First Warren was the very first city Heather ever laid eyes upon, and there was something hauntingly beautiful about it. Maybe it was just Heather and her affinity for storytelling and poetry, but even with the scars of war made plain on First Warren, it still looked beautiful. Like she could see the ghosts of a golden age long gone.
Hm, maybe she should give up her stories and start writing poetry. She stumbled over a rock, causing a wolf to bark at her to get back into line. Despite it having happened to her and others multiple times, Heather still flinched. Even if the wolves were all bark and no bite, being under orders not to cause the rabbits too much harm, her blood still ran cold whenever a wolf approached her too closely.
They knew that, and they used it to the fullest extent to keep everyone in line.
Even with the city of First Warren occupying most of her mind, Heather still realized how far away she was from home. How much further away she would get. And how she was still at risk at being separated from the remainder of her small family.
The gates of First Warren were heavily guarded. Heather felt the eyes of the masked guards, numbering in what felt like the hundreds, on her and the other prisoners. The prisoners were left at the foot of the gates while the wolves went to negotiate or discuss what happened next. No one dared try to run, because the Great Wood was crawling with hungry, wild wolves who toed the line between serving Morbin and serving no master at all. They would kill a rabbit without a second thought.
Heather had seen it happen.
She turned her eyes to the gates, distracting herself as best as she could from the memories of her captivity rising up.
A week had passed since they had been at the slave camp. It was even worse than Heather could've ever imagined. And Mrs. Whittaker…her dying scream would forever be in Heather's memory, replaying over and over without end. It haunted Heather's dreams. It was a reminder of the reality that Heather had been thrust into.
People died. And people were dying.
And Heather was powerless to stop it.
Would she ever be able to do anything to stop these evils?
"Watch out!" someone screamed out.
Heather was ripped from her dark thoughts as an arrow soared from the trees just behind her and into a guard's chest. Heather screamed as the guard fell, thrashing on the ground as he tried to remove the arrow. Some of his comrades lunged forward to help him. Two arrows followed in rapid succession, downing one more guard.
A group of rabbits broke from the treeline, masked exactly like the guards, and Heather's head spun from confusion. She grabbed Jacks, who was confused and close to wailing, and stumbled out of the line of fire, heart pounding so loud she was sure it could be heard all over the world.
"Rebels!" someone shouted, this one an officer. "Attack them!"
The group of rabbits–rebels, Heather finally processed what the officer had said in her stunned silence–raced forward, bearing swords. Three broke off from the main group and ran towards the group of prisoners.
Heather's heart dropped. Was she going to be killed?
"Come on, up on your feet!" one of the masked rebels yelled. "We're here to get you out!"
The sounds of fighting were like thunder in Heather's ears. She couldn't move. She felt petrified to the ground, holding onto a crying Jacks as tightly as she could.
"Come on, miss," one of the rabbit said to her, grabbing onto her injured arm. It burned. In her panic, Heather could not distinguish friend from foe, and she ripped her arm away from the buck. He didn't seem to react at all, reaching out for her again.
A sickening thud, and the rabbit crumpled to the ground. A wolf leapt on top of him, tearing at his corpse with a horrendous bloodlust. The blood sprayed onto Heather's dress. The band had rallied together, fighting against the rebels with a bloody fervour.
The slaves grouped together, though Heather could see a few daring souls breaking free and joining the rebels retreating to the trees.
Heather could run.
She could make a break for it.
Flee into the dark woods.
Jacks wailed all the more louder.
She couldn't leave.
The panic vanished as fast as it had come, and the band began to drag away their dead. The chalky road was stained a muddy red in some places. Heather felt frozen to the ground, unable to move.
Her first chance at freedom, and she had squandered it.
What would've happened if she hadn't gotten away from that rebel?
What would've happened indeed.
She was forced back into line by a soldier. His grip would leave bruises on her arm for days. At least it wasn't her injured arm. Father supported her, making sure she didn't keel over from the pure fear she was feeling. Even though the Band was certainly pulling themselves together, Heather doubted she would be able to sleep for the next few days.
There was a commotion happening to Heather's left, rabbits falling into line.
A massive, towering buck was striding out from the city gates, a terrible scowl on his face. A tight-faced lieutenant flanked his right. He must be the leader of the main force in First Warren. The air turned thick with tension. The wolves prowled around the edges of the clusters of rabbits, their muzzles stained with half-dried blood. Heather tried not to look around too much.
"What happened here?"
A rabbit stumbled out of line, snapping into a salute. "An attack, sir!"
