Archive of Our Own

Today’s breakfast was cabbage and carrot salad, fresh from Mr Bear's garden. Lucy had told Rabbit on numerous occasions now that he really didn’t need to steal from him- in fact, she insisted that he should just ask. Ask? He would laugh if he wasn’t a tad worried about her naivety. No, he will not knock on Mr Bear’s doorstep and kindly ask for cabbages. That would be worse than when Wolf (he barely remembers what happened over his ringing ears), asked for one of his children at his front doorstep. Because yes, obviously, Mr Bear would kindly hand him a couple vegetables and even fruits from his trees, all tucked in and tied inside a big sack, and let him know to mind any insects that might have snug their way into the leaves. 

“You really do need to get out more,” Lucy said, mid-bite through some carrot sticks. Her fork didn’t linger in her plate long, and her eating pace was moderate. She wasn’t saying something she was dwelling on, more like, an off-handed comment. 

“Oh I get out plenty,” he assured with a scoff, diligently spoonfeeding Emily tiny cut up sprinkles of cabbage. “You should have seen me running around Mr Bear’s garden. A record breaking speed I’ll say!” Peter liked soft carrots better, and he was quite content managing himself, digging his hands into the orange mush and licking it off his fingers. 

“No, I mean-” Lucy crunched and swallowed the carrot and turned to him, “You only talk to Terrapin, and only because he keeps checking in on us.” Lucy’s fork poked into a leaf of cabbage. A spoonful went into Emily’s salivating mouth. “Dad, you need to make an effort. When was the last time you went out to make friends?”

“Lucy, I’m an adult. It’s harder to make friends when you’re not in school-” Close proximity and all that. Seeing the same animals everyday, forging bonds through the traumas of studying mathematics, or something like that. “No scouts or woodland brigade for adults either.” Actually, correction, that would be the military. And the military didn’t have fun little badges and cookies to sell to neighbours. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t, I don’t know, go to the library or something? Take some dance classes?” Lucy put the cabbage leaf in her mouth and let it stick there. “Join a club?” He did do line dancing once, and was even an amature ballroom champion too, he remembers. But that was a long long time ago when he had a lovely dance partner. He was a young rabbit then.

“Suppose I do ‘go out more’, who will look after the twins?” He huffed, letting her suggestion play out, just so she could see how ridiculous it was. 

Without the slightest hesitation, she remarked, “Terrapin!” Right. 

Peter, the awfully energetic baby he was, decided to knock over his bowl of carrot sludge, up and over his high chair. It toppled onto the dining table and, it seemed to hesitate before landing face flat. Rabbit groaned, setting Emily’s spoon in her bowl of cabbage, and went to go fetch a tea towel. If only he had motherly instincts like- well, she did. She would have been able to catch that bowl before it was even pushed off. 

“Lucy, you’re telling me all of this as if just talking to Terrapin isn’t enough. He’s a good friend-” As cowardly, and as much of a liability he was during his foraging stunts, Rabbit appreciates how much he cares for Lucy and the twins, proven by how often he checks in. So much so that Rabbit had to eventually give him a key to the house, instead of leaving it under the doormat. “-and you don’t need a big group of friends to be happy.”

He grabbed a tea towel from the counter, already a bit dirty from wiping up soap residue at the sink, but good enough. 

“I guess,” Lucy muttered. Yes, she only has a handful of friends herself. He could probably count them all on his hand, if he could even remember their names. “But I go to clubs! I still talk to people! You know the school’s enviro club, we made beeswax wraps the other day! Mrs Mouse even gave me a chocolate to help Susan with hers."

“Oh yes I know.” Said wraps were in a cupboard somewhere, waiting to be used to keep half eaten vegetables fresh in the fridge. 

Rabbit lifted up Peter’s bowl and, after attempting to scoop up as much of the carrot slop back in as much as possible, cleaned up the mess. 

“And I’m also in the science community at school. I joined for astrology and space stuff, but the other day we made terrariums and learned how tiny ecosystems work!” Again, said terrarium was probably somewhere in the house. He remembers seeing the little corked glass bottle of dirt Lucy had brought home, with it a few sprouts inside. “And- the public library. At first it was just for a scouts badge, but it was so fun to read stories to the kindies that I’ve been reading stories for them on Saturdays.”

“Ahhh so that’s where you’ve been going,” Rabbit perked up. “I was going to ask you about that.” He threw the dirty tea towel in the sink, and, after giving Peter a stern look (“Don’t tip your bowl again, or you won’t have breakfast” he attempted to telepathically drill into his brain. But all Peter did was flex his ears and tilt his head) before setting the bowl back onto Peter’s high chair.

“Dad, I’ve been going there since,” Lucy’s face squeezed, and her finger tapped against the table. “I’ve been there four times already! Four weeks! A month!”

“I’ve been meaning to do a lot of things,” he excused, rather poorly. 

His daughter chomped down on the last remaining veges on her plate and stood up from the table. 

“But, there’s so many other library events going on! I’ve been wanting to join a few more of them, and I think you should too!”

“What for-” And she was already prancing out of the kitchen and going up the stairs. To get her school bag, he presumes. 

“To make friends!” She called back, her voice echoing through the house. “You know, talk to people! Someone other than Terrapin!”

“What, I can’t just talk to him and you?”

“No!”

He rolled his eyes, but turned back to his work nonetheless. Emily’s spoon prodding her mouth with more cabbage sprinkles, attempting to coax her back into the rhythm he’d taken so long to get started. But her mouth wouldn’t open. Instead, she seemed quite invested in banging her hands against her high chair’s table, and giggling at his sour face.

Lucy came back, with her school bag of course, ready to leave the house, but also with a pamphlet.

“Here! I’ve already highlighted the clubs I’ve been thinking about, so don’t pick those ones-”

“Excuse me-?” the piece of paper slid across the dining table, narrowly avoiding the wet spot where the carrot mess used to be. “What, your dad can’t join the same clubs you can?”

“Dad, how am I supposed to make new friends if you're hovering over me?”

He opened his mouth to object. Joining clubs didn’t have to be about meeting new people, did it? It would just be, oh, well he didn’t know, just spending time with the people you do know? Bringing friends and family along to do whatever it is and who knows what. But you can do all that in the comforts of home anyway! He’s sure he could have nicked some beeswax from Mr Bear’s hives if Lucy had asked for it, or scooped some dirt from the garden and found a jar for her to use to make a- what was it again, a terrarium? 

Though his own heart panging against his chest stopped the words from coming out, a little upset that Lucy had dismissed the idea of her father wanting to spend more time with her. He will say, she’s been at home less and less, spending more time outside than in here. 

“I’m just worried that, if you only talk to me, and Terrapin, and the twins, then you’re going to forget how to talk to other people. Become a hermit.”

“Now that’s silly,” Rabbit rolled his eyes yet again. A hermit. Ridiculous.

“It isn’t,” Lucy countered, “And since you’re arguing, this must be outside of your comfort zone.” Baffled, he could only scoff. 

“I’m never going to have trouble talking to strangers.”

“Then prove it.” She folded her arms. “Go to a club, and make a friend.”

When Emily’s mouth finally opened and sucked the cabbage off the spoon, he turned to her. His eyebrows pinched, watching her slide the pamphlet closer.

“Who knows, you might find someone you like?” She then quickly added, “And no, this isn’t another plan to get a new mother.”

“Good, because I was about to say,” he mused, finally grabbing the pamphlet. It felt flimsy in his hands, more plastic than paper as well. With no rough texture, only a smooth and shiny finish reflecting off the ink and colours. 

When he looked back up at Lucy, her eyes were staring right at him, the hands, holding the paper. Fingers gripping the straps of her school back, and very lightly, he could hear her feet tapping the carpet below. Insistent, he settled on, that is what she was feeling. 

And so he caved. He’ll do it for her. And when it all proves to be a pointless idea, he can move on and keep doing what he’s already been doing. 

 “Fine.” He stuck the pamphlet into his shirt pocket. As he turned back to Emilly, readying up a second to last spoonful of cabbage, Lucy beamed. “But if there’s nothing in here I like, then you’ll have to leave it.”

“Of course!” Lucy turned around and headed to the front door. “See you after school, dad!”

“Take care,” he called back, “Watch the road where you walk, and the bushes, and the-”

“Got it!”

The front door slammed shut, and he was left alone in the kitchen. 

Well, the twins were here, and Terrapin was bound to show up sooner or later. 

When Rabbit finally managed to get the last of the cabbage through Emily’s mouth and into her tummy, and when Peter seemed to be hellbent on not finishing the remaining splotches of carrot in his bowl, he closed up breakfast. He set the dishes into the sink, took the twins out of their seats, and set them in their little playpen with all their toys. They’ll entertain themselves, for the most part. 

With a heavy exhale, he pulled the pamphlet out, and took a quick look.

On one side of the pamphlet, events were organised weekly, with a small note at the bottom that said “new timetable every month”. Or course, highlighted in yellow was the ‘Kiddy Reading Time’ on Saturdays from 10-11am. Right after that, triggering a firm eyebrow raise, as an Anonymous Alcoholics (AA) meeting. He scoffed, whoever made this timetable did a terrible job. Why on earth would you have those two things back to back?

The library didn’t open on Sundays. But the weekdays had a plethora of other one off events and clubs. Senior citizen computer lessons, origami classes (highlighted), chess tournaments (highlighted), reading club (highlighted), Monday movie nights, art tutorials, textiles club- Wednesdays, from 12-3pm. 

There were also mindfulness meditation sessions, yoga classes- the more he read it was beginning to mind boggle just how much was going on. Though he did keep in mind that this was all happening in the span of six days. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it looked. 

“Oh and would you look at this,” he said to the twins, “Sand play, on Wednesdays, all morning and afternoon! You’d like that wouldn’t you?” The beach was so far away from the woodlands where they were. On a number of occasions, he’d talked to Terrapin about taking the family out for a vacation. Maybe sometime during Lucy’s summer school break, where he could get the kids to the water. Emily might find herself in the rock pools, and he’d have to watch over her to make sure she doesn’t get bitten by any crabs. And Peter might have a ball making sand castles, digging his fingers into the sand and pulling out shells. Lucy would be able to get in the water and make a splash, maybe even learn how to swim. Rabbit didn’t know how to swim (he’s never tried. Maybe instincts could kick in though, should the situation arise), but maybe he could get some lessons for Lucy. 

