Prologue

Prologue

THE LEGEND OF THUNDERFOOT

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The tale had been told many times in Longridge Fell. When early mornings were quiet and the dew had not yet dried off of the countless blades of grass, shivering in the gentle breeze like a butterfly’s wings, rabbits came out of their burrows to feed and often passed the time with informal recitations of the story. Young rabbits--kittens--were kept entertained before they were allowed to leave their burrows by hearing great tales of old, often being spared grim details. Once seniors were no longer able to run about or dig burrows, hampered by the stiffness of age, they used this particular story as a reminder that hard times would not last. The story of Thunderfoot was not known among every rabbit, as it was part of Longridge Fell’s history and thus common knowledge for the Longridge rabbits in particular. Other animals had once kept the name of the bold Thunderfoot in their minds, but in the many years since seeing the last of him, the memory eventually faded. The next group of settlers who had dug a new warren in the abandoned Longridge Fell had heard the story from the local animals and, eager to preserve the rich history of their new home, had made a tradition of telling it. Since then, generations had lived and died, the arbitrary and unknown elements of the tale changing with each one. 

No matter how the story had changed, however, the core of it remained the same. And every Longridge rabbit knew of the memories that lay in every grain of soil, carried by the wind blowing over the countryside with no beginning or end in sight.

* * *

A very long time ago, more full-seasons than any rabbit could count, Longridge Fell was home to a little warren at its summit, overlooking the Hodder Valley eastwards and the fairly small man-territory southwestwards. The atmosphere was quiet over the hills, as humans did not yet use the loud creatures called rollers to travel across the paths and stoneways they built over natural ground; instead, during this point in time, horses would pull a meticulous bundle of wood and shiny material that men would ride on, with no more than the sound of the contraption creaking, the horses’ clopping feet and their mouths gnawing and huffing against the bars between their teeth.

Among the rabbits living on Longridge Fell was Thunderfoot, a buck with as much strength of heart as of physical form. His appearance was always remembered as lithe yet muscled, with four powerful legs that gave him great height when jumping and tireless speed when running. He was believed to have chestnut-brown fur with solid black markings, dark against his strikingly golden eyes, which storytellers would go on to describe as reflective of his august presence. When kittens were first told about Thunderfoot, his disposition was partially speculation due to the muddled details of a story from so long ago. Of course, the prospect of a valiant and respectable rabbit was ideal, and no one had reason to imagine Thunderfoot any other way after hearing his tale. One day, the warren was faced with terrible danger: Thunderfoot was the first rabbit to detect the scent of dogs growing stronger and stronger, the creatures beginning to snarl and bark madly as soon as they came into eyeshot at the top of the hill and spotted rabbits. There were four dogs, brown-furred with black muzzles and a bit of white on the chests, each tied to a long tendril held by a man. The men were gripping the tendrils with both hands while the dogs strained against them in excitement, forelegs churning the air as they struggled and longed to charge headlong towards the rabbits. Thunderfoot saw that the four men had firers at their flanks, so he realized with fear that they were there to hunt. An able-bodied rabbit could manage to outrun a dog, but not even the fastest rabbit could outrun the deadly pellets of a firer. Thunderfoot stamped his hind foot frantically on the ground to alert everyone else in the warren, several of whom had been belowground and poked their heads out into the open with wide eyes.

Humans around this area did not eat rabbits nearly as much as cattle or fowl, but the tale tells that this summer was a most unusual one. The air was cold and many days had brought freezing rain from dawn to dusk, flooding the rivers and chilling the soil further until vegetables grown in farms would either fail to grow at all or rot in the sopping ground. Animals had noticed that the presence of huntsmen was becoming more frequent, likely because the humans did not have enough food that they could grow themselves. Some were even starving due to the abnormally cold summer preventing farms from flourishing, so they relied on hunting any animal they could pursue. This time, there were huntsmen with dogs as well as firers, so Thunderfoot feared that many rabbits would not make it out of this alive. He ordered everyone to come aboveground, even the smallest kittens; while not as deft as rabbits, dogs could dig right into the burrows if they scented rabbits underground, so hiding in the deep burrows would be fruitless and risky with such sensitive noses tracking down quarry. The rabbits needed to run for their lives.

Thunderfoot must have heard from several of his companions that the huntsmen would shoot them with firers if they tried to flee, but he was at a loss. The thought of standing his ground at the hill and being torn apart by dogs chilled him to the bone even more. If he was going to die that day, he wanted his spirit to remember him running like the wind, using all the wits he had to avoid the pellets of a firer as much as he could. He was a strong rabbit, but if he stayed and tried to fight the dogs, he would be dead before even being able to lift a claw. He saw nursemaids hopping over quickly to lift the small kittens by the scruffs with their teeth, and caught their frightened eyes.

