"I have newfound power after being taken over..."

"And I can use that power to escape from these...mortals."

"But where will I go?"

"Where else...but a book?"

Chapter 3

It was another fairly hard day for the hares at Salamandastron. The breeze slowly drifted through their fur and flesh as they worked savagely to create a life-size statue in the blazing heat of the slow-as-a-slug sun. The hares hardly seemed to notice this as they slaved away. The water on the shoreline was about as much help as the wind as it slowly pushed against the great mountain's side, creating a slight spray, but it did not reach the hard working mammals.

Meanwhile, Orlando, who had recently become a badger lord, sighed and lay back in his chair at the dining table. He had recently fought with his daughter Auma because she did not have the desire become a badger lord when he passed away. He often wondered how that Devil-may-care daughter of his was going to fit into society, the way her attitude was now. He sighed again and headed outside to see the progress of the structure that he was having built.

The hares at Salamandastron were currently building a statue of Lord Brocktree, so that all would know that this was the beautiful, yet time-worn mountain of Salamandastron, even from a distance. (It was a warning to vermin, as well.)

"I say good chaps! Put your backs into it, wot wot?" shouted Reedpaw. He was a lean and lanky hare, as most hares were, but what made him unique is that he used honey to glue his whiskers into a mustache that many would believe was natural. He wore a neat blue vest that could only belong to a general, and it was covered in badges from bottom to top. Orlando was outside and had heard Reedpaw's little statement, so he decided to confront him.

"Having fun, Reedpaw?"

Reedpaw wheeled around to spot his lord's downward gaze, which paralyzed him as an adder's bite would. He stammered, unable to think of an excuse. He was none too clever, unlike most hares, so that was another way he stood out.

"Well, sir...I-I was j-just...um...Y'know...um...Y'see, I-I was trying to...erm..." Orlando's gaze seemed lighten itself into a hearty grin at Reedpaw's pathetic attempts for an excuse.

"Well, it looks like you've been working hard, trying to get all those hares to do their designated chores. Why don't you take a break from that and..." Reedpaw's beady eyes glittered with the joy of laziness. Then, Orlando's smile broke and he grimaced instead.

"Start taking those stones from the pile over there? I'm sure that'll be much easier than straining your eyes seeing everyone do your work for you, 'wot wot?'" Seemingly amused by his own hare slang, Orlando indignantly trotted off to help the poor hare who smashed her foot when she dropped a large rock. Reedpaw muttered under his breath and took the smallest rock he could find.

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Becky Longbuck, who was on lookout duty for the day, sat lazily somewhere near half of the way up the mountain with binoculars in paw. She was young, eleven years old at most, but she was somewhat larger than most adult, male hares. Her eyes were a very dark shade of green, which seemed a little off to the other hares because her fur was completely white due to albinism, which should have made her eyes red. It did not though, and nobeast bothered to ask why, probably because she didn't know either.

The day had been uneventful, and Becky decided she had wanted to take a nap. She took one last peek through the binoculars to assure herself that everything was normal and blah blah blah...she nearly nodded off when she had seen the strangest thing through her binoculars. She fumbled with her binoculars a bit and stood up straight. She peeked again to see a creature of which she had never seen before, and yelled at the top of her lungs so the other hares could hear.

"What IS that?" exclaimed Becky. The other hares looked up to see where she was pointing, and then scanned the horizon in the opposite direction to see the dark figure little more than half a mile away. Whispers, theories and rumors went around as if there was no tomorrow.

"What is what?" Orlando the Axe bellowed out. He had heard all of the commotion from the bottom of the mountain and came up to see whatever it was.

"Sah, there's a beast headin' this way!" one hare said. Becky, with her 20/20 vision and her trusty binoculars, described it in near-perfect detail.

"Well, it's bloomin' weird. The thing's got no tail or snout, hair only on its head, and its face is wrapped in some bandage," stated Becky. She looked around for a second just to see if everyone was listening. They were. "It's got a black shirt and blue pants, and both don't make much of a fashion statement, eh wot?"

Every hare laughed, but Orlando was frozen stiff in terror.

"The Devil...he has returned," said Orlando, who was somewhat in a trance.

"M'Lord, you look like you need a good night's sleep," exclaimed Tarquin L. Woodsorrel the III. He was the spitting image of his ancestor, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel, which was how he got the title. Due to family tradition, he had to wear a silly, irritating and stuffy jester outfit with a harolina with him at almost all times.

"No...everybeast inside the mountain, NOW!!!" shouted the frightened badger lord.

"But what about the-"

"Forget it! We must make an evacuation plan!"

As the hares rushed inside the mountain as ordered, Tarquin had an important question in mind.

"What is he hiding from us?"