But, like he always said to Terrapin, maybe another time. Soon, he’d hope. For now, maybe the twins could learn to get adjusted to sand. In a library of all places.

On the other side of the pamphlet were some extra details about specific clubs. Library run events, since it seemed some other clubs were run by a third party. Stuff about the senior citizen computer classes, how they would learn how to use the internet, and even intermediate classes on how to use specific softwares. There was the Kiddy Reading Time of course as well, talking about the ideal age range, and how it would be held in the main foyer where all the bean bags were (he’d never seen it, he doesn’t know). Reading club of course had a specific section dedicated to what book they were reading (a quick summary was all it was, followed by a sponsorship from the town book store that said how much it would cost to buy), and textiles club. 

Come all sewers, embroiderers, weavers, knitters, and soft textile crafters alike! Beginner friendly. Bring your own projects or follow along with weekly tutorials. All materials provided.

He could imagine it now. A room full of old grannies, chittering away about what tea biscuits they liked or the manicure they just had. Talking about children- well, he supposed he could chip in there. He had a couple photos of baby Lucy and the twins in his wallet he could show off. But still, he wouldn’t fit in, would he?

He rechecked the timetable. Wednesdays, from 12-3pm. The same day as the sand play. 

Well. He could get the twins to the library for a day of fun. Give them something new to do instead of sitting around in that play pen. Yes. Babies are meant to learn and explore their surroundings. It would be cruel to stunt their development and have them sitting around in the house everyday and all day. And he could go foraging during this time too. He can’t always rely on Terrapin to be too cowardly to join him and insist to stay and ‘guard the fort’, which included the twins. 

And if his time at the library just so happened to cross over with the textiles club, then he might check it out. Not join, no, not join. He wouldn’t do that just yet. Just a quick snoop is all. 

Yes. Curiosity. That's what this was. Not interested. No. Not at all. 

Rabbit can’t remember the last time he actually used the stroller for the twins, which must be worrying. A testament to how long it’s been since they’ve been outside. Over Wednesday’s breakfast, Lucy agreed. Though she wasn’t too happy about his insistence that he was only going to the library for the twins and not for himself as well, she agreed very much that yes, the twins do need to go outside, and actually see grass for once. Maybe even touch it too. 

“Good that you’re no longer scared they’re going to be eaten outside,” Lucy said while packing her bag (last night she had done her homework in the living room, and her books and stationary were all over the place). And ah, yes, there it was. The paranoia that had triggered why exactly he never took them out in the first place. 

She realised that soon enough, and immediately tried to back track.

“But nothing's going to happen!” Over by the couch, she shoved an eraser in her pencil case. “I go to the library all the time! It’s usually just sheep in there, and sometimes I see teachers and classmates as well!”
“And they’re all friendly, yes?” he said, holding Peter, this close to pulling him out of the stroller he had just set him in. It was a blessing, really, how quickly breakfast was finished. It was like the twins knew they had an exciting day planner for them, and they had eaten their breakfast as quickly as possible. With minimal mess, might he add.

“Very friendly,”

“No… predatory instincts?” He asked tentatively.

“No.” She then laughed. “I mean, I wouldn’t be here now if the library was dangerous, right? Or the road leading up to it. I walk to school everyday!”

“Because I trust you can handle yourself.” And also because for so long, she had insisted she could manage the walk herself. Another thing he was rather upset about. He didn’t walk alongside her just for protection (though he can admit, that was the main part), but he liked getting to spend that extra bit of time with her. Oh, it's been so long. Maybe when he and the twins leave the library, he can catch Lucy with her from school and the family can walk home together? Surely, she can bear to walk home with her dad for just one afternoon?

“And you can handle yourself and the twins. It’s not like you’re going to leave them alone, right?” 

Yeah, she’s right. At least for this first time, and possibly the next few if the twins like it, he’ll be keeping a close eye on them. As close as he can get to them. Not even just because of predator dangers, but what if Emily gets stuck in the sand? Or what if Peter swallows sand? Rabbits don’t eat sand. Or, what if the other babies in the sand pit are mean to them, and they get bullied. He needs to be there to pick them up, back into the stroller, and take them back home. 

“Right,” he finally said.

“Don’t worry dad-” Lucy said, shoving one final book into her bag. Looking at it bulge and painfully stretch, he thinks he might have to get her a new one. He doesn’t remember taking so many things to school when he was her age. Nonetheless, no amount of patching holes and sewing could change the fact that it was just too small. It was exemplified when the zip burst open at the side. But she didn’t make a fuss about it, which was more than enough to tell him that this had happened before, and she had grown accustomed to it. “You’ll do great. Be brave.”

“I’m always brave,” he said, a bit dejected, still rather worried. Although as self absorbed as he might sound, he tried to reassure himself, “And fast, and cunning, and-”

“I know.” Lucy came up to him then, beaming up at him. “And I believe you’ll keep being brave. Do it for the twins.” Yes, the twins. The twins were what was important.

And so, after sending Lucy out the door and off for school, bitterly watching as the two wolves from next door ran out of the house, calling after her, and quickly accompanied her side- dear oh dear, he can’t imagine how many times he brought up that issue with Lucy. But she kept insisting it was fine. ‘If they wanted to eat me,’ she had said, ‘they would have done it already. And you know how harmless they are’. He could have fought that logic, countering back with ‘oh well it could be some master plan Wolf and Fox have devised. Using Wolf’s kids to get close to you and, blah blah blah, eventually leading to you being in danger.’ But it was a useless argument. He couldn’t change the fact that Wolf and him were neighbours, and that just meant those two wolf cubs would keep pestering Lucy, no matter what he did. 

Trust your daughter, he had to tell himself. And trust yourself too. 

So he finished preparing the twins to go outside. Packing some toys suitable for the sand, some lunch for when they got hungry (for convenience sake, he had to blend carrot, cabbage, and an assortment of other vegetables into a smoothie, and put them in baby bottles for them to suck. No chance for sprinkle cabbage or carrot sludge mess. 

He had made sure to call Terrapin too, telling him that he wouldn’t be home until afternoon. He was welcome to come in anyway if he wanted, though Terrapin said he would just come by later then. For dinner, perhaps. 

Getting to the library was easy enough. He made sure to keep an eye on the road, the bushes, making sure to listen for any and all sounds and smells. Nobody would jump him today, no, not while he had the stroller and the twins inside, or their toys and lunch strapped around his torso. Eventually he made it to the town (well, could it really be called a town? It was so small. There was the school, a few stores here and there, post office, a cafe, a restaurant, and a couple of other unidentified buildings that were probably just there for scenic purpose- oh he doesn’t know, he doesn’t go out enough) and beelined for the doors of the public library.

The receptionist, some kind of bird folk, was busy typing away at her computer when he strolled up to her. After setting the stroller beside him, by the counter, he stared at her, waiting. And she did not respond. Still tying away, clearly invested in her work. His ear twitched, and he tentatively looked around. 

There were a few children here and there, held and guided by parents. Young ones, of course. Either too early to be in kindie or newborns sleeping in prams. Beyond the reception he could see some elderly folk sitting in chairs, reading books. Some middle aged ladies browsing the shelves. 

Finally, he cleared his throat, and a pang of guilt suddenly washed over him, as if he wasn’t meant to disturb the peace. The bird looked up from her computer, and brightened up, giving him as close to a smile as she could with that beak.

“Oh hello! I’m sorry I didn’t notice you-!” She spoke so quickly, much quicker than Lucy, much less Terrapin. It matched his own speed of thought in his brain but, he felt exasperated at the idea that he needed to keep up with this bird. “How are you? What are you looking for? Oh are those your children they look lovely-”

He let out a choked sound, before blurting out, “Sand play?” With fumbling fingers, he grabbed the pamphlet in his shirt pocket and pointed to the scheduled session.

“Ah yes! That’ll be over there by the deck!” With her wing, she pointed somewhere deeper in the library. “Go there take a left and go up the stairs there should be a ramp for your stroller or you can use the elevator which is actually to the right you’ll see it when you see it okay but after you go up one story you should head over to the kid’s areas with all the beanbags and tiny picturebook shelves and there should be signs and when you get there you’ll see the deck and I’m sure you can’t miss it but there will be a big big playpen with lots of sand-”

“Okay okay-” In a panic, he interrupted. “Uh, thank you-”

Unphased, she smiled again. “No worries!” Nice bird. But oh gosh. That was way too much. He’s not even sure he got half of that. 

He pushed the stroller away from the counter and hurried off in the instructed direction. 

It probably took much longer than it should have, but he got there in the end. After three flights of stairs, one elevator down, one wrong right turn and incorrectly going through an emergency exit, he found the deck with the sand. Already, there were a few babies and little wee toddlers playing in the sand. With complementary buckets and shovels. There were some parents around, either by the playpen’s fences and at the gate, or by the nearby tables. 

He got the twins situated. Once he drove the stroller to the plastic fence, he picked up Emily first, unbuckling her seatbelt before setting her in the sand. The effect was immediate. At the foreign texture of the ground, she began to experiment. Grasping the sand in her hands, watching it crumble, and she giggled. Wading around and digging holes. He put Peter in next, setting him down where Emily had just left. He too took a liking to his new environment, and quickly began to explore as well. Before long, the twins were too far away for Rabbit to hand them some toys to play with. Maybe later. 

For the next hour, he stayed right by the pen. Watching, and if any of the twins were doing something wrong close enough to him (Peter had in fact tried to eat the sand. More than once), he would make it right and quickly set them back on track. He watched the twins sit alone, he watched the twins find each other, he watched them interact with other children- yes, this would be their first time seeing others their age. Emily didn’t seem to particularly get along with a tiny hedgehog, whose pricks accidentally nicked at her. He had been about to pull her out at once, worried she might have started to bleed or cry, but she took it in stride, only harbouring with her a grudge, and making sure to stay far away from them. 

Peter seemed to get along with a frog, watching as the child with much better motor skills shoveled sand into a bucket. And eventually, once there was enough, the frog patted the sand, flipped the bucket over, and lifted to reveal a- well, it was not a sand castle. He thinks the sand is too soft, not wet enough to hold shape. There was still a distinguishable mound, but not a castle, no. But Peter seemed fascinated anyway, enthralled even, clapping his hands and was soon handed another bucket by the child. 