Thunderfoot’s attention quickly became fixated on a particular buck. Swiftrunner, his brother, was crouching on the ground and making no attempt to run away. The ferocity in his eyes all but negated the fear, as if he were thrice his size and able to stand a chance against four snarling beasts and four sharp-witted huntsmen. With a feeling of dread, Thunderfoot knew why his brother would not run. Among the little ones being taken away were Swiftrunner’s newly born kittens, still blind, deaf and hairless. His mate was a nursemaid, but she was still a bit weak from her fairly recent birth. And although the fierce desire to protect her helpless kittens gave her the strength she needed, Swiftrunner was clearly prepared to claw the face of any dog who made an advance towards his mate and kittens. He will die if he stays here, Thunderfoot thought to himself. He could not bring himself to speak, panic suppressing his voice, but he willed his brother to come to his senses. He is not thinking of his own life.

It happened fast. The huntsmen freed their dogs from the tendrils, and one of the dogs caught sight of the helpless kittens. Tongue lolling, it let out a triumphant bark and sprang forward. Swiftrunner, with no regard for his certain death, went for the dog’s throat. Thunderfoot could not bear to watch, so he turned away and darted into a bush, shutting his eyes tight and wishing he were deaf so that he would not have to hear his brother’s enraged caterwaul turning into a screech of agony. He had planned to run, but he could not will his legs to move at this point, so he braced himself to feel sharp, slimy teeth digging into his back. He knew that Swiftrunner was dead, but he refused to look for himself and tried not to imagine his brother’s body lying broken on the hill.

After what felt like an eternity, Thunderfoot felt a presence near him. He did not feel the hot breath of a dog on his fur or the sensation of jaws gripping him, so he very cautiously opened his eyes. Light sparkled on the bush and bathed Thunderfoot’s pelt, so bright that he was momentarily blinded. Once he managed to focus his vision, he could make out an outline of a rabbit’s legs standing right beside him. There was no flesh and no scent, but Thunderfoot did not need to think twice about who it was.

Back during the time of Thunderfoot, all animals possessed the ability of Sight, which involved seeing spirits before they would pass on to the afterlife and calling upon visions of the past. Only animals once had this ability, not humans, and it vanished for good soon after the generation of Longridge Fell’s first settlers. Sight was involved in a ritual that transpired, during which a spirit remained after recent death and the living would gather around to share visions of the deceased companion’s life and recite an oration to help the spirit pass on in peace. The tradition eventually faded, and with it, so did the existence of Sight.

When Swiftrunner’s spirit came into the view of Thunderfoot, he did not waste a moment before speaking. “Run, brother,” he said firmly. “Save yourself.”

Thunderfoot wanted to grieve the loss of dear Swiftrunner, but the intensity with which the latter stared at him invited no hesitation. Though his foolish bravery had gotten him killed, Swiftrunner was there to make sure that he could prevent at least one more death. Mustering up all the resolve he had, Thunderfoot decided that there was no better way to put Swiftrunner’s spirit to rest than to listen to him and continue fighting for survival. He forced his legs to support him in standing up, and he gave Swiftrunner one last look full of love and sorrow.

No rabbit knew exactly where Thunderfoot had planned to go, only that he turned tail and ran with the energy of five rabbits. He did not see where the nursemaids had gone with the kittens, so a part of him must have been hoping that he would distract the dogs and lead them away from the young. There was no sound of the clumsy animals pursuing him, however, so he merely put his mind to running like he had never run before. He did not wait to hear the terrible screams of any rabbits who had been shot or caught by the dogs.

Thunderfoot seemed very shaken by what had happened, even though huntsmen had been seen more than once around Longridge Fell before, especially as of late. Perhaps that was what unsettled Thunderfoot so much: the plight of the humans during this bizarrely inclement summer meant that the animals beyond the man-territories would see more of them than ever. Nothing had been normal for more than a mooncircle, ever since the chill of early spring had lingered and sustained the remaining snow for longer than usual. Migratory birds were confused, having returned from migration only to feel cold winds all the way into the summertime. Animals that had been hibernating before spring found themselves drowsy due to being unaccustomed to cold weather in a normally hot season. Finding himself alone once he stopped running, Thunderfoot wondered if he should return home. His legs ached, but the sight of unfamiliar land ahead of him filled him with unexpected wonder in spite of the pain of losing his brother. His mind had grown weary from living so much in fear lately, spending every waking moment scenting the air for predators who were behaving even more aggressively in the dreadful weather. Fixing his gaze ahead of him, Thunderfoot was moving forward once again.

No one knew for sure what happened after Thunderfoot left his home. Some rabbits said that he kept on travelling and seeing the world until he died, while others believed that he sought after other lone rabbits to build a new warren, in which he would tell the story of the cold summer along with memories of his former home. His name was remembered for the way he kept the determination within him to honor his brother’s memory and the memory of all who had died at Longridge Fell by continuing on. During his journey, he spoke to other animals and shared his experience, often sheltering with the friendliest of creatures temporarily and allowing conversation to ease his feeling of loneliness. The hardest summer ever known to any animal had taken more lives than even the seasons of frost and decay, but no matter how Thunderfoot’s inevitable end came, the way he was admired by young rabbits as a valiant vagabond came from the fact that he was like no other rabbit. For every bit of fear in him, there was loyalty and courage tenfold.

His story was never forgotten at Longridge Fell, and one full-season brought with it the realization that the old tale, though bygone, was far from over…