"Why Live in Danger?
Why Live with pain?
People on the surface find it hard to explain"
Our Happiness is Guaranteed, Quasi
The Owlsa was put into a frenzy at the realization of Speedwell's disappearance. The Owsla spent some time backtracking to see if Speedwell had lagged behind, but after several minutes several rabbits got antsy and decided they'd be better off grabbing flayrah from Nuthanger first. Bigwig was optimistic, concluding that they could spend time finding Speedwell after raiding Nuthanger.
Fiver, however, assumed the worst. For all they knew, Speedwell was long gone. Perhaps the dark rabbits finally took care of him, and if so, would the Owsla be next? How long would Blackberry-rah wait before he left them all for dead? Fiver shivered.
The fog remained indifferent.
The raid on Nuthanger farm went off better than last time. None of the dark rabbits appeared, and the knowledge from the raid before allowed them an easier picking of various lettuces and vegetables. Fiver didn't participate much, and instead appointed himself a sort of quasi-lookout, where he scanned out as far as he could see with a half-hearted gaze.
After several minutes the Owsla found themselves just outside the barn. Each member was holding onto a variety of greens. Bigwig (who dropped a bunch of lettuce) made sure everyone was accounted for—not including Speedwell—and led the others out of Nuthanger to the direction at home.
Through what seemed to be pure luck they managed to encounter Speedwell, who was a sore sight to see. He lay on his side with his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his fur glowed with fluorescent blood, he was babbling about some pain he felt, but none of the other rabbits could make much sense of it. Try as they did, they couldn't snap Speedwell out of his stupor, and resorted to dragging him by the scruff of his neck when he wouldn't stand on his own legs. This proved to be very time consuming, and by the time they had returned to the downs, nearly everyone was worn out.
Blackberry-rah swiftly ordered the Flayrah to be moved to the same chamber as the previous day. Speedwell—who at this point had begun to steady himself on his own legs—was shuffled down to his own private burrow where he was watched over by both Fiver and Strawberry. Speedwell remained unresponsive, his eyes rolled around in his head. Fiver had barely noticed how long he had been staring when Strawberry spoke up.
"Do you know what's wrong with him?" She asked.
Fiver only shook his head.
"He kinda reminds me of you, when you had those visions. The eyes and mouth and all,"
Fiver chuckled a little.
"Well, I'm going to get some flayrah, care to join me?"
"I suppose. I'll be there in a moment. I want to stay near Speedwell a bit longer."
Strawberry nodded and hopped out of the burrow, leaving only Fiver and the writhing Speedwell.
"Can you hear me Speedwell?" Said Fiver, creeping closer in order to get a better look, he thought he might catch a glimpse of something that'd resemble a response. Only the occasional groan and heavy breathing filled the burrow.
"Come on, Speedwell. What did you see out there?"
No response.
After some time Fiver decided that Speedwell wasn't improving, but he wasn't getting worse either, hesitated, and then left for some flayrah.
It was as if he was caught in a raging river; there was a current that ran through him which toppled him over as he tried to stand up. He felt feverish. Pain, heat; all of these swirled around him in a vortex that threatened to flip him upside down and over and over and over. The world whirled around him. His vision was filled with strange shapes and visions: rabbits, dark shapes that stood out in the fog like tall fingers, threatening to reach out and tear the poor buck to shreds. Speedwell didn't know how long he had been fighting the tide when he found himself floating in a burrow. Thistle was there, and in his mouth he held some flayrah: a small strawberry and some lettuce.
"I brought some food for you!" He said, and set the Flayrah down on the floor next to Speedwell.
"Thanks," he managed to croak out. His mind was still tilting. But he could just make out a strange flickering figure that seemed to be standing just outside of his vision. He looked towards it, but it quickly vanished. From what little time he had seen it, it was vaguely rabbit shaped.
"Are you alright, Dad?" Asked Thistle. He stepped over the Flayrah, and nuzzled next to his father.
Speedwell stood up. His legs felt weak, as if he had been running for days.. Standing so far up he felt nauseous; the invisible tide that flowed around him made him feel like he was rocking back and forth constantly. The weight of Thistle helped relieve this a little, his head spun a little less: "I'm doing better."
There was a warmth between them. Thistle pushed into Speedwell's side and closed his eyes. Speedwell gave a few half-hearted licks on Thistle's ears, but his stomach protested, leaving a rank taste on his mouth. The thought of eating seemed so gross to him now. For the moment, he tried to rest, but found this just as 'gross'. Despite the constant rocking (which Speedwell was become quite used to), there was constant flickering of those rabbit shapes in his vision. When he closed his eyes he could see their dull aura against the black of his eyelids. It was too disturbing to keep them closed for long; even sleeping with his eyes opened didn't help.
"Do you think Speedwell will go through with it?" This sudden voice surprised Speedwell, causing him to sit up suddenly and knocking Thistle into the flayrah that still lay on the burrow ground.
Thistle quickly scrambled upright and looked at his father with wide eyes and ears pointing up: "Is everything alright?" he asked, but Speewell didn't respond.
In front of him now stood Papaveri, Woundwort, Acorn, and Hazel, a sort of vision burned onto his eyes. He stood still for quite a while, as Thistle looked on timidly at his father, noticing that his father's eyes were just as wide, and his ears were perked up, as if he had suddenly caught the scent of a fox.
"Hello?" Whispered Speedwell. His eyes were fixed on the vision before him, the rest of the burrow (including Thistle) was out of focus, so that the rabbits seemed to be floating through a dark cloud.
Thistle asked a question, but Speedwell could hardly hear it.
"I don't know how resilient he'll be!" She sighed, and with that the vision dissipated, so that Speedwell's eyes now rested on Thistle, who was still alert, and seemed ever more upset at his father's strangeness.
Her voice returned again, "I'm afraid we'll have to resort to more drastic measures."
Speedwell's heart was racing, something Thistle could pick up; it filled the empty burrow with a soft thump thump thump. His old eyes seemed about to pop out of head, but there he stood, still as stone.
'We will.' This time it was Woundworts voice that reverberated through Speedwell's Mind. 'Destroy all the Flayrah at Nuthanger. We'll starve them out.'
"No!" Shouted Speedwell. Thistle instinctively dashed out the burrow, recollected himself, then slunk back in, standing just behind the Flayrah this time.
'It seems like a plan. Hazel, Acorn-' and with that the voice faded away. Speedwell became aware of the tension in his body and forced himself to relax.
"Are you okay?" Whispered Thistle, he was breathing heavily, his eyes were wide. Speedwell looked at Thistle with sorrowful eyes. He responded to help ease his son's mind, and perhaps maybe his own: "Just a little fever, Thistle. I'll be alright after a good rest."
You know that's not true. It was his own voice.