Despite being extremely quick on his feet, he soon found himself growing tired, and sat down on one of the chairs. He still had a clear view of the playpen and all its sand. And of course, his kids. He doesn't know how long it's been but he can feel the life draining out of him the longer he stays and does nothing. 

As he takes a look around, he notes some parents talking to each other, and some sitting alone (though occupied with something. Typing away at a computer, writing something down in a notebook, reading a book). There was a library attendant nearby as well, fishing some more toys from a box nearby, presumably to bring to the sand pit. 

Eventually, he caved in, and decided to… have a chat. If he could even call it that. 

He picked his target carefully, a mole and a frog, chatting by an open table, with more than one seat he can slide into. Rabbit and his strategic senses attempted to find the perfect entry point, waiting for a pause in their conversation before butting in. When he thought he found it, he quickly approached, opened his mouth and- the frog’s mouth opened as well, and the words crashed together. 

Rabbit felt his cheeks burn up as the mole turned to him, shades covering her eyes. 

“Oh, hello there! Pardon us if you were standing around for long.”

“Uh…” Rabbit’s brain stuck, freezing itself for a second. 

He decided to sit down then, in a not so good spot. Beside, but still one seat away from the frog. 

“I’m Rabbit,” he blurted out. “I’m uh. I’m new.”

“Goodness you must be,” the frog croaked. “I’m Frog, and this is Mrs Mole.” Mrs Mole waved in the general direction he was in, not quite where he was though. It was then he noticed the cane set beside her. 

“Do you… two come here often?” Rabbit attempted. 

“Oh yes, Frederick loves the sand,” Frog said, “he only recently grew in his legs and arms! Before that I had to sit him in the sandpit with his tank.”

“Uh huh…?” What… was the point in that? The tadpole wouldn’t even be able to play in the sand if he was in a tank.

“I’m a nanny, and Ruth’s parents wanted me to take her to the library today. Get her out of the house.” She pointed to the sandpit and was probably trying to gesture to a specific child or baby, but he really couldn’t tell who. 

“Oh me too,” Rabbit said, “I needed to get the twins out of the house, hah…” He scratched the back of his neck, feeling their eyes (even though Mrs Mole was blind, and not even looking at him) stare deep, skinning him, and grabbing at his innards. “But uhh, there’s not much for the parents to do, is there?”

“Oh no, usually we don’t stick around,” Frog explained. “I was about to head off soon myself. I’m sure the rest of us will too. We have work to get on to!” He then gestured to the library attendant. “Ms Snail is on duty today. She makes sure the children are safe.”

“One lady for-” Rabbit quickly counted how many children were in the sand, “10 kids?” That can’t be enough. 

“Usually the kids don’t make a fuss,” Mrs Mole assured, “They’re only wee babies afterall.”

“The sand play program has been running for years, I’m sure,” Mr Frog chipped in, “if they needed more than one assistant, then they would get someone for it.”

“What if there is an emergency?” Rabbit said. A fire, or a gang of predators, or a tsunami (now that was ridiculous, he had to scold himself. He’d already made a point how far away the woodlands were from the shore. Flash flooding however, could still happen). Whatever it was, one assistant couldn’t keep 10 or more babies safe. And she was a snail, speed was of the essence in disasters.

“Rabbit,” Mrs Mole said, “this is a library. If something happens, then you’ve got an entire building of people to fix it.”

He wasn’t convinced. Also, he didn’t like how these two were so settled. So what, they didn’t worry about their kids? They were completely okay with leaving them at the hands of a stranger? Where anything could happen?

“But if you’re looking for something to do-” Frog began to suggest, “-but don’t want to stray too far, you could read a book, or find something to do in the library. You don’t have to hover around here all day.” Perhaps he should have bought something from home for him to do. Like… grah, he doesn’t know. He can’t bring his sewing machine here, could he? But he could fit some fabric and a needle into a bag- 

And he thinks back to the Textiles club. All materials provided. One less thing for him to think about.

Rabbit shook his head, brushing the thought from his mind. No, he won’t abandon the twins for that, not today. He’d have to talk to that library assistant, to make sure she’s normal, and not some crossdressing homicidal weirdo. Yes yes. Good plan.

So, Peter and Emily had a great time. He could tell because when it was three o’clock, he had to pry the twins out of the sand. They had wailed and cried, attempting to claw their way back in. Peter had woefully pointed to the frog he had befriended- Frederick was his name. The son of Frog, as if Rabbit could take his friend with him. ‘No I can’t,’ He had dumbly told Peter, ‘that would be kidnapping.’

When he had set them both in their stroller, he’d realised just how much sand their fur had picked up. It covered the seat before he even set Peter down, and so for Emily he attempted to shake as much of it off before setting her in. The thought of getting to walk home with Lucy was possibly the one thing keeping him together and upbeat. 

Much to his credit, finding the way back to the foyer was much easier than leaving it. Somehow, the bird receptionist seemed to remember him, and offered him a wave. 

“Seems like your kids had fun!” She chirped. 

“Uh, yes,” Hell for me when I get home and try to get the twins in the bath. He swore he could feel sweat drip down his forehead. 

He turned around then, taking the stroller with him as he gradually headed for the exit. The library seemed a bit louder than usual as he left, with footsteps coming down a nearby staircase-

“No Baarbra, I’m telling you, wearing that dress to your dinner with Franklin is a horrid idea. That is something you wear to a sunny park on a weekend, not a romantic candle light dinner-” Rabbit gripped the handles of the stroller. 

That sly tone. The treading of heels. Even the smell. Oh. He’d know it anywhere. 

Giving into the temptation, Rabbit turned around, and caught a whiff of that orange fur and yellow waist coat. There was a baa in response, and his vision opened just enough to see a sheep and an owl next to the predator. The sheep was carrying a flowery dress in her arms, a needle with thread still in her right hand. Fox himself had a strapped bag over his shoulder, knitting needles poking out the flap. 

“I know you worked hard on it-” Fox continued with a drawl, still quite invested in his rant, “but save it for another occasion! I’m not telling you to throw it away, goodness.”

Finally, he noticed him, coming to a stop. Surprisingly, the canine seemed withdrawn, taking the slightest step back as he eyed Rabbit. Up and down, before glancing at the stroller. The sheep and the owl weren’t phased by his sudden stop, walking ahead of him and saying quick goodbyes (Baabra seemed a bit glum though, mournfully staring at her dress). They had passed Rabbit without sparing a glance, and left. 

“Rabbit,” Fox snickered out, tilting his head, “Taking the twins out for a walk? You know, I don’t think I’ve actually seen them unless it was through your window.” Rabbit gripped the stroller more tightly, feeling the strain in his hands. 

“And you? Library? What are you doing, reading books to make better plans to catch me?” he scoffed, raising his head up high, keeping his feet nimble as he lent on one leg to another. 

“I’ll have you know I already have a few lined up to try,” that's funny, because that makes it seem like Fox has already accepted that failure is more likely than success. Took him long enough. “But I’m sure this next one will get you, once I get it through to Wolf’s thick skull of course.” Fox pursed his mouth, taking a few steps closer. “No, I’m just keeping up with my weekly routine! One cannot sit around at home all day everyday, you know.” His voice fluctuates between the extreme highs and lows, irritating his ears. 

“And that involves fashion advice?” Rabbit smirked, taking his turn to eye Fox up and down, “Not sure if you’re the one who should be giving it.”

“Excuse me, my style is impeccable~ But I suppose you wouldn’t know a freshly pressed shirt when you see one.” He did a little pose then, flaunting assets Rabbit didn’t care for. “Besides, what do you know about fashion?” Fox’s index finger loosely gestured to his outfit, as if too afraid to prod at filth. “All you wear is that colour congested, clashing Hawaiian shirt. I would rather you wear Baarbra’s dress.”

“I didn’t even know you were friends with sheep,” Rabbit quipped. He noted how Fox narrowed his eyes at the word ‘friends’.

“Dear, just because I’m an active hunter doesn’t mean I can't play with my food,” Fox finally stepped close enough to be within arm’s reach. “Besides, good company is hard to find these days. Wolf has no interest in joining me, I’d rather him not with what he does to my knitting. And it’s not like there are any other apex predators around.” Fox let out a dreadful sigh, placing a hand to his chest, glancing away. “Considering how easily the club seemed to get used to me, I could go as far as to say that this entire town is conditioned to not fear predators! I will give you and that Terrapin fellow some credit there, at least you two know there is something to fear. There’s hardly enough of us predators to knock senses back into everyone, but, oh well-” The predator turned back to him- no, to the stroller, a sharp glint in his eye. “-more for me.”

Fox leaned in then, his claws out by his sides, a hunger in his eyes. For the sake of the twins, Rabbit backed off immediately, pulling the stroller away, his feet kicking the door open. 

He didn’t taunt, though he could have- should have even, to mask his fear, but he didn’t. He only hurried out the door, keeping the stroller in front of him, hearing that piercing cackle echo behind.

From there, he managed to catch Lucy on her way back from school. Running at full speed out of the town and down the forest path, he’d managed to find her somewhere around the midway point. Luckily, no Simon or Barry.

“You won’t believe what I saw at the library today, Lucy!” Rabbit loudly announced. 

“Oh, dad!” She turned around, eyes widening as he barreled forward. “Wha-”

“It was Fox!” He remarked with a hysterical laugh before she could reply, “at the library! Talking to people!” Absurd!

“Okay…?” She walked alongside him, her hands clutched onto the straps of her bag. “Animals do that, dad.”

“Not Fox,” he muttered, “he must be scheming something.”

“Or he wanted to borrow a book? I know he’s a homicidal maniac-” She paced herself a bit quicker to get ahead, "-but homicidal maniacs can read.”

“No no, he didn’t borrow a book. Unless it was in that bag of his with those knitting needles.”

“So he was there for the sewing club then?”

“Textiles, Lucy.”

But an epiphany struck him then, halting him in his steps. 

Fox? In the textiles Club?

Well. The pieces fit quite well, like jigsaw pieces. He should have realised it before but, perhaps the adrenaline clouded his brain. 

“Oh my god,” Lucy uttered, staring at the twins. Immediately, Rabbit jumped, his fur rising as he stopped the stroller. 

“What? What is it-” he glanced at the twins, peaking, but nothing seemed wrong?

“They’re covered in sand! They’re the dirtiest I’ve ever seen!”

