"Oh, crikey." Bunny stared up at the huge, hulking castle, built from mounds of stone. Tapping his foot impatiently, he wondered how to get up to the Princess's room. He certainly couldn't use his tunnels; it wasn't in direct contact with the ground.

With a huff, he climbed up the castle's walls and slipped into the nearest room.

Only to come to face three, young, redheaded boys.

Each of them turned from stuffing their chubby cheeks to the brim with pastries, and turned to face where the huge thump had been made.

But all they saw was the grey fur of a huge, bear-sized blur that quickly made it's way into the next room.

"Was that . . . um . . . a . . ."

"Squeak . . ."

"DAAAAAD!"

Bunny, overhearing the triplets telling their father of a beastly, bear-like thing that apparently attacked them, was forced to move more stealthily and mentally groaned. "Clearly, they weren't believers."

He tip-toed silently across floors, dashed whenever the situation required it of him, and slowly, but surely made his way to what was definitely the princess's chambers. So careful about paying attention to his near surroundings that he never heard the loud roar of outrage that accompanied the three boys' claims.

He approached the door. Cautiously. Twitching his ears this way and that, he heard—

Grrr . . . huff-puff . . .

A bear?!

And . . . a girl. Who was she talking to? Bunny peeked through the doorway.

"S-so, err . . . The wedding's off now, right?" what appeared to be a bush of red frizz atop a green dress asked sheepishly. What? Was that girl talking to the bear?

Grrrrrrrr . . . .

"Mum?" Was this girl absolutely insane?

He watched the girl step forward slightly. Uh-oh.

"BEAR!"

She stumbled back, clutching at something—anything.

Which 'she' am I referring to? Both of them, actually. The utterly bemused girl, and the just-as-scared bear jumped back. The girl simply jumped back, but the bear scratched long, deep scars into the walls.

Noticing this, the girl sat up, narrowing her eyes. ". . . Mum?"

It turned to face her.

Putting two and two together, Bunny put his paw on his forehead. "Oh, Manny."

Apparently the girl also figured it out, as she said a couple of shaken seconds later, "Y-you're a . . . bear."

The girl quickly became frustrated: "Oh, sweet heavens! Th-that evil . . . witch! She gave me a gammy spell! Listen, mum, I didn't mean to change you into a bear, alright? Don't look at me like that! I just wanted her to change . . . well . . . you . . ."

Both of them remained still and silent, taking in what she just said. But Bunny was listening to more important things.

Because unless he was very much mistaken and needed all of his senses checked and possibly replaced, the thunder of footsteps, the clang of swords and pitchforks, and the unmistakable stench that is beefy, bear-obsessed men who've been drinking for a while was approaching. Fast.

Lucky thing was, he was a rabbit. You should never, ever race a rabbit.

Bunny, being the intelligent, quick thinker that he was, quickly remembered: the triplets screamed 'bear.' There was a bear in there right now that was conveniently the new guardian's mother, meaning he couldn't leave the bear alone.

He rapidly pondered his options. He could either a) escape and watch as the new guardian and her cursed mum get swallowed by the horde (with the mum probably getting killed), b) try to face the horde himself and get mistaken for a bear again (honestly, look at the ears!), or c) take the kid and her mother and hope that they don't get caught.

He burst through the door, startling the heck out of the two inside. They stared, gaping, as he pulled first the redhead and then the bear by their scruffs (or tried to, in the bear's case), and, after more time than he would've liked, heaved them out the window.

Stares quickly escalated to screams, as they freefell from the highest tower, watching the ground get closer, closer, closer, meters, feet, inches, centimeters—

And instead of hearing the nasty splat of impact as they were both expecting, the fall instead curved into a slide, getting less and less steep.

Thump, thump.

They popped up to the surface, with labored breath and faces flushed red.

"What . . ." Merida panted, "the heck was that?"

The bear swatted slightly at Merida, probably mentally cursing at the fact that she couldn't communicate and reprimand as well as she'd like—especially when it came to her daughter.

"You know, you'd think you'd be a little more grateful," Bunny sniffed from behind them, causing them to jump.

Quickly recovering, Merida sat up, face still red—only now, I'm not quite sure if it was because of the tunnel ride, or because of anger.

"Oh, sure! Push us off a tower, stick us underground on some crazy slide—how'd you do that anyways? Why'd you do that?"

"Listen, mate, a bunch of big men were coming up to your rooms, shrieking about bears. And, conveniently enough, there was a bear! I overheard your conversation, that's your mum? Right nice job, mate."

Merida's face, if possible, became even more brightly colored. "Listen here, you overgrown carrot-munching bunny, that was absolutely none of your business, and I was perfectly happy dealing with it on my own—"

"Less talk, sheila, more travelling. In you go." And once more did Bunny tap his foot on the ground, once more making Merida and her mother drop down the tunnels, screaming to the heavens.

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Meanwhile, in the castle . . .

"Merida? Elinor? You alright?" The Bear King pushed the door open, sword in hand.

The loud clank the sword made covered the King's shocked, anguished whisper quite nicely, as he stared at the shredded dress of his wife and the crown that lay upside-down on the floor. The coarse, grey fur littered over the room accompanied with the deep grooves carved into the walls by what was surely a horrible bear was enough to seal the deal of a living nightmare for the King.

