wont to do in times of crisis, an odd song flitted through his brain. An old Elvis Presley song, one Frankie delighted in playing whenever he assigned her too many tasks and she wanted to show her vexation. Thankfully, she'd only done it once since he'd erupted at her and been rather close to grounding her himself. (Madame Foster jumped in and reminded him that she, not he, was her guardian and really, it was tremendously unfair to ground someone over listening to a 'classic song'). Still, now that he recalled it, it wouldn't leave his head.

This isn't a hound dog…he's not going to catch me…oh, why did that infernal song have to get stuck in my head? This is absurd…he thought, scurrying over boulders as the hybrid's howls grew nearer. One slipped under his paw and he clutched the one above desperately, his pads scrambling for purchase. Maybe if he miraculously made it up the cliff, he could shove down the rocks he'd used to get up there in the first place and prevent his reaching him. Of course, that didn't cover the possibility it'd wait until he came down or that it could leap the distance. Damn, curse his inability to formulate an actual, feasible plan. Still, perhaps a better one would strike him once he was able to breathe freely.

Snapping its jaws menacingly, the hybrid finally reentered the 'battle arena' and he babbled incoherently, adrenaline lending him strength he otherwise would never have possessed. After all, a rabbit of that stature and mass surely weighed too much to heave himself over easily in an ordinary situation. Then again, a ravenous beast yearning for his blood hardly constituted as normal in any sense of the word (unless he was a typical rabbit and called these devilish woods home). He gasped, getting his second wind as the beast closed in.

Kicking at the boulders, pebbles, and medium sized rocks stubbornly, he swore audibly when far too little plummeted. Despite his powerful legs, the larger boulders, the ones he needed to fall to prevent its entrance never budged. They rocked back and forth, but rolled right back into their grove. The hybrid was gaining and he hadn't managed to knock any off their perch, much less inhibit its chances of reaching him. At long last, one shifted out, tumbled down, and landed at its feet. The creature stared up at him as if to say, "how rude to keep me from eating you".

Realizing he'd wasted far too much time on a fruitless endeavor, he ran the length of the outcrop and then promptly tumbled into a mudslide. Fur, gloves, whiskers, and paws caked, he shook his head pointlessly. None of it fell off and if he tried to cleanse himself now, he'd give it time to hunt him down. Still, for someone who prided himself on etiquette and hygiene, he certainly looked like hell. Yet his mind reminded him that if and when he got out of this, he'd soak in the bathtub. Right now, Foster's was a distant memory, like an oasis in the desert.

Darting forward, he plunged through thorns and bramble, heedless of the various nicks and scratches he accrued. One particular prick dug deeply into his left foot paw and upon wrenching it out, he yelped as blood streamed. Nonetheless, the cut wasn't deep enough to hinder him or leave a blood trail the creature might pick up. Yet in his mind, it was a deep gash that would lead to the hybrid leaping out of midair to stomp on his chest and then rip his throat out.

Babbling insanely, he splashed through a nearby stream, through the remains of a campfire (who would camp this far out?), and thudded painfully into a tree. Squirrels he'd roused flung warning acorns at his head and, rubbing it gingerly, he mentally remarked how inconsiderate they were before reminding himself he wasn't exactly out here because he wanted to reprimand the wildlife. Not that they didn't deserve it, but at the moment…

Scampering through countless mini-ecosystems, he halted at a crossroads of sorts. Two paths, both heavily tree lined, awaited. Of course, without foresight, he could choose either one and end up in a potentially worse situation than the one that he already faced. An old Robert Frost poem, about the path less traveled, entered his head, but he disregarded it as nonsense. The path less traveled in the woods, in a literal sense, was usually the one leading to a dead-end.

Throwing all caution to the winds, he flung himself down the left one and prayed to whatever deity existed that this one wouldn't get him killed. Unfortunately, his praying opened up another connection, the one linking him to his creator. Too late, he'd discovered all the terror, anxiety, and fear for his life had inevitably reached her, albeit muted. He swore again, wishing for once they didn't have such a strong tie. Lying on the phone to someone was far different than lying to them in a mental bond, where one couldn't really lie anyway, try as one might.

Mr. Herriman, my Funny Bunny, what's going on? You've been blocking me out. she sent and instead of replying, he situated the largest mental block he could muster in place and drowned her out. The energy drain ignoring her required couldn't be helped. Naturally, he knew this'd only make her worry more, but right now, he had worse troubles.

The beast hadn't specifically located him, but its obtuse snout poked through the brush to his right, the path he hadn't selected. Panic stricken, aware that while his concentration on the block dwindled, she could push her way back into his head, he ran again, disregarding the stitch in his side, the bruises, and the fact he was growing increasingly tired. He'd lost track of time, but he couldn't keep up the pace, even if it was only for ten more minutes. But if he stopped now, it'd kill him…with Madame Foster feeling his excruciating execution. He couldn't let that happen.

His exhausted paws met cold, hard stone and he skidded into a cave. Diminutive as it was, it was just big enough to let him rest cramped. Desperate, he hefted a sharpened branch protectively, as though it might aid him later on, and crouched inside. Maybe if he shut his eyes for a few seconds, the scary monster would go away.

…

Snap! Crack! Snarl!

What a nightmare…though, I must admit, it seemed pretty realistic, Mr. Herriman thought, stretching his paws. The only problem was, his arms didn't have enough room to maneuver and his right one still clutched the sharpened branch. It wasn't a dream at all, which meant the growling in his ears wasn't a hungry stomach…

Blinking, he awkwardly rolled over to find the hybrid snapping its jaws at his face. Claws scrambled to tear off the protective, starchy collar around his neck. One carved deeply, but failed to reach its intended target. Frustrated to no end, it dug into the groove created and Herriman screamed, thrusting the branch at its belly. It was the hybrid's turn to scream as the branch pierced non vital organs.

Kicking him in the muzzle and as many times as required to get him out of his way, he sped off, running so quickly, the scenery was a blur. Past the forked roads, through the campfire, stream, and everything else, he paid it no mind. Overhead, the moon shone weakly, but sunrise was still a few hours off. Not that it mattered in the slightest to him, but at least no one in the house would see him in this condition.

Once unlocking the door, darting up the stairs, and then collapsing onto his four poster, he passed out.