“Erm, right,” He pulled back and started moving the stroller again, ignoring his bubbling nerves. “I did tell you I was taking them to the sand play thing?” 

“Well yeah, but you’re going to clog the pipes if all that sand goes down the drain.”

“Duly noted. But fret not! Sand will no longer be an issue! I’m not taking the twins there again!” Or anywhere near the library for that matter. 

“What? Why? Did Peter and Emily not like it?”

“No, of course not. I’m not letting them anywhere near Fox!”

Lucy hesitated for a moment, continuing to walk, before she gently turned to look up at him.

“Dad. Fox comes around to Wolf’s place heaps of times. I’m pretty sure he’s closer to the twins then than when he is in the library.” 

He opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it.

When the two of them finally arrived home, he admitted quietly, “They did quite like the sand.” Jingling the keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door. “And I think Peter might have made a new friend.” If not a friend, then it was still good that the two were learning how to be around other kiddies their age. 

“And did you make any new friends?” Lucy asked. He let her in through the door first, and she wandered inside easily. 

Did he make new friends? No, he wouldn’t call Mrs Mole and Frog friends. Acquaintances were a stretch too. He’d only managed to talk to Frog for a few minutes before he took his leave, and Mrs Mole soon followed. He had given up trying to talk to people then, only spending a little while interrogating the library assistant to bide his time. 

His silence was good enough of an answer for his daughter it seems. After running up to put her bag upstairs, she, from the staircase, said to him,

“Then you better try again.”

Rabbit didn’t go to the textiles club on his second visit to the library, or the third. And he didn’t have any run-ins with Fox either (aside from the usual plan to capture him, of course). No, he made sure to leave with the twins fifteen minutes before 3 o’clock. He could always count on Fox being punctual, and so if the textile club didn’t end until 3 o'clock, then Fox wouldn’t leave until then. The only trade off was that he had to wait by the school gate before he could walk home with Lucy. She did ask him why he insisted on walking home with her, but he came clean and said ‘because I want to’, and she, perhaps mature enough to realise his sincerity, let him. 

It was the fourth visit that he finally caved in. It would have been the fifth or never, but the receptionist had chipped to him that ‘next week, there will be a tutorial on embroidery! Cross stitch, I think, is perfect for beginners.

And he’d been meaning to learn that. There was only so much a sewing machine could do, and he would like to learn how to decorate fabric with pretty patterns and colours. He was thinking to start, embroidering Emily and Peter’s bibs with their respective letters would be fun, so he brought those along. 

‘If you’re interested, the club is always held on the second floor, to the left! Just in the general communal space with lots of tables and comfy chairs.’ Were the instructions the receptionist had given him. And he followed them to a tee.

His main excuse for coming today, however, was to prove a point. No, he isn’t afraid of Fox. He’s beaten him at his games so many times he can’t even count them all. Yes, he can protect the twins, even if they’re in another room or on the other side of the library. Yes, he is capable of talking to other people. And yes, yes he is brave. 

Yet, when it came time to leave Emily and Peter at the sand pit, he couldn't bring himself to. Not right away. He watched as Peter dug holes in the sand with Frederick, as Emily finally seemed to forgive the hedgehog for poking her, banging a plastic bucket with a paddle with them. The snail library assistant was there, not quite paying attention to the kids. She was reading a book by the table, but was still close to the sand. Not once had she seen her leave to go anywhere. Nor any of the weeks before. 

“You two will be good, won’t you?” He said to the twins. They paid him no mind, too invested in their play. “I’ll be back soon. I won't be long. Don’t worry, I’m not going too far.” Again, they paid no mind. So slowly, he began to step away, “Daddy’s leaving now, alright? I know, I know this is very difficult for the two of you, but it’ll be over before you know it!” A shaky laugh left him, “Once I’m back, you two will have something exciting to look forward to!” The bibs. But, well, they don’t care, do they? They’ll make a mess out of them during meal times like they always do.

He could only stall for so long, so, eventually, he went away. Solemnly trudging over to where the textiles club would be.

And when he arrived, he was a little late. Plenty of animals had already settled in. As expected, it was mostly sheep. They baaed and chatted away in groups on tables, on the beanbags there was a circle of them-

-and on the couch, to the side, was of course, Fox (with an owl friend and his knitting needles again. But instead of stabbing someone, he was using them to knit something red). Rabbit avoided eye contact, and turned away from that direction entirely. 

Over on the table at centre stage, he could see the embroidery supplies, and he couldn’t help but oggle. Boxes and tins, filled to the brim with threads of all shades, hues, and tones. Organised neatly in a spectrum of colours. There were needles of all sorts of shapes and sizes, and there were precut sheets of fabric with a clear weft and warp holes in between.

He found himself picking through it all, admiring them. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen stuff like this before. No, he’d been to the tailors once to get himself a wedding suit. He’d also accompanied his wife many times to textile stores, and spent a fair bit of time waiting for her to pick things out. He remembered back then, thinking how he wished he could make pretty things like she could. His excuse was that he wasn’t fit for it. Really, he just hadn't tried. 

“Are you here for embroidery? A beginner?” A sheep baa’ed beside him. Quite a stout sheep, with thick grey wool and thin rimmed glasses. 

“Yes?” He’s not sure why he framed it like a question, but the other understood him at least. 

“Oh good! Would you like me to teach you how to get started? Cross stitching is quite easy to get the hang of, it’s just crosses!”

He was seated down at a table, and handed a sheet of that strange fabric. 

“Now this is open weave fabric,” the sheep explained, “the most common material for cross stitching, but you could use anything. It’s just easier on stuff like this because, well, I’ll show you why in a moment.” Then, she pulled over a box full of threats. “What colour would you like?” 

“Yellow,” he had replied, finding himself becoming distant. But the sheep didn’t seem to notice, grabbing the thread, and then taught him step by step. 

First thread the needle, which was somehow far more difficult than threading the needle for the sewing machine. Probably because the hand holding the needle kept shaking. Then, knot the thread, which has a whole technique of its own (‘double knotting is easy, but not convenient. Learn how to do it this way, and thank me later,’ the sheep told him). And then finally, make the first stitch.

“See, all you do is sew diagonally, to make crosses! Once you’ve got the hang of it, you can do several rows in one direction, and then go back again in the other. Some people find it quicker that way, and others like to do one cross at a time.” It was a slow, tedious process. When his needle was on the other side of the fabric, he kept poking it through the wrong hole. “Hand-eye coordination gets a bit getting used to, but look at you go! You’ve done quite a bit already.” He also kept poking his finger by accident, a problem he never had with machine sewing. That problem was eventually solved when the sheep handed him a thimble. Some kind of metal shell that protected his thumb. That was certainly a lifesaver. 

“How difficult would it be to cross stitch on these?” He eventually asked, pulling out Emily and Peter’s bibs. 

“Baaah, see, the count on that is quite high! I would recommend backstitch. But I won’t say cross stitching is impossible. It’ll just be a bit harder to get your crosses neat is all.” The sheep stroked her chin, thinking. “The logic is the same. You could even, if you wanted to, stick the cross stitch fabric on the back of those bibs, and use that as a guide for your needle. And see, the magic of embroidery is that if something goes wrong or doesn’t look quite right, you can always undo it and start again. So just have a go.”

That was the last bit of advice he was given. The sheep left to answer the call of someone else, another beginner who was stuck with something. And so he was left at the table, eyeing the work he’d made on (what he calls) his test fabric, and back to the bibs. 

Heeding the sheep’s advice, he had a go.

This time he picked light pink and blue threads. He re-threaded the needle, persisting through the strain in his eyes, attempted to knot the threat the way the sheep told him to but ended up going back to double knotting, and began to create his second first stitch.

Beside him, a predator he saw coming from a mile away, sat down. 

“If this is another one of your ‘befriend the Rabbit so he lowers his guard’ plans, you’ve already failed,” Rabbit proudly taunted, not even sparing Fox a look. Relishing in delight, he listened to the low growl beside him. 

“Dear, I think we’ve long since passed pleasantries. Although, I can’t imagine you could ever let your guard down with your little bunnies in the other room.”

Embroidery, Rabbit found, was the opposite of stress relieving. To no fault of the needle and thread, of course. He’ll pinpoint the reason for its failure to be meditative in poor company. 

He expected Fox to use those big, sharp needles of his to stab him, but no, the canine used his fingers to meticulously yet quickly wind yarn around needles, doing loopty loops, threading, and pulling, doing all of that repeatedly in a series of practiced motions. It was quite mechanical work, he observed, the result of his knitting making itself to be quite uniform. Whatever it turned into, he wouldn’t assume it was handmade. It was much different to, say, Terrapin's knitting. His was slower, methodic, and far more natrual looking, with slight imperfections here and there. 

“So-” Fox began coarsely, “fixing your children’s napkins now, are we?”

“Bibs,” he corrected, “and no, I’m just decorating them.”
“With what?” 

“The first letter of their names.”

“Oh, forgetting which one is which?”

“Don’t you have friends to go bother?” Rabbit nearly spat out, “or did you eat them already?” Again, Fox grimaced at the label.

“No no, Baarbra was busy today, and my dear Owl had to go pick up her chick from school. Come down with a terrible fever. Vomited in the bathroom apparently.” Fox held back a gag then, his knitting paused temporarily. “You however, looked oh so lonely. I thought I should come over and pity you.”

“Whatever plan you’ve got going on, I’m not playing,” Rabbit insisted.

“Oh sure, because I’m keeping you here while Wolf goes and catches your twins.”

Rabbit’s needle stopped. His stomach dropped. His hind feet thumping against the floor. Peter. Emily. He-

“Goodness, that got a kick out of you, didn’t it?” The predator cackled, his voice high and strained. “No, Wolf is too busy with his pups. Only heavens know what it is this time, but it meant he couldn’t join me for brunch and tea.” Rabbit’s ears and eyes were fuming far too much to get a proper look, but he swore Fox had pouted. 

“And if he wasn’t?” Rabbit said, not even sure why he hadn’t bolted away yet. He should- he should check up on Peter and Emily. Make sure they are still alright. 

“Then I would have had brunch and tea with him of course! Oh, I would have gotten him to try some chamomile. In a mug instead of my daintier tea cups, I doubt he’ll be gentle enough with them-”

When Fox noticed Rabbit’s staring, he stopped, raising an eyebrow and- oh for the love of- he had the audacity to laugh again.

