A Note From the Author, Crackercruncher123:

This story is set in medieval Europe. Hello there, reader! I hope you're having a pleasant morning/day/evening/night. Thank you very much for choosing to spend time reading my story, "The Kit Caper". I hope you enjoy reading it!

The afternoon breeze sighs gently over the blanketing, verdant trees. Below, two peasants are walking in a dense thicket in Normandy. "Godwin, Matilda needs rabbits. So far, I've only seen foxes, squirrels, and chipmunks. Are there rabbits?" one man, whiny Milo, asks.

"I know where there are rabbits," the other, Godwin, says gruffly. Godwin kneels behind a brambly bush. Rustle. Crunch. Crinkle. Milo silently, if questioningly, joins him. They stare at a straggly patch of grass that doesn't seem to fit in with the rest of the landscape. It's a cottontail rabbit nest; underneath the grass covering is a shallow, earthy hole that holds the baby kits. A doe, or female rabbit, is cautiously leaving the nest. Small, high-pitched squeaks float out from inside. Godwin whispers, "Matilda wants baby rabbits."

Juniper is a wild cottontail rabbit that is almost 3 years old. She gave birth to 5 kits almost 3 weeks ago. It's her last litter; wild rabbits only live to be about 3 years old. Juniper's five babies will be leaving the nest tomorrow, so she's about to gather some blackberries from a nearby bush to feed them. She nuzzles each of her kits to let them know that she'll return, and then hops away. She chews the shiny berries off the bush by the stem, and drops them into a pile that she'll push over to her nest. But then: Rustle. Crunch. Crinkle. Juniper shifts instantly into high alert. Her powerful ears can hear something approaching. Her mind flashes to her babies. She must check on them! But also, if she runs over, whatever's coming will see her and race her to them. That could be dangerous for the kits. She must stay stealthy. But every cell in Juniper's body wishes to know her kits are safe.

Godwin and Milo watch Juniper go around the corner to the blackberry bush. Silently, they crawl through the dead leaves to the nest. Godwin reaches out, and snatches the grass off the top. The babies are sleeping peacefully inside, and Milo murmurs, "Cute, eh, Godwin?"

"Yes," Godwin whispers. "But they make better stew." They reach in and lift the babies out, one by one, dropping them into the big bag they've been carrying. The kits start to wake, but the brown bag is dark, and it soothes them to sleep. However, as they drift away, a lazily floating thought crosses each bunny's mind: where is their mother?

The men leave the forest. Whatever they've come for, they've got. Juniper rushes to the nest. She decides not to open it, though. She knows that if she does, it will be easier for predators to get in, as soon as she leaves. Instead, her powerful legs thump the ground. Thboomph. Thboomph. Her babies know the signal. She's taught them to squeak and make noise when they hear it. If Juniper hears squeaks and squeals in return, she'll know that her babies are safe. But this time, there is no sound from the forest. No squeaks. No squeals. There is only a melancholy whistling of the wind in the trees.

A flash of realization shoots through Juniper. The bag ... her missing kits ... she starts to run. She bolts out of the thicket, and tumbles down the slippery slope into a patch of brambles. She runs numbly out of the bush, not even feeling the painful prickers. Juniper has seen the men! They are going down the path. She bolts towards them, and stops abruptly, eleven feet behind them. They are yammering loudly, too loudly to hear the faint skshs-s-sksh of her paws skidding over the dusty brown path. The two jabber on as Juniper follows silently behind, keeping a safe distance.

Not long after, Godwin and Milo walk off the path toward a small stone cottage. Outside, a round woman, presumably Matilda, is stirring a large, steaming pot. She drops several chopped pieces of carrot in, along with a couple of diced potatoes. And then, Milo drops the bag at her feet. Wumph. Muffled squeals emit. "Babies?" Matilda asks.

"Yes. Five of 'em," they reply. "Good 'uns, too. They'll make a hearty stew. Mmm." Matilda is happy with the kits as she pulls them out of the bag and inspects them. She lets them down, and they huddle into a scared group. The kits squeal and whimper and cry. Juniper goes numb with anger. So they did take her kits! This. Means. WAR!

Juniper leaps forward, so angrily you can practically see her tall brown ears turning red. She is strong, and she jumps like a spring. She lands on Godwin's back and nips his neck. "YAAAAH! Somethin' bit me!" He clutches at his neck, where a small dot of blood has appeared. Milo quickly plucks the rabid rabbit off of his friend's back, only to yelp and drop her when Juniper bites his hand. She runs fervently over to Matilda. How DARE she try to stew the kits! She slams her feet against the woman's fat thighs, and Matilda shrieks and falls over.

Juniper knows she only has a few seconds to act: She quickly herds the babies into the bag, and grasps it firmly in her teeth. She starts to run...and Godwin runs after her! However, she scrunches up and slams his face with both of her powerful hind legs. He slumps onto the path in defeat. Juniper has won this battle; and she's pretty sure there won't be any more.

Exhausted, Juniper finally makes it back to the nest. She rips a hole in the bag with her strong front teeth, and the shaken-up babies tumble out. She just wants to sleep, but she nuzzles each of the kits and comforts them until they are content again. She takes them to the pile of blackberries, and they eat ravenously. That night, Juniper and her babies sleep deeply in their nest. A soothing breeze silently creeps past, trespassing upon the cool night.

Three days later, Juniper's babies climb out of the nest for the last time. It's time for them to find their own way in the world, as all young rabbits must do. They each get one last, bittersweet, fond nuzzle from Juniper, and then they hop away into the thicket. Juniper watches them go. Instead of leaving the nest, she lives by it for a little while, cherishing the tiny pawprints in and around it. Then, two days after she bid her kits farewell, it rains. The reviving downpour washes away the tiny prints, and Juniper is left with only loving memories that she knows she'll never forget.

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