I apologize for completely forgetting I had the responsibility of writing this XD I had a busy few weeks lately so heh, probably why. Anyway, I worked extra hard on this chapter to hopefully make up for that...

. . .

Running from fear II

Somewhere in the seemingly endless rolling hills surrounding the Burrows, beyond the many vegetable farms, a small cluster of tents and torch-flames rested placidly beneath the moon. The few occupants were mourning for three of their people lost, and only the cold wind whistling could be heard, swaying the tent flaps and flags like silent, ever-moving sea waves.

"She was stolen from our paws."

The canvas walls were not enough to keep the warmth of the fire inside and the biting cold wind out. A polished desk stood lonely in the middle of the round closure; all the other lavishes around the tent like the gold-coated candlestick and silky drapes were irrelevant now that his plan had failed, after all, if he came home empty handed, it'd all be taken from him. Without them—the riches he couldn't resist—he'd be nowhere.

"We really did have her, my Lord. She was right in our grasp but…" The scout shivered under the weasel's stare that dared the small feline to say more. Usually, Weasleton considered himself a negotiable mammal, one that would rather have a wine with his enemies and make a deal rather than fight. He knew he good with his words and all, even better at seeming meek if it meant he got what he wanted. And he always got what he wanted, but now there would be no negotiating with Lord Harlow.

"Speak up, ya' kitten!" Weasleton scowled and let the ink of his pen blotch over the newly written letter. He would have to re-word it, somehow. Twist a few words and sentences perhaps. How could one make a loss seem like a success on the limited space of a slip of paper?

"I swear it, my Lord." The cat whined and cowered as if Weasleton's hard glare physically hurt. "It was a…a fox."

A fox ruined his plans? Hysterically, Weasleton threw his muzzle up and laughed, hitting the polished wood with his fist. It didn't last long. He watched the pot of ink rock, and tip over the corner of the desk. It dropped just as he realised—bizarre as it was—if there truly was a fox, his problem was worse than he had thought. In a quick blur, the ink hit the rug with a light thud and began to leak black over his floor, and slowly the corners of his mouth dropped.

"A fox?" weasleton pulled his lips in a tight line again, and snapped his mouth around his pipe to keep the anger or fear from showing. "What madness is this? I've heard a story of a sheep that claims to be the best swordsmammal and of a mouse more wealthy in coins than the old-age kings and queens, but what in your furball-filled mind came up with this tall tale?"

"I swear it on my life, there was a fox!" The scout leant forward, placing his paws on the edge of the desk. His hazel cat eyes were full of plead, a wanting to be believed. Anyone who claimed to have seen a fox must have gone mad—they were all wiped from Zootopia years ago, every single one. "There is no redder fur than that of a fox, and my lord, and I tell you, he had a pelt the color of fire!"

A pelt I want to see hanging on the wall or used as a floor rug! Weasleton irritably blew a fine stream of smoke into the feline's face, causing him to back away from the desk coughing. "See yourself out, will ya'?" and as commanded, the scout nodded and scurried through the tent flap. The bowl of fire blazed in the wind for a slight second, but when no more wind came through the opening and the flames calmed, an iciness stayed in the air.

He scrunched the letter he'd once thought he would send to his master and slid a new slip from the pile of blank sheets. He set the red wax to melt above a small candle and retrieved a fresh inkpot from a drawer, as well as a new pen for the sake of it. He did not start writing, he did not know what was he meant to write; he only flicked the inkbottle's clog away, and watched it fly away from him hopelessly. If only his troubles flew off that easily.

. . .

The wind whistled hauntingly, wisping leaves and dust into the air from the dry dirt floor. The frostiness of the night air managed to find every nook and crack to slip into, so no place, no walls and no blankets could stop it. A cottage rose arrogantly from the ground, like a big bully to its surrounding landscape, decorated with pots of flowers and grasses like a rich mammal was decorated with gold, though the hinges of the door creaked agonizingly while it let itself be swung open, then shut, then back again, and the breeze rattled its windows as much as it did to the stubby shed a few paces off its firm Burrows' brick-and-mud structure.