“Rabbit, you cannot possibly think I would be stupid enough to try something here? In broad daylight? A public space?”

“You’ve tried worse things,” Rabbit argued.

“Like what?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Rabbit mused, quickly trying to break through his filter to remember the most absurd thing Fox has done. “Dressing up as a nanny and trying to seduce me, for starters?” 

“That was a brilliant plan, it was working,” Fox scoffed back immediately. 

“No it wasn’t.”

“Oh yes it did.” Fox chuffed, resuming his knitting at the pace he’d set before. “I know the look of an animal in love when I see it.”

Rabbit didn’t want to talk about this anymore. And he hated that he was the one to bring it up. 

Fortunately, Fox changed the topic to something more applicable to the room.

“I didn’t know you embroidered.”

“Machine sewing, actually,” Rabbit said, “Just getting started with this.”

“Well of course, those crude lines could only be made by a novice.”

Rabbit’s ear’s flattened against the back of his head. 

“I don’t see you embroidering. Covering up an insecurity?” He attempted to deflect. 

“Oh I embroider plenty! Just recently Wolf came to me asking if I could embroider Simon’s name onto his jacket and beanie. He keeps losing it at school, and the policy is that if it has no name then it can’t be taken from the lost property.”

“So then how does he keep getting it back?”

“By breaking the rules, I presume. But Wolf isn’t so keen on that. His boys are already on thin ice over there.”

“Eating people is against the law, you know, the rules that actually have consequences?” Rabbit retorted.

“Not if you get away with it~” He said that so resolutely too, as if he knew that to be true. Definitive. 

On numerous occasions, Rabbit wonders if, despite being a victim, knowing Fox is a homicidal maniac is enough to warrant him being an accomplice. The things he’s heard Fox say, either directly or from a distance, was absolutely atrocious. More than enough to warrant integration room confessions. Of course, Rabbit can’t go to the authorities. He has his own history of stealing cabbages. 

It was almost like a mutual agreement between them. Rabbit won’t rat out Fox, because Fox will probably fess up Rabbit’s stealing problem. And Fox won’t rat out Rabbit, because then Rabbit will fess up Fox’s murder streak. 

There's a severe imbalance there, but an agreement nonetheless.

“I prefer knitting,” Fox mentioned, taking a few steps back in the conversation, “it’s a lot easier to multitask with.”

“Uh huh,” Rabbit muttered, realising he’d paused in his work, and went back to it. He’s almost finished Emily’s E. 

“After all it’s really just knit and purl stitches. If you’re following a pattern there might be increases and decreases. I don’t often bother with drop stitches, and I haven’t found much excuse to try cables as of late. Otherwise it’s repetitive work you can watch the telly with.”

“If you’re not learning to embroider,” Rabbit suddenly realised in thought, “what are you even doing here?”

Fox leared at him, still knitting even though his head was turned. His hands moved without any eye coordination. 

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’m keeping up with my weekly routine. One cannot sit around at home all day everyday-”

“What, can’t knit at Wolf’s?”

“Wolf has a tendency to get his claws all over my knitting,” Fox muttered. In a mocking tone, he said, “I see movement, I pounce’. Sure, my dear Wolf. So my knitting is the only thing that qualifies, not whatever prey we are hunting! I swear, he does it to annoy me.” His sigh called for grievances, pity that Rabbit would not spare him. “Besides,” he said resolutely, “I can’t make this in his house, it’s a surprise.”

“What-” Rabbit began, wondering if this was even worth his time, “What are you making?”

Fox frowned, as if he didn’t like that question, eyeing his work in disdain.

“A new hat, for Simon.”

“But you just embroidered his name on his beanie.”

“I did. But he’s bound to lose it again anyway. And besides, it's getting rather small for him.”

“How nice of you,” Rabbit plainly replied. 

Funnily enough, Fox hesitated. He merely kept knitting away, his eyebrows pinched together carefully before he said,

“I’d rather not call it that. I consider it more like a gesture to get on better terms with Wolf.”

“Uh huh.” Rabbit narrowed his eyes. “Sure?”

Despite the unwelcome sitting partner, he’d managed to finish embroidering Peter and Emily’s bibs. They were, admittedly, a little crooked, but the P looked like a P and the E looked like an E. Fox, the ever reassuring canine, said “Don’t worry, you and everyone else will notice all the imperfections.”

More important than that, when he returned to the sand play area, the twins were safe. Still there, neither of them coughing up sand or covered in hedgehog pricks, very happily playing in the sand. But he didn’t waste time picking them up to go, he did it as quickly as he always did. He didn’t want to be here longer than he needed to. Though, he didn’t even need to be here at all, really.

At least, Lucy was happy when he told her what he’d done today. He had the bibs and new skill to prove it

Terrapin was not as enthusiastic as Lucy was about his new hobby. Though, he only became concerned as soon as he mentioned Fox.

“Why on earth would you keep going there??”

“To prove a point,” Rabbit halfmindedly replied, keeping himself busy by dusting the curtains. Curtains he remembers making, all the way back when he tried to convince Lucy that sewing was a good idea. 

“What kind of point?”

“That I’m capable of talking to people.” And to show that he’s not scared of Fox. And that he can protect the twins, while still letting them grow. 

“You talk to me plenty.”

“That doesn't include you, apparently, according to Lucy.”

In dismay, Terrapin shook his head.

“So it was all Lucy’s idea, was it?”

“Partly.” Rabbit shrugged again. “I picked the textiles club.”

“You could have picked anything else!”

“Sewing is my only hobby besides foraging,” Rabbit shamefully confessed. 

“So you can’t pick up something new???”

Apparently not. Because? Today was knitting day.

He quickly figured that out after seeing all of the yarn on the table, and all the different sizes of needles on display. There were even some connected at their ends, and it was explained to him that those were for ‘circular knitting’. Whatever that was. 

Knitting day, as he also found out, was the day that recurred the most in the textiles club. It happens once every month. All the other kinds of crafts happened sporadically. Mostly because, well, everyone here seemed to know how to knit. And he didn’t want to say that made sense because most of the attendees were sheep, but well, it made sense because most of the attendees were sheep. 

I mean, for heaven’s sake, he could count five sheep from just a quick scan of the room who were somehow extracting yarn from their fleeces, directly into whatever they were knitting. It was rather nutty if you asked him. 

Perhaps too confident in his skills, after getting cross stitching down so quickly, he had thought by the end of today’s session he’d be able to make a pair of socks for himself. Or, maybe a onesie for one of the twins. A scarf for Lucy? 

But he’d been fooled by Fox’s speed when it came to those blasted needles. He didn’t know how easily yarn could get tangled up in one’s hands. And whatever way the sheep was holding her needles to show him how to do it, he just couldn’t. His grip felt flimsy and weak no matter how he configured his fingers. To compensate, he’d tense up, which apparently, led to the problem he was having now.

“Your stitches are too tight, that's why you can’t poke your needle through it,” the sheep explained. Okay well, the stitches either had to be like that, or he’d just drop his needles. It was also terribly annoying how the yellow ball of yarn he had kept rolling everywhere. Eventually he just let it drop to the floor, and he kept it between his feet so it didn’t stray too far, kicking it whenever it tried to flee. 

Since technically, he had the basics down, the sheep had to leave him to figure it out himself, needing to help teach someone else. So Rabbit struggled, feeling the sweat pool down his fur. Forcing his needles through the stitches, wrapping his yarn around, trying and failing to thread the yarn through the gap. It came undone, and he tried again, but the loop was so close to the edge of his needle so it eventually slipped away. He tried to save it and failed. Damnit. He tried again with the next stitch, attempting to thread his needle though the tight, non-existent gap- what was the next step aga-?

Fox sat down next to him. Without making much of an entrance too. He just pulled open a chair, and sat down. 

“Left you again, did they?” Rabbit spluttered out, getting the first word in.

“No,” Fox mused, “Those two can keep each other company. Unfortunately for you, I just wanted to come over.” Great. Just what he wanted to hear. Knowing just how much the Fox was eyeing his struggles, he listened to his degrading observation. “You seem to be struggling quite a bit.”

“Do I?” Rabbit strained out of his mouth, his throat dry, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. 

“If it helps, I could share a technique my mother taught me when I first started.”

“Your mother taught you to knit?”

“Along with a many great deal of other things.”

Fox held out his knitting needles, which Rabbit quickly realised were actually those circular ones. Still, he was knitting that beanie for Simon, judging by how it was the same yarn as last week. 

“A trick for remembering the basic steps for the knit stitch, the one you are doing now-” Dramatically, Fox cleared his throat. In a singsong tone, he sang, moving his fingers along with the words,

“Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its guts, and throw it off a cliff!”

Idly, Rabbit blinked at him, naively thinking he misheard.

“Sorry?” He asked, blinking a few times at the canine.

“Stab it,” Fox repeated without hesitation, his hands following along with the movements once again, “strangle it, scoop out its guts, and throw it off a cliff!”

He’s not sure if this was partly an explanation for Fox’s violent behaviour, or a by-product. Probably the former. 

“That’s-”

“Ingenious? I know, my mother was a clever Vixen."

“Horrifying.”

“Close enough.”

What was even more horrifying was that the advice helped. The string of words was so deeply ingrained into Rabbit’s head that he didn’t once question what the next step would be. Scoop out the guts, meant pulling the thread through the loop. Throwing it off the cliff meant taking the stitch off the left needle, and letting it hang on the right needle. Stabbing meant, well, stabbing into the left needle’s loop, and then strangling it meant strangling the right needle with yarn.

Remembering the steps however, didn’t ease the tension in his hands, or help with his grip.

“It comes with practice,” Fox said, “It’s different for everyone. With enough observation you’ll notice these sheep knit terribly loosely. I myself prefer a firmer tension. I find it easier that way to stay uniform.”

Once again, as he had done last week, Rabbit watched Fox work. Yet again, his hands were nimble, making quick work of those stitches. Left to right, through and out, stab and strangle, scoop and throw- Rabbit shook his head frantically, blinking away the violent thoughts. 

He distracted himself by continuing to knit, trying to find some kind of momentum, but his needles getting stuck in the loops would break whatever he had managed to time. Again and again, it was like the yarn refused to work with him. 

Eventually, he noticed Fox was doing something different, a new kind of motion he hadn’t seen before. Fox was working more carefully now, and it took a moment for Rabbit to see it, but his stitches were… vanishing?