"Well, yes, I can see that," the buck ground out. "Is everyone accounted for?" If it weren't for his tone, Heather would've guessed he was worried about his subordinates.
"Sorry, sir," the rabbit gasped out, fear evident on his face. "But some of the slaves got away."
The leader took a deep breath, before whipping out a knife and slashing the rabbit's throat with a smooth, clean movement. The body fell a few feet away from an unmoving, horrified Heather, so close that Heather could see the light vanish from the rabbit's eyes.
"Apologies are meaningless," the leader said briskly. "Lieutenant Luke, take your team and hunt down the rebels. Leave no one alive, not even the slaves. Don't let any of them escape." Heather gagged at his cold, detached tone, nausea bubbling up inside of her. How could someone be so cruel and heartless, especially to his own?
"Yes sir," the rabbit behind him said swiftly, turning around and making a gesture for a few others to follow him.
"Now," the leader said, turning to the wolves. "Are they all headed for Akolan?"
"Yes," the wolf bit out.
"Hm," the leader said. "Unfortunately, transportation cannot be arranged right now. You'll have to continue on foot." He didn't seem very sorry about this news. In fact, he seemed to take great relish in delivering it, as if any sort of misery made him happier.
"Have you no idea how treacherous the pass is to Akolan?"
"I'm fully aware," the leader said. "It really isn't my issue, and you'd do best to listen to me."
The wolf growled. Heather had never figured out what the wolves were named. "We don't take orders from your kind."
The rabbit didn't seem to like this. He frowned. "Well," he said. "If you have a problem with me, you have a problem with Lord Falcowit, and I don't think any of us want to stoke his anger."
The wolf considered this briefly. "Fine then, rabbit," he spat out. "We'll clear out by dawn."
"Good. We don't want any trouble around here." The rabbit smiled again, any traces of displeasure vanishing from his face, but there was an undertone of disgust in his eyes as he glanced over at the huddled group of prisoners.
Heather felt very, very small.
Father made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.
"Do you know who that is?" Heather whispered when he steered her back to the center of the huddle, careful to keep her voice just below a whisper.
"I do," Father said. "Daggler. He was tried and convicted for torture and attempted murder when I was young—it's no surprise…" he hesitated briefly. "No surprise he has an important position in Morbin's government."
Heather had the feeling he was going to say something else. "So he's dangerous," she said.
Father's hand tightened around her shoulder, and she felt a little bit safer. "It's a good thing we won't see anymore of him," he said lowly.
Heather was awake before anyone else was. The night sky was dotted with faint stars, too far away to make out any constellations. She doubted she would've been able to spot familiar ones this far away from home. Was Picket awake? No, he always slept like a rock in these dawn hours.
If he was alive, of course.
She stared at the stars, ignoring the wolves watching her as best as she could, until the sun finally peeked over the horizon and her captors came around to check on them. Everyone dragged themselves from their nightmares and stood, awaiting the next leg of their journey.
"Transportation has been arranged, I think," someone whispered. Heather supposed she should recognize him, but she could barely look at Mother and see the same person from just a week ago.
It was strange. And horrible. It left Heather feeling disoriented, a stranger to a world she should've been familiar with.
She followed obediently, head bowed so she didn't have to notice those peering down from the walls with vaguely curious expressions—all of them from the same band that guarded First Warren against those…rebels. Those who still fought.
They were led to a line of carts, that would be pulled by the more able bucks. Heather watched as Father was taken out of line and set to work, once again rendered useless to help her family.
She stumbled her way into the carts, trying to maneuver her way without tripping or hurting her already injured arm. Heather managed. She was in a seperate cart from Mother, but Jacks curled at her side and refused to let go. Did he understand what was going on? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Heather simply held him tightly.
She was just across from a black doe who had not been in the group Heather had come from. Was she from another place? Was she from here, First Warren?
The carts started off with little to no waiting, and Heather came to the realization that this was it.
She was going to Akolan to be enslaved for what felt like the rest of her life.
Had she already squandered her chance to escape?
Had the rebels been her only hope?
Her thoughts persisted even throughout the fast-coming night, and soon, it was only the black doe and Heather who were awake.
The black doe cleared her throat awkwardly. Heather supposed they would be together for the final leg of the journey.
"I'm Heather," she said slowly, when the doe glanced at her again, perhaps wanting to begin a conversation.
Everyone else in the cart remained fast asleep. Heather doubted she would be able to sleep in the rattling cart, jolting around endlessly.
"I'm Layra," the black doe said hesitantly.