The farm might as well been abandoned by its appearance, though the silence, Judith hoped, was only because of the late hour. Feeling completely bare in the crumpled silk gown, she shivered and rubbed her arms till her skin felt sore, still, the bitter air managed to crawl to her bones. Never had she felt so lonely, nor been in a place so lonesome.

She tried not to listen to the whispers of the wind, howling through the many rusted holes the old shed had. If she payed too much attention, they sounded like cries of pain and terror, coming to run cold fingers of fear down her spine. She was already terrified to the point her tears had gone dry, and though the realization had long drilled into her mind that this was no nightmare she'd wake from, she longed for some sleep to come and take her away. But her thoughts raced too much to sleep, and her heart beat fast, though she felt no warmth of blood running through her veins… Her thoughts swam and her vision went black. She woke up in a shock when the back of her head hit the cold metal wall behind her a second later.

She was hopeless. The corners of her vision still swayed and twinkled with black stars.

"No." Was all Judith could mutter, with her jaw chattering more every passing second she still lived. Hazy memories popped up every now and then, but in this state of mind, they were only a bother to her.

Blood-loss. Wearily, She raised a paw before her face. Blood had made her silky fur go crisp and dark there. Although it was long dry, it felt comforting to keep her paw on her shoulder. Three gaping cuts still throbbed out hot red liquid, though nearly not as much as before from what she remembered, which was a relief. When she bent her head over to check the cuts—not that she could see much in the dimly starlit place; she could barely make out some surrounding farm tools, and the hay beneath her she only knew was there by touch—dizziness took over a second time, reminding her just how bad it was. Did the fox leave me here to die, in this cold shed? Or will it come back for me? Not that it mattered, being dead or held captive by a mammal not meant to exist, now only known in tales for how cunning they were. It was the reason they were killed, for the good of Zootopia, so she'd heard once…

"No." Again, Judith gasped, shakily trying to haul herself to her hind paws. The fox had put her in this shed, and told her to stay. But while she sat here feeling light headed and hoped for the best, the red furred mammal roamed freely around this farm, and she did not want to imagine what it might be doing. In legends about the savage ages, they were said to prey on her kind.

The first attempt to stand did not go well, and with a pounding headache, she tumbled forward in a clamor of shovels and hoes. She brushed off as much hay and attempted again, whimpering in pain for her shoulder, and squinting her eyes as if it would help her to stay conscious. This time, she stumbled out of the shelter and onto the dirt and dead grass blotched ground. Her vision whipped around. Like a blanket of ice had formed around her, she shook and cuddled her arms around her torso in little hope that it would do something.

She faintly remembered how she'd felt when she sat huddled on her manor balcony, similar to how she was in that shed, crying and afraid. The feelings, like she felt them now all over again, tied her stomach in a knot. Hopelessness.

She would not be hopeless. Never again.

Faster than a crawl but not nearly as fast as she wanted to be going, she staggered towards the cottage and it's swinging door. "Stay." She mimicked the fox through her quaking jaw. Like rotten carrots, I'll stay. She tried to disregard the other part of her mind, telling her it was both easier and safer to remain in the shed. What was she planning to do, anyway? Stand up to a fox? She pushed her speed to her limits as if trying to get away from those fingers of cold fear that drifted with the light wind around her but suddenly the breeze picked up from a gentle blow of bitter temperature to a wail of dust and leaves, and her knees buckled beneath her. It took a while for the woozy stars to leave her vision.

Judith looked up blearily to the sound of moaning hinges, shading her eyes from flying dirt and grit, and before her the door swung madly back and forth in the strong gale. Beyond it lay dark shadows of the house, calling her towards them eerily. She followed them onto the wooden floor, and let the darkness swathe her.

"Hello?" The voice was quakier than what her own would have sounded if she had been the one speaking. In shock, her ears perked up. "Hello? Who comes in?" A gentle tapping of paws on stairs was muted by the chaotic outside storm. Her own hind paws made a gentle groan on the floorboards as she tracked the sound deeper into the house. Moonlight seeping from the nearest shuttered window only just helped her avoid a table and chair, and guide her way to the next doorframe where the speaker's voice seemed to come from.