“I can feel you staring.” 

“I don't doubt that,” Rabbit replied.

“I’m casting off,” Fox explained, a touch of ire in his tone. “I suppose the sheep haven’t taught you that yet.” Rabbit didn’t ask Fox to teach him. No, he’s better off not learning anything else from him. But he watched, oh, he watched, attempting to understand the sorcery that was this new technique. 

Eventually, Fox got rid of the last stitch, letting it seamlessly combine with the rest of the knitting as he tied a knot. Then, a bit gruesomely with his teeth, he ripped the yarn’s connection to the ball out, severing the line as if tearing the umbilical cord of a newborn.  

“Pardon me, there are no scissors,” Fox excused. Before Rabbit could counter with a ‘oh no, you definitely didn’t do that on purpose’, Fox flexed the new beanie in his hands with pride. “Look at that! Perfect tension, not a single missing stitch! But-” and he began to chuckle, “those are all novice mistakes I haven’t made in years.”

A sly, glaring dig at Rabbit’s work, which was riddled with said ‘novice mistakes’. 

“I’ll have to add that Canadian flag to the brim,” Fox added, scratching his chin, “perhaps the fabric shop will have some kind of patch.” Yeah, it seemed like the right amount of novelty for a fabric store to have a bucket or pin board full of different embroidered patches of countries around the world. 

Instead of feeling invigorated or challenged to do better, Rabbit simply looked at his work and decided, no, he didn’t like knitting. He’d be hard pressed to try again. 

So that meant he let Fox win this time, even though there wasn’t a competition to begin with. But that's fine. He can always just buy himself some new socks, or the twins new onesies, or Lucy a new scarf. 

He was late to the textiles club that day. He needed to do a grocery run around people’s backyards, and it took him all morning to do it. He’d thought about not going to the library at all, but he thought about the twins, their boredom in their playpen in the living room, and decided to keep up the routine. Into the sand they go, and into textiles hell he went. However, being late excluded him from the extremely important context of what was even going on.

From only observation, staring at what the club members were doing, he couldn’t even begin to guess what today’s tutorial was. He could smell soap, see buckets of water, bubble wrap, rolling pins, and sheep were aggressively hitting tables with towels wrapped around something. It was remarkable how he didn’t hear all the noises from downstairs, or even before he was actively approaching this side of the library. Thump thump thump.

When he finally found the sheep with glasses, she explained to him that, “Today is felt making! We’re using the bubble wrap rolling method!”

“Erm, I can see that.”

“Let me help you get started, what colour felt would you like?”

He didn’t overlook Fox who was also here. The canine was happily chatting to Baarbra and the owl while he wrapped bubble wrap and felt around a rolling pin. None of this made any sense until he was given a set of instructions on a piece of paper. 

The bubble wrap acted like a workspace as he layered sheer bits of felt to make a square, one layer in one direction, and then another perpendicular. He worked quickly with this (at neck breaking speed, he’ll say so himself). Before long when the sheep came back, she advised him that ‘it was enough layers’, and told him to sprinkle soap flakes onto the felt, and add a sheer piece of netting. Next, using the water bucket, he wetted the felt, making sure it wasn’t ‘too soggy’ or that there were any thin patches in the felting. Soon enough, he arrived at the same step Fox was on. And because of that, Baarbra suggested he go sit where he was, so they could work together to finish the rest of the steps. 

To continue proving a point (though what that point was was beginning to lose him), he went to go stand by the empty spot where Fox was. Opposite him. Face to face.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Fox exclaimed. For a while now, Rabbit had noticed he’d been too enveloped in conversation to continue his work. His rolling pin was vertically propping his hand on the table, wet, covered in soap, but not doing anything. “Finally caught up, have you?”

“How long are we supposed  to, uh, roll this?” Rabbit asked instead, deciding he wouldn't put up with Fox’s nonsense today.

“200 times.”

“Sorry?” Rabbit looked up, blinking at him.

“It says here, can you read?” Fox held up the instructions and pointed with his claws. Just to make sure he wasn’t messing with him, Rabbit read his own paper. Yes. 200 times. 

“Golly,” Rabbit gulped.

“It’s not as appalling as it sounds,” Fox said, rolling his eyes, “It’s a constant, repetitive motion. You’ll be off daydreaming in Bunnyland when you get to around 50.”

And so, Rabbit got to work. With the bubblewrap and felt wrapped around the rolling pin, he began to roll, being careful not to be too firm. 10 passes turned into 20, then 50, then 100, and then,

“198, 199, 200!” Rabbit proclaimed, finally lifting his rolling pin off the bubble wrap.

“Now do it on the other end,” Fox instructed, his mouth curling upward a little.

“What?”

“Perpendicular. Do it again. Another 200 times.”

“You’re joking-” Rabbit watched Fox begin to pull out the instructions, his mouth opening to insult his reading skills again, but Rabbit shook his head and waved him off. “Fine fine fine-”

Rabbit did what he was told, though he had no trust in this stupid, confusing process. Once again he wrapped up the rolling pin and counted to 200. Going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until he finally found himself at the final stretch again. Though Fox was not there for that, he had gone off to get something. 

He thought it was over then, when he unwrapped the felt from the rolling pin for a second time. But then he read the instructions. 

Fold the bubble wrap over the fabric making a package. Place it in a towel and throw 50 times.

… What?

Just then, something was launched at his face. Immediately, he panicked, flailing his arms about, attempting to get rid of whatever was trying to suffocate him, the fuzzy, yet damp, wide and long-

A towel, he realised, when he finally pried it all off. And when he turned to find Fox back in his seat with his own towel, he grimaced at the cackling.

“That is what we are doing,” Fox said, gesturing to a nearby table. One full of sheep, hitting the table with towels bundled with something, going thud thud thud. 

“And we have to do that 50 times,” Rabbit said, a bit in disbelief. 

My darling Rabbit,” Fox began, folding his bubble wrap and felt into the towel, and making a package. “This is much more thrilling than the rolling pin step, I can assure you. Now-” Fox cleared his throat, cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms, a glint flashed over his keen eyes, and he grabbed the tail of his towel package, “You might want to step back for this.”

Not even a moment later, hardly enough time for Rabbit to back off, revved up his arm and SLAMMED the towel onto the table. The table creaked and groaned, and Rabbit swore he even heard a slight snap. It jotted from impact, with Rabbit’s end of the table jumping upwards, angling the table diagonal before it came thudding back down. 

“Fox!” A voice called out. The sheep with glasses, “Less energy!”

“Sorry~!” Fox called back, rolling his shoulders back. “I’ll be more gentle.” Rabbit didn’t believe that. He wouldn’t ever, actually. 

“Are you trying to kill someone?!” Rabbit spluttered, watching the table continue to tremble. It clicked, what he’d said was just a little too late. He had to watch Fox’s eyebrow quirk at him, and snicker. ‘Me, killing someone?’ he swore he could hear Fox think, ‘how silly of you to think that.’

He’d thought Baarbra and the Owl would have been scared off by such a display, but when he glanced to look at them, they were in the middle of a heated argument. Each holding their own towels, but not actually paying attention to whatever just happened.

Rabbit turned back to Fox, and he was smirking. 

“Have a go, then.” 

That was a challenge, Rabbit knew. He wasn’t one to back down from them. But his arm was trembling as he pulled back his hand, his fingers gripping to the towel more tightly than the springing tension in his joints. And when he finally launched the towel, he heard a thud, yes, but the moment the towel made contact, it just lamely sat on the table edge. 

“Pathetic,” Fox delightfully chittered. 

“If I tried any harder, I’d finish what you started and break the table,” Rabbit reasoned. Though, he was genuinely concerned about the table. He’d hate to break it.

“Please, these things have been around for years. I doubt a little hammering will do them in.” ‘Little’ was an understatement, and Fox surely must know that. “Rabbit,” he continued, gesturing to the neighbouring tables again, “If those sheep can beat the table like it’s their ex husbands, then I’m sure you could too.”

Conflicted by the… encouragement? Rabbit raised an eyebrow, his mouth open, unsure how to respond.

“Well, you don’t have an ex-husband I suppose. Just let out your anger! If you, prey, even have any inside you,” Fox mused, a hand to his chest. “Personally I like to imagine I’m tenderizing meat with a mallet.”

What helpful advice. Rabbit, taking that to heart, envisioned the table to be Fox. 

With a strong raise, his eyes locked in on the table’s edge as his target, he slammed the towel down, pounding the table- no no that sounds really bad-

SLAM!

Instead of completely uplifting one side of the table like Fox had, Rabbit’s hit shifted the table forward, backing into where Fox stood by less than an inch. Still, the loud sound echoed in the library, overdoing the rest of the thudding by just a little. 

“Rabbit!” A voice called out, “Less energy!” 

Instead of apologizing, Rabbit let out a weak exhale. And instead of a jarring response, the canine simply let out a low whistle, his hand still to his chest, 

“Who knew such scrawny arms had a little give in them,” Fox blew out.

“I was imagining you as the table,” Rabbit admitted. “But I’m sure I could hit harder if I had the real thing.” A bold claim he wasn’t actually sure he could live up to, considering he doesn’t think he’s ever tried to attack Fox, not even in retaliation. 

“Goodness!” Fox pulled his hand from his chest and straightened himself up with a laugh, “Save the dirty talk for when I’m trying to kill you.” Great, so he took it as a joke. Might be better that way.

Aggression, as he was soon told by the sheep with glasses, was integral to the felting process. The fibers needed to be interlocked with each other, and the perfect recipe for it was heat, friction, and apparently soap flakes. He supposed that's the reason why wool knitting shrinks in the washing machine. 

So Rabbit isn’t fond of felting either. He can’t say he likes the process in all its messy, soapyness, and noise. But if he ever needs to hit something else and can’t bring himself to do it, he’s learned a new trick. 

As though the library was following a bit of a felt wagon, this week was needle felting.

‘It's easy, just stab stab stab!’ The sheep with glasses told Rabbit. ‘You add more felt as you go, and slowly build a shape. You can follow the tutorial and make a little sheep with us, or you can go ahead and make whatever you want!’

Rabbit will admit, he watched Fox work on his project longer than he concentrated on his own. He would say the process was mesmerizing, if not for how violent it was.

