"Are they going to follow?" Picket asked.
"Yes," the white rabbit said. "They're going to follow. Which is why we need to get to Decker's Landing as fast as possible."
Picket scowled. He didn't like the white rabbit's brusque tone.
Wilfred nodded, agreeing with the white rabbit. "I suppose introductions are in order, then," he said, gesturing to the two. "Picket, this is my, ah, ward, Smalls."
Smalls glanced over at Wilfred for a brief second, before giving Picket a courteous nod. "Hello," he said.
"Hello," Picket mumbled out. He watched the landscape speed by, a frown on his face. He tried not to think of his family, out there somewhere, very much. It caused a knot of emotions in his stomach, and he was not going to cry in front of his uncle or Smalls.
Smalls kept rowing away, his obnoxiously elegant black scarf fluttering in the wind. Something about the buck ticked Picket off. It was like he was perfect in everything. It felt horrible. And the white fur just served as another reminder of his lost sister.
"Where did you come from? Why were you coming?" Picket asked, distracting himself from the bitter jealousy rising up in his chest. "And how did you know we were in trouble?" he added, allowing some suspiciousness to leak into his tone.
Wilfred nodded to himself. "You're intelligent, Picket. You probably want answers to all of your questions. However," he said with a rueful smile. "How about I give you a short and completely unsatisfactory version of the story?"
Picket nodded. At least he would get an answer.
"We're about a mile away from Decker's Landing. He's a good friend of ours, Tommy Decker, and we can get a bite to eat there so we can talk more."
Picket nodded again, repositioning himself on the boat. He looked over at Wilfred expectantly.
"Well, where to start?" Wilfred said.
"Do we have any other family?" Picket asked. That was the first question that sprang to mind.
Wilfred looked very sad all of a sudden, and Picket wondered if he'd done something wrong. "No, lad, not anymore," he said. "You–we used to, but…not anymore. "
Smalls frowned, rowing even harder as a sign of his displeasure at the question. Picket glared at him. He definitely did not like Smalls, but he just couldn't figure out why.
"Is there anything we can do to get Mother and Heather and Father and Jacks back?" Picket said, almost desperately, tearing his eyes away from Smalls. The landscape was already changing. He was getting further and further away from his only home.
Wilfred shook his head. "No, lad. I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do right now. We can alert those who know, but they're gone–and probably forever."
Picket's insides churned. He felt very sick suddenly. If he hadn't left Heather–
Then he would be with them.
Maybe it would be better.
He closed his eyes for what felt like a very long time, the gentle sounds of the water lapping at the oars soothing to his ears. He could almost pretend it was rain pattering at the windows of his room. He could almost pretend this was all a horrific nightmare.
But it wasn't. When he reopened his eyes, determinedly ignoring the stinging in his eyes, Wilfred and Smalls were still there. He was still in the boat. He was still floating away from Nick Hollow. He could hear Jacks' voice in his head, saying, "Why weren't you there?"
"They'll be taken to the Great Wood, or worse," Smalls said grimly, still rowing angrily.
"The Great Wood?" Picket asked. "What's so bad about that?"
"It's a ruin now, Picket," Wilfred said. "A crumbling wreck ruled by pathetic puppets and traitors. Smalls and I came from the Great Wood, actually, on our way to see you, since we hadn't seen all of you in so long." He sighed.
"Coming up on Slender's Bend. We're making better time than I thought," Smalls said. Night was slowly falling, the beginning of stars appearing in the sky. Picket could no longer see the smoke from his ruined house. Instead, he could see mountains and hills begin to appear, thick clumps of pine trees dotting the river.
"Good," Wilfred said. He shared a meaningful glance with Smalls, and Picket felt like there was more to Wilfred and Smalls' story. Suspicion struck him again. "We'll rest there for the night, alright?" he asked PIcket.
"Yeah."
"Slender Bend," Smalls said as the river gently turned, and Picket could see a house sitting at the edge of the river. An empty landing was there as well, the only sign of someone living there being the growing garden and the smoke coming from the chimney.
"Ah, here we are," Wilfred was first to hop off the boat and tie it to the pier, holding out a hand for Picket to get out. After watching Smalls easily hop out with little trouble, Picket was reluctant to take it. But he did anyway, the land slightly spinning underneath his feet.
"You'll recover from the feeling," Wilfred assured him as Picket swayed slightly.
"Come on," Smalls said in a slightly hurried tone, gesturing for the two to catch up. Picket fought back a flash of irrational anger. Everything about him was so–so annoying.
They arrived at Decker's house, which upon closer inspection, looked very lived in. Picket wondered if this Decker person had a family or not. He glanced around. The landscape looked so different from back at home. Instead of a wide prairie to leap about in, there was instead a small clearing with a garden and a house and barely any room to run around.
Smalls knocked on the door.
It took a few minutes for someone to answer.
The buck–presumably Tommy Decker–peered through a narrow crack in the door, and his green eyes widened upon seeing Wilfred.
"You shouldn't have come, Wilfred," he said, the door swinging wide open. "You shouldn't have come."