"I… I know there is someone here. Who comes?" There was the terrified shaky voice again, just around the corner it had to be coming from. Before she turned to see, however, she noticed one thing; the house seemed to be undisturbed. The chair she'd almost hit was in line with the one beside it, tucked tidily under the table. The vegetables hanging from the ceiling on strings to dry swayed only lightly, and taking a sniff at the air, the only foul smell lurking was the common smell around a village mammal, a smell that said they needed a bath. When she realized she was trying to smell for a scent of death, relief washed over her. Of course the voice was quaking with fright; she'd walked in like she was the one not afraid. Perhaps if this rabbit was alright, it and whoever else lived here could help her.

But the relieved sigh never left her muzzle, for a red shadow appeared over her head and swung down from above the doorframe in a blur, with a cloak streaming behind it. She didn't even have time to scream before a paw clamped over her mouth so tightly she thought she might suffocate. No, she was suffocating. Her legs were the first thing to go limp. The dizziness and black vision returned.

. . .

She woke with the sky pink and the sun gleaming. Reaching for her shoulder, Judith jolted up with shock remembering, once again, the blood, and the claw marks, and... When her paw touched what was supposed to be cut skin and crisp fur, she felt fabric, rough and the color of dirt, but patched up neatly to cover her wounds and stop any bleeding. She gasped in and with it came a sudden whiff of hay. She sat up, her head spinning for a slight second, and looked beneath her to see exactly what she'd been expecting; hay. She was not expecting, however, to find herself in the back of a large wagon. Curiously, she peaked over a large mound of the dry straw she rested against, and only had enough time to see the cart being pulled by a single ram clad in a usual peasant's brown, wiping his brow with sweat.

"Let's not let him know we're here, cottontail." The fox hissed from besides her, his claw-tipped paw pulling her back down behind the stack of hay. For a moment, all she could do was stare in dumbstruck awe, watching the red fur blaze under the sun like a fire, before her fear took over. Her jaw, she'd only noticed had been gawping just now, snapped shut.

She lost her mind on deciding how to react; how could she choose between terror, curiosity, anger, and the hundreds of emotions rushing through her. With brow furrowed and mouth pulled tight—the only reaction that managed to crawl out—, she continued to stare. For a moment, she met his emerald eyes and the grassy plains around them passed in a blur. Then he turned his head away, and the black hood of his cloak came up over his ears and shadowed his muzzle.

Judith almost though he did that because of her, but then the gravel path widened onto a hard-packed dirt road, ten times wider than the road they were just on. Mammals of all sorts bustled in both directions, some in fine robes and broad sun hats, fussing to white-clad slaves about the sluggish speed, others having self-pulled wagons like one she sat in. The majority of the mammals walked; alone, in groups, with a small carry bag or with bedrolls and leather backpacks stacked over their shoulders. So many, was all she could think, and not even a slight weariness of the fox besides her crept past the amazement.

She scampered through the hay to the wooden cart barrier and leant over, poking her head out and letting her ears swing with the motion. They were passing over a body of water, so wide the other side of the bridge looked small. The blue water winked sunlight at her in playful ripples. The stone railings that ran along the bridge seemed so close she could touch them, but the though of tumbling out into the lake beyond stopped her and she giggled. She stuck to admiring the work put into the grand structure, however; she could make out floral carvings that must of taken years to finish completely, faded by rain and wind but still beautiful as they would have been the day they were made.

The fox passed her a folded bundle, and half-minded she let it unfold into a cloak, which she pulled over her shoulders for warmth. He left as quietly as he came. She was too fascinated to care. It was a thousand times grander than it'd been described in stories; the Zootopia Express, the road that ran through the whole city of Zootopia, where mammals of all kinds from all realms mingled on a single long strip of dirt. And this was only the start of that road.

Then, there she could see it. Beyond the grand gates at the end of the bridge, coated in a cloud of early morning mist, towers built from wood and stone and brick pointed up towards the sky, standing proud in their own shape and color. Zootopia.

Despite all that had happened—the nightmare that would never end, the fear she'd experienced, and the fox—Judith smiled a genuine smile. In the rough grey cloak of a common-mammal, with everyone besides her and her captor oblivious to the fine dress she wore beneath it, she could be anything.

. . .

Oh, but Judy, it's not Zootopia you're heading to ;)

I'm focusing more on Judy than Nick now, just playing around a bit with her discovering bravery and wonder and stuff. Nick will have his turn, don't worry.