Actually, the longer he’s in this club, the more he realises that textiles is the most violent hobby he’s ever seen. So many crafts required needles, and stabbing- soooooo much stabbing. Not to mention what happened during felt making last week. And he had to mention this to Fox as he watched, almost as if a force was keeping him there seated next to him.

“Why dear Rabbit, every hobby is some kind of outlet,” Fox explained, “But you could say embroidery, felting, or really anything with a needle is truly effective for releasing any harboured anger.” And he said it all while stabbing the felt again, and again, and again, and again, and again- the yellow felt slowly taking shape, one ball of mass, then another, longer and thinner, and then another to make it a pair- and oh. Oh, okay.

“A rabbit,” Rabbit said, “You’re making a rabbit.”

“You can tell!” Fox’s voice went high as he turned to him, a gleeful grin on his face. “Good. I was beginning to think my caricature was off. I’ll have to add that ugly shirt of yours at some point.” Uh huh, so it was a him rabbit. Good to know. Fox wanted to be specific.

“Is there at any point, Fox,” Rabbit slowly began, watching the tiny rabbit be assaulted by needles, “that your violence can be satisfied?"

“No.” Said quite happily too. 

Rabbit shook his head, turning away, and noticed his lack of work in front of him. He hadn’t really known what he was going to do. Only half following the tutorial, so he’s got a white, tad misshapen ball in front of him. It could be easily covered by some other colour of felt, or moulded into another shape (his, erm, stabbing wasn’t very deep, so his ball was a lot more squishy than Fox’s work). 

A spark of inspiration hit him again, when he stared at Fox’s brazen fur. In no less than a moment, he grabbed a sizable portion of orange felt from the table centre stage, and began to work. 

It was a rather peaceful ten minutes before Fox realised what he was doing.

“Very funny.” His eyes glaring at his unfinished work.

“You’re right, Fox,” Rabbit quipped, stabbing the felt again and again, poking and prodding much much harder than he needed to. “This is very soothing. All my anger is just coming out!”

While Fox went home with a miniature Rabbit, Rabbit came home with a miniature Fox. He wanted to throw it in the trash for one last hurrah, but he actually did work quite hard on it. Making sure it didn’t look just like any old fox, but Fox. 

He ended up putting the little guy in the oven’s warming drawer. Out of sight, out of mind (Lucy would never check in the warmer draw. He’s not even sure if she knows it exists), but still there if he wanted to poke and prod at it some more. 

For the first time since, well, the first time, Rabbit brought a personal project to textiles club. It wasn’t for him, it was for Lucy. And it wasn’t for fun either. Her jacket needed mending, and it wasn’t something as simple as a seam rip or hole. No, the lining of her coat where her right sleeve was somehow came undone. Raw fabric was loosely hanging outside and in the open, and becoming more of a hazard than useful.

He thought it would be an easy fix, but lining was special for coats. They needed to be sewn in some strange way so that they had a bit of give to it. Something about so the lining didn’t strain when the coat was being put on, or some other fashion science. 

Nonetheless, he had a jacket he needed to fix, and frankly, no idea how. He had thought turning the coat raw edges out (right sides together) would have been the key to solving the issue, but it wasn’t. He had no idea what he was doing, or how to fix it. He might have just made it worse, actually. 

It was embarrassing, really, pulling the undone coat from his bag and letting the sheep with glasses take a look. After he explained what the problem was, the sheep tutted. 

“I know it’s ironic since I’m the one who runs this club, but I don’t know much about garment sewing. I’m more of a textile craft guru. Fox on the other hand-” Oh gosh. He tried to stop her, but it was too late. She was already walking off toward the sofa where Fox sat. “He’s a wizard at it, let me tell you! I’m sure he’ll be able to fix that lining quicker than you can run!” Oh, he could take that as a challenge. Just run off now, grab Emily and Peter and speed away before Fox was even alerted. 

Rabbit could have run, yes, he could have. Lest he face the wrath that is Fox expressing any kind of- the only word he can think of is an advantage over him. ‘The one up’ worked well too. But, he really did need this lining fixed, and he didn’t want to have to walk home with Lucy and have nothing to hand over. Much less have her spend another day walking to and from school cold. No, he had to do this. Swallow your pride, do it for Lucy-

He must have blanked out, because one moment he was staring at nothing, and the next, Fox was in front of him, leaning a hand against the table beside the two.

“Having coat problems?” Fox asked, tilting his head. Rabbit inhaled sharply.

“Yeah.” 

Eyeing the lump of fabric in his hands, the canine tutted, “Did you really have to undo the entire thing?”

“I didn’t undo anything.” Rabbit groaned. “I just pulled its insides out.” He didn’t like how Fox snickered at that.

“What a gnarly way you’ve put it.” 

Fox slid a chair out from the table and sat down, and as the gentlefox he was, slid out the chair beside him too.

“Well let’s see it, hand it over.” His hand gestured, motioning- practically luring him forward. “It might just be worth my time if you’re lucky enough.”

With a thump, Rabbit sat down next to the canine. As much as it pained him, he handed the coat over to those silk white gloved paws. 

“What was the issue again?”

“Lining came undone at the right sleeve.” Fox tutted again at that, effortlessly turning the jacket right side out and inspecting the sleeve’s damage for himself. 

“Oh dear, what an easy fix!” He cackled, carefully easing the fabric. “You could have just used a slip stitch!”

Beside him, Rabbit weakly laughed, with no joy whatsoever. 

“But a herringbone stitch might be better. Now, if you could be a dear-” Fox pointed to the table with all the sewing supplies on it, “-get me a thin needle and some thread that matches this lining.” 

Rabbit resigned himself to following those orders, not about to argue for Fox to do it himself, since he was the one who was going to fix this mess. A needle and thread was what he got, and after handing it over, he watched Fox do his work. 

“I didn’t think you would be an ‘expert’ at this,” Rabbit noted, “Don’t you have a personal tailor?”

“Just because I have someone making my clothes for me doesn’t mean it isn’t more convenient to mend it yourself,” Fox replied, threading the needle, and tying the knot the way the sheep here did it. “Imagine it, every time a button loosened or a zipper became stuck, I would have to post my clothes all the way to France? It is simply not worth the effort when I can mend it myself in five minutes.” 

He supposed that makes sense. But he didn’t think Fox was a person who valued convenience over working less. Those things were meant to work hand in hand but, in this instance, it didn’t.

“Tell me, do you know how to do a herringbone stitch?”

“No-”

“Well of course,” Fox interrupted, a proud tone to his voice. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought this to me.” With skill Rabbit couldn’t help but be envious of, the canine’s needle threaded seamlessly in and out of the fabric, never once catching or getting stuck in the layers. “The key of course is to not pick up too many threads, otherwise you’ll be fighting the fabric. You don’t want your sewing thread to be visible on the outside either. You only need two or three with each pass. The strength of the stitch is in its pattern.” 

Unconsciously, Rabbit leaned in, observing the fine needle work. The zigzag path, the nimble movements slowly tying the two pieces of different fabric together, clean and mechanical. Every stitch measured with precision. 

“And see, you need to make sure not to sew at the very edge. A coat like this needs a little give in its lining.”

“You’d be a good teacher if you didn’t constantly try to eat children,” Rabbit couldn’t help but remark.

“Oh, thank you,” Fox replied, not at all offended, when he really should be. 

Blankly, he stared at the canine. And after a moment of that, and another moment, Fox looked up at him.

“Rabbit,” Fox muttered, “Surely you must know by now, if I was actually desperate for meat, I would be quickly skimming down the sheep population!” He let out a ‘hmf!’, and turned back to the coat. “Which I have been, don’t get me wrong. But I invest so much time trying to catch you because nobody in this entire neighbourhood peeves me off as much as you.” Flattering. He’ll keep that in mind next time he’s running for his life. 

“I can’t believe you can say all of this in broad daylight,” Rabbit said, rather marveled by Fox’s audacity. 

“Like I said,” Fox replied, “This town is rather conditioned to not fear predators. It works in my favour as much as I despise it.”

He assumes that means Fox lacked the respect and fear he thought he deserved. Stress the ‘thought’, because, well, he didn’t think Fox deserved it at all. Regardless if he was a successful killer or not (the less Rabbit knew of Fox’s successful crimes, the better), he’s beaten the canine enough times to have him sew his daughters jacket. If he really thought about it, this should be more demeaning for Fox than it was for him. 

“Do you want to try?” Fox offered, perhaps sensing his epiphany. Rabbit felt like he could indulge in the idea of Fox being his helper for longer, but he should really learn how to do this new stitch. Because he’ll be damned if he had to rely on Fox to do it for him whenever the need should arise again.

“Give it here,” he said, holding out his hands.

“Please?” Fox urged with a sly smirk.

“I’m not begging,” Rabbit deadpanned.

“Psh.” Fox rolled his eyes, and practically dumped the coat in his hands along with the needle and thread. “Manners don’t equate to begging.”

“There’s only so much I’ll tolerate from you.” He held the needle in his hands and adjusted the coat so it was in a good position. “Now what was it, diagonal?”

“Zigzag,” Fox corrected, pointing with his fingers a path for him to follow, “and remember, don’t pick up too many of the fabric’s threads. Less is best.”

Lucy was very happy when she emerged from her school gate to see her coat all fixed (Rabbit made sure that there was no fox fur anywhere on the coat before wrapping it around her shoulders). A better shape even, because after fixing the sleeve, Fox had tutted over the loose buttons, and had taught Rabbit how to secure them properly. Again, ‘terrible craftsmanship’, Fox had insisted. ‘The buttons were probably sewn on with machines, not by hand like they should be’. Previously, Rabbit had just been sewing buttons haphazardly, but Fox had insisted that the way he taught him was a good industrial technique, and that all of that back and forth and wrapping the thread on the underside of the button where the seams were was absolutely necessary. 

He had endured the lecturing for Lucy’s sake, and perhaps for his own too, because he was content watching Lucy happily put the coat on, and walk home with it in stride.

Dying was the agenda for this week. No, not the mortal life or death kind. 

Fabric dying. You know, with all those pretty colours and funky smells? 

“How ironic it is, that the two are identical in sound,” Fox said to him. “And you would think the English language would at least try to distinguish them with different spellings. Such as, say, ‘their there and they’re’. But no, it is simply ‘dying’ with a ‘Y’, and ‘dying’ with another ‘Y’.”

