They saw the smoke before they saw anything else. Smoke, and then they met the first wolf. Smalls ripped his sword free and didn't hesitate. Wilfred dodged to one side. Smalls leapt clean over the bent wolf. Jaws snapped. Smalls twisted, narrowly avoiding an easy death. He drove his sword down. It sliced open a thick wound on the wolf's back. It let out a howl of pain and fury and swiped its claws at Smalls. It missed by a mile. The wolf pitched sideways onto the ground. Smalls didn't stop. He turned and followed Wilfred forward.

They crashed into a bramble patch nosily, and Smalls tumbled over before coming to a complete halt. Slightly disoriented, he peered up over the bushes, only to see a terrifying scene. No matter how many times he saw it, it never changed the fear that accompanied it.

The smoke was issuing from the top of what once had been a hollow tree-clearly a home. Smalls identified it as an elm, and it was surrounded by wolves in uniform and branded with Morbin's crest. Fire licked lazily at the scarred and charred trunk. He could see rabbits, two adults and one youngling. The bigger of the adults, Wilfred's brother he assumed, was knocked out. He looked like he was in bad shape, and there was no little amount of blood on the grass. Smalls' mother? Nowhere to be seen. She must have gotten away. The other adult was clutching the baby to her, her posture defiant and refusing.

"Too many." Wilfred said, his voice filled with sorrow. "Too many. It would be foolish." Smalls glanced at him. There were tears in his eyes.

Smalls noticed something on the edge of his vision…. And then he noticed the wolf. Garlackson.

"Garlackson." Smalls hissed aloud.

"What? Where?" Wilfred's head snapped in the direction Smalls' gestured to. The wolf was chasing a young doe who was outstripping him by not only two or three feet but at least four yards. That took tremendous speed and strength. "That must be Heather." Wilfred said, rolling backwards and onto his feet.

"What's the plan?" Smalls asked.

Wilfred's face was angry. "Stop them." He said simply.

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The situation grew worse. Heather was running at full speed towards a row of mounds, not stopping for anything. Wolves pursued her, Garlackson, huge and hulking, was now only two yards away from ending her life. She never paused, never hesitated, hurtling straight onward to a crevice in one of the mounds.

"What is she doing?" Wilfred muttered. The doe slowed just a bit, and Smalls saw another face appear in the cave entrance. Must be her brother. He assumed. Heather tried to go in but didn't fit. She was stuck. Wilfred let out a sound of frustration. The situation had just become much more complicated. "You handle the wolf on the left." Wilfred hissed, and then put on a burst of speed Smalls wasn't expecting.

Smalls didn't see what happened next to Wilfred. He shot out of the woods after him, shedding his pack as he did so, tossing it roughly to the ground. He sprang at the wolf, who was a more seasoned veteran than what he'd expected. They tumbled off into the brush, the wolf landing a few hard blows on Smalls before he managed to regain his equilibrium. Then he didn't hold back.

A hard moment later, he emerged. A painful wound was stinging along his back, but he could tell that it wasn't deep. Garlackson and Wilfred were sizing each other up when he stepped back into the meadow.

"Unless you want to die like your father died, Redeye Garlackson," Smalls said, voice sharp and aggressive, "Leave now." The wolf turned at the voice, and his single, painfully red eye widened with recognition and utter hatred. Smalls met the gaze unflinchingly. Garlackson, for a moment, seemed about to leap forward in a wild frenzy. He wanted vengeance. His remaining red eye narrowed in absolute abomination. He hadn't changed a bit, his eye socket just wasn't spurting blood anymore.

He glared hatefully at Smalls for a moment, and then his eyes darted between Wilfred and the lone boy standing at the cave entrance. He let out a low growl, and then darted off into the woods.

A bitter, reckoning howl shook the valley.

"The howl of shame," Smalls said, sheathing his sword. Wilfred did the same.

"It's not the first time I've heard it." Wilfred replied, shaking his head. His grief from before came suddenly again, and his posture bent under it.

"Father?" Smalls turned, and saw that a buck, maybe a two or three years younger than himself, had exited the cave. Wilfred smiled a weary sort of grin, and said gently,

"I'm not your father, lad, I'm the next best thing. I'm your uncle." The kid seemed to consider that a moment, and then apparently decided to trust him. What other option does he have? Smalls added dryly in his mind.

"I'm Picket." Picket said.

"I know your name, lad, I'm your Uncle Wilfred." Wilfred replied. Picket suddenly seemed to remember, because he uttered his sister's name and disappeared back into the cave.

"Can you fit?" Wilfred asked once Picket was in.

"I think so." But I don't want to. His anxiety regarding caves and tunnels pricked the back of his mind again.

"Heather's in there, but knocked out, I think." Smalls nodded. "I need to know if she can be moved." The look on his face confirmed what Smalls had been thinking; We need to get out of here as soon as possible.

He climbed through the entrance and squinted as the light adjusted. Picket was staring at him as if he had never seen another rabbit in his life. Smalls glanced around, and decided he officially hated this. Wilfred's assumption earlier proved to be correct, as Heather was very much not conscious.

"We need to move her." He stated bluntly. He didn't think that she was hurt badly.

"When she's better." Smalls glanced at Picket, who had spoken. Irritation pricked the back of his mind. We don't have time for this.

"No lad," his voice came out sharper than he meant it, "Now." Picket bristled, and Smalls realized he'd said the wrong thing. Of course, he had. But he didn't have time to correct it and at that moment didn't care all that much to do so anyways. He was still exhausted, and sore, and the wound he had received less than thirty minutes before was throbbing with pain and sticky with blood. He had no patience for the kid, traumatic incidents regardless.

"We can't move her." Picket stood his ground. Putting aside a scathing retort, Smalls shook his head.

"I'm not asking."

"And she's not moving." Smalls was beginning to lose all semblance of patience.

"How long until Redeye Garlackson gets back with his wolves and brings an army crashing down on us?" he asked, voice turning curt. Picket considered this, and finally replied nervously,

"The wolves can't get in here."

"And what about your uncle? He can't fit in here. Should we leave him to the wolves? He didn't leave your sister, did he?" Urgency prodded at him, a quiet anxiety that was demanding he stop this banter and hurry before it was too late.

"Didn't leave her?" Picket snapped, voice rising in volume. "Just what are you-" Smalls raised a hand, he'd just noticed something. There was a fissure at the other side of the cave. He crossed to it, squinted again, and, after a millisecond's hesitation, went in.

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He noticed that the floor was wet, first thing, and then heard the stream. It's running water. There must be a way out. He turned and hurried back to the cave entrance. Picket was sitting on the ground, propping his sister's head up.

"Wilfred," He called. Smalls heard Wilfred's whistle, and Picket flinched at the unfamiliar sound.

"That's my call, Picket. You'll know it's me if you hear it. I do it a little faster than is quite right."

"There's a stream in here, Wilfred." Smalls continued, trying to regain Wilfred's attention. "Must be another entrance where the water comes out."

"Right."

"Where's the stream, lad?" Smalls asked. He thought that Picket glared at him before responding gruffly,

"Past the seventh mound." He returned his focus to his sister.

"How deep is that scrape?" Wilfred asked confidentially.

"Not bad. It's stopped bleeding, I think." Smalls replied.

Wilfred nodded. "Don't try anything too crazy." Louder, he said, "See you soon!" Winked, and vanished. Smalls let out a sigh. Wilfred had his pack…but he still had his satchel. He dug around in it for a firer starter, mentally grimacing at the prospect of going even deeper into the caves.