Clouds passed over the moon that night, shadowing over the light, and the land slept in a state of pitch black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

However, miles across the dismal home of the Bear King, a thief was running for his life. Leaping across logs, swinging with the vines that swung overhead, veering sharply in an attempt to throw his pursuers off—keeping a tight, locked grip on the stolen contraband in his hands.

It wasn't easy, either—those darn soldiers had all been on horses, and they had good aim. Two arrows were lodged in his precious satchel from where they had attempted to shoot him, and he blocked his face with it.

Panting, he stopped for a moment, just one moment. He peered through the thick foliage that made up this forest, scanning for nearby predators—and started running for his life once more.

It was that dang horse. It never quit! Even when he squeezed through the smallest loop in a tree, even after losing the rest of his comrades, including his rider, heck, even when they both fell down a cliff! It was purely ridiculous.

He had to evade that dang horse—but how? It acted like a dog half the time: tail wagging, nose pressed to the ground for scent, and never losing sight of its prey.

He backed up slowly, trying not to alert his presence to that dang horse, backing up, backing up, reaching backwards for the large slab of rock covered in moss behind him . . .

WHAT THE—

Flynn Rider almost swore violently (but remembered the horse) as he fell right through where he thought that there was rock, though it was just . . . leaves?

Quickly deciding that the unknown, anything was better than having to face that horse again. That dang horse.

He traveled through the path quickly, coming across a grand, tall, tower, painted in all pastels, surrounded by greenery and in front of a pretty little waterfall.

Flynn grunted. Sounds like my kinda place.

Pulling out the two arrows lodged in his satchel, he scaled the tower. It took ages—at least, to Flynn.

Gasping like a landed fish, he pulled himself up onto the clean wooden floor. He smiled, albeit tiredly, at his satchel. "Alone at last."

CLANK!

He dropped to the floor like an anchor, out cold.

And standing behind him, was a small girl decked in purple, wielding the frying pan in her hand like it was a baseball bat.

"Whoo-hooh!" she cheered. "Can't handle myself out there, huh, mother?"

She smirked —which looked rather odd on her normally sweet face— and said, "Well, tell that to my frying pan—" swinging it, and accidentally hitting her head, eliciting a wince from her and a sympathetic frown from a man of gold floating just outside her window.

Ooh. That had to have hurt.

The Sandman, while the girl was vigorously rubbing the spot on her head where she accidentally hit, chanced floating into the tower. He quickly hid behind the huge curtain over a rather pretty glass window.

However, the sudden movement that he made drew Rapunzel's attention, and as her curious gaze swept the room, it landed on a small sparkle surrounded by dark leather.

What was it? The girl proceeded cautiously, reminding herself of all the terrible things that came from the outside that her mother told her about.

What if it was poison ivy? What if it was a-a hideous b-beast?

Rapunzel frowned. Could hideous beasts fit in there? Did they even shine like that?

She prodded the bag. Something sparkly fell out halfway—something Rapunzel had never seen before.

She picked it up. It felt cool beneath her fingertips.

It was strange, but beautiful, she decided. The golden, metallic material formed a circle or what seemed to be the base, as well as bordering the jewels. Everything was intricate. Everything was precise.

But what was it?

Turning to her trusty friend, Pascal, she made a quizzical face and stuck it on her arm. He shook his head. Nope, that's not where it's supposed to go.

She stuck it over her face.

Nope.

Her itty-bitty pinkie finger.

Nada. Zilch. Nope.

Frowning at the 'unknown', she stepped up to the mirror, and, slowly, as if possessed, placed it atop the crown of her head.

It fit. Perfectly. Even Pascal had to agree . . . Never mind. He shook his head. Nope.

But in that one moment, Rapunzel had felt . . . different. More herself. When the whatever-it-was-called lay upon her head, she felt like she could take on the world with her chin in the air.

She was shaken out of her daze, however, when Pascal sudden started growling, and crouched low. Of course, Pascal was so small that crouching barely made a difference, but the chameleon's whole appearance had changed: from a bright, curious green, to a dark and menacing purple.

Rapunzel turned to see a man. A squat, short man. A man the exact shade of gold of her hair (literally). A man, who appeared to be made of glitter—or was it sand? Glittery sand, anyhow.

Rapunzel knew she should've freaked. She should've panicked and screamed for her mother to protect her. She should've swung that frying pan with all her might.

But she didn't. She saw the Sandman, with his short height and serene smile and streams of light emanating from him. It made something resonate from her too, a sort of nostalgic feel. It felt like a warm, golden light from forever ago—the feel of someone (perhaps it was Mother?) tucking her in, kissing her goodnight, and wishing her sweet dreams as she swirled into the unconscious state of dreamland.

But still, a shade of doubt remained.

So Rapunzel approached. Pointing her frying pan, she asked, "Who are you?"

The Sandman sighed. This was going to be tough. No one ever understood his method of communication.

Slowly, and carefully, he flashed the sign of a boy sitting it the inside curve of the crescent moon, looking down on Rapunzel, fully expecting confusion.

"The, er, Man in the Moon? He's interested in my hair?"

Sandman grinned. He shook his head and fluttered his hand in a gesture of 'so-so', but in this context meaning 'sort of'. Thankfully, Rapunzel got it.

He attempted to explain once more.

"So, he, um, chose me as a . . . what?"

More signs.

"I'm . . . a Guardian?"

~ @huffsangrily