The hare was in pain. Pieces of him felt broken; they hurt to move, so he didn't and lay still. But even when he was still, it hurt. He didn't know what to do, so he kept still and tried not to make anything worse.

And then he heard footsteps. He didn't know what those footsteps meant, so he kept still and tried not to make anything worse.

Oh, why, oh why did the refined brute have to drop him? He was having so much fun! The air was such a nice place to be! He'd spent his first moments in the sky, clutched tightly in the first brute's claws. Flying felt amazing.

But falling hurt. It hurt bad.

The footsteps were coming closer until they finally stopped. Then he felt something poke his back, which made the pain even worse. He let out a cry, but that made the pain worse, too!

Curse the poking! Curse the pain! Why did it have to hurt?

He heard a grunt, and then a deep, gravelly voice. 'So it's not dead. Good. [Mend Bones.]'

As soon as the voice had spoken, he felt better. So much better that he felt he could move again without feeling the accursed pain. But it was best to be cautious, so he gingerly twitched his back leg, the one that hurt the most. It was sore, but he could move.

So he slowly rolled off his side and onto his stomach before pushing himself up. And then he saw the thing.

It was black, a color he'd never seen before except for when he closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, trying to compare the color. But then he couldn't see it anymore, so he opened them again. But then he couldn't see what color his eyes made when they were closed, so he closed them again. But then-

Whack!

Something hard smacked the top of his head. He winced and hopped back two steps, cautiously eyeing the thing that had hit him. This one was brown and reminded him of the branches of death, except it was straighter, shorter, and attached to the black thing.

The black thing grunted: 'Stop that blinking and follow me.'

The hare tilted his head and squeaked: 'Follow? What's that?'

The black thing sighed and then grabbed the hare by the scruff of his neck. The hare cried out in protest, but the black thing ignored him, muttering something about babies and their low intelligence.