After some thought, Rabbit offered, “Isn’t that because ‘die’ is already taken by dice?” 

“Yes, but there is no such thing as ‘dieing’, with an ‘ie’, is there? If anything it would be called dicing, but that sort of talk is what gets someone hungry.” 

Predictably, Fox licked his lips, channeling that hunger of his as he stared at the shirt he was dying. For Barry, apparently. Something along the lines of how the pup ‘wanted a tie dye shirt, but was too dumb to figure out how to make one on his own. A terribly easy process, but I suppose I could sacrifice my valuable knitting time for this’. Rabbit had, against better judgement, said that Fox wasn’t obligated to do this. Since, it didn't sound like Barry asked him to do it, but he’d just been firmly hushed, with a claw pressing up against his lips. ‘I’m concentrating’, Fox had said, right before deflecting into their discussion of the poor structure of the English language. 

Rabbit had been a bright student, he knew his English alright, but he couldn’t compete with his wife. She seemed to know how to spell every word, knew all sorts of words he didn’t. But it was less superficial than that. Every time the two went to the movies and came out, she would emerge with an indepth analysis and thematic retelling of the narrative, while all he could fess up were what jokes or scenes he liked the most. ‘It's better if you stay this way’, his wife had told him. ‘Hyperanalysing stories like this constantly drains the fun’. It was like this with any book she read as well, or any kind of media (fictional or not) she consumed. In other words, naivety is bliss. 

The dying process had been made easy. Streamlined step by step, structured by the club. First you wet your complimentary shirt, then you scrunch and tie it up (Rabbit went for a typical swirl pattern, following the instructions from the sheep’s tutorial, coiling up the fabric and tying it securely with string. It was at this point where Fox had gone in depth about the different knots he has used and plans to use on Rabbit to tie him up to keep him still so he can become dinner. To his own utter disbelief, he had been more stressed about trying to secure the knots for his shirt than what Fox was saying, because he hadn't cut enough string for it and the knots kept coming undone. Though he will say it was great making Fox borderline whine for his attention), then you use the squeezy bottles with dye, decorate it however you want, let it cure for a little while, before undoing the knots and washing the excess dye out. 

Since he didn’t think Lucy would want a shirt, he made it with himself in mind. Aka: Carelessly. Only doing the activity for the sake of doing the activity, because he really couldn’t care less if the shirt turned out ugly, or if the dye didn’t stick at all (another white shirt for him is what it would end up being).

“It’s probably best not to think about it too hard,” Rabbit said. It was just words after all. He didn’t major in linguistics, so that was all it was to him. But from the sound of Fox’s frustrated huff and the grit of his teeth, he seemed to think otherwise.

“You’re reminding me of what Wolf yapped on about last night,” 

“Am I now?” After spending too much time with Fox during these club meetings, he’s learned that the best response is the passive, non-opinionated one. Either question, or agree. Those were the two default options. Only when Rabbit felt particularly adventurous would he challenge (which was most of the time).

“Yes, we were watching a flick the other day-” it was like Fox knew what Rabbit had been thinking about just moments ago. “And Wolf was complaining about how I ‘shouldn’t be thinking about the film too much’.” His grip on the squeezy bottle of dye was tight, his claws so close to puncturing the plastic. “He said I was ruining it for him! Why, it’s not my fault that the narrative is filled to the brim with inconsistent plot holes. And Wolf kept falling for all the red herrings, and he was terribly surprised when the actual plot twists happened!”

Another thing he had learned, more from his wife than his time with Fox, was that if someone was in the middle of a rant, you don’t interrupt. You just let it happen, no matter how much he wanted to perk up and say something. Any interruption that wasn’t strategically placed to cut through a pause was grounds for ‘you’re not listening to me’.

“As if he couldn’t see them coming from a mile away- and don’t get me started on the film’s messages- all he got from it was ‘big explosion very cool’. Did he even watch the film? The complexities of the animal experience, what trauma does to the mind, how it grabs a hold of you and effects those around you-” 

Rabbit, at that moment, really wanted to suggest, “So you relate to the film? And you’re upset Wolf didn’t get it? And so you’re scared he doesn’t understand you.” But that would be wayyyyy too much. It’s only a suspicion that Fox wasn’t born a homicidal maniac. Sociopathy, as Lucy had once told him after she learned it in class (in what class? Rabbit cannot fathom), was caused by someone’s environment. But there was still a chance that Fox’s DNA just hit the wrong jackpot, Rabbit won’t rule that out.

Still, he had to say something, so he just said,

“You seem upset he didn’t get it.” Pretty much just what he was thinking, except for the relating and understanding part. 

“Yes! Very much so. It’s like he needs things spelled out for him. Simplified! Do I need to teach him media literacy?” He could almost laugh, Fox sounded so distraught as he spoke. 

“You’ve probably done harder things.”

“Of course,” Fox, still holding the squeezy bottle, set his hands on his hips, “but oh, what a challenge. Reading in between the lines is something he should have learned in primary school.”

“You? Mr Fox?” Rabbit raised an eyebrow, “Fessing up that something is going to be difficult for you?”

That earned him a nasty glare, and Rabbit took it in stride, squeezing a bottle of this dye and a bottle of that dye onto his shirt, ignoring the labels that were on them that said what colour they were. His white shirt was already quickly turning into a brown, black mess of colour vomit. 

“I’ll make him watch another flick tonight,” Fox said, resolute. “And I’ll get him to write me an essay.”

“Think you can teach him that quickly?”

“No, I need to know exactly what I’m working with,” he tutted. 

At least there was a solution this time. Usually, Fox’s distress over Wolf didn’t have solutions by the end of his rants. Not that Rabbit cared. But he was glad that the rest of the tie dying process wouldn’t have to involve him listening to Fox’s endless complaints. 

In the end, his shirt was ugly. Terribly ugly. It looked like cow manure, if said cow had swallowed a rainbow. And Fox had made sure to tell him that. ‘Surely, you can’t be wearing that outside?’ And just because Fox had said that, Rabbit told him that he would be wearing it everyday until Lucy told him it stunk.

Crocheting, he had once thought, was similar to knitting. They both involved yarn and needles, and it involved loops and knots. However, as he learned, he found it much easier compared to knitting. There was only one needle to begin with, no need to flimsily hold two at once. 

Fox didn’t agree. He had brought his knitting needles today, and insisted that he would be working on a personal project. 

Today’s tutorial was learning how to make a stuffed crochet ball, and there were sheets of store bought felt for animals to cut up and use to add decorations. Beads too, if anyone was particularly creative. He thought, since he was learning quite quickly, that it might be nice to make two balls and add rabbit ears to each. One for Emily, one for Peter. 

“Knitting is simply much better. What you produce is just far less stiff, and not to mention, it uses less yarn. It’s simple ergonomics!

“So you don’t know how to crochet,” Rabbit taunted, gradually getting a sense of why Fox wasn’t joining in. All he’s been doing this entire time is yap and yap about how knitting was ‘the superior’ one of the two.

“Wha-?” His hands stopped knitting, midway through strangling his opponent (the right needle). “Of course I do!” His head was lifted high as he tutted, “It’s simply not worth my time.”

“So you’re bad at it.”

A pout is what Fox presented to him. A great, big pout. 

“Much better than you, I’ll say.”

“Give me a few hours to catch up, then we’ll see. But oh-” Rabbit scoffed, “-we won’t be able to because you won’t prove yourself.” 

With utmost satisfaction, he watched Fox get out his chair, legs screeching behind him, before he stormed off to get a crochet hook and new ball of yarn. 

While Rabbit was nearly done with his first ball, Fox sat down and readied his hands, staring at the hook and-

“You’re hesitating,” Rabbit observed.

“No, I am not.”

“Don’t have a violent mantra to remember the steps?”

“You know what the ancient Egyptians did, when they mummified their pharaohs?" Fox suddenly remarked, quite loudly, at that. The predator even stood up and turned to him fully. “They used hooks to liquify, drain, and pry their brains out. Through where? The nasal cavity.” Fox then used the crochet hook to poke Rabbit’s cheek, and even went as far to trail it down his chin, “Your face is squashed enough that I’m sure this hook is long enough to reach in there with no issue.” 

Deflection. Ignorance for whatever Rabbit had said. And he wasn’t surprised. He expected it, actually. Dare he say, it's become predictable for Fox. It was like a pattern the two had fallen into. Fox says something, Rabbit says something back, Fox says something again in response, Rabbit challenges him, and the Fox retreats. It was completely different than what Rabbit was used to. It all used to be physical. Just chase and run. But here, it wasn’t necessarily mind games, more like a mental dance. And the both of them kept trying to step on each other’s feet, in perfect sync. Push, shove, cackle and taunt. An endless game Rabbit isn’t sure who started. 

“Fox, you completely ignored what I said,” he finally said, “and so you’re just proving my point.”

“You insolent-” There was a deep, deep exhale, and Fox sat back down in his chair. Once again, holding his chin up high. “I’ll make sure that when you are dead, I'll liquefy the entirety of your brain and turn you into a smoothie.”

“Sure thing. Try making a crochet ball first.”

“A smoothie, Rabbit,” Fox insisted, just as he finally began his crochet chain. He heard him alright, and found that he doesn’t care. 

“Add some carrots, it’ll taste better.”

While Fox failed to make a sphere like Rabbit could (all he managed to achieve was a thin rectangle before giving up and going back to his knitting, excusing himself with, ‘I’m simply making a strategic retreat. I’d rather not waste time on a craft I can already easily do, and I DON’T have to prove myself to you’), Rabbit had two new toys for the twins to play with. 

After attending the textiles club for weeks, possibly months at this point (he’s losing track of time and he won’t pin it on ‘having fun’), it was finally his time to shine. This week was dedicated to machine sewing. And he was quite excited too when he read the paper instruction hand outs, because the tutorial was for how to make a bag. And not a simple tote bag. A bag with straps, pockets, zippers, and even a flap and button clasp. Perfect as a new schoolbag for Lucy (he had, unfortunately, procrastinated far too long in getting her a new one, and it wasn’t like she was complaining to remind her. This would be a perfect gift for her, no doubt).

In an ideal world, he would have liked to give it to her after she finished school, and give it to her while he, she, and the twins were walking home together. But no, today she wanted to stay for an after school club, and wouldn’t be home until dinner time. 

‘You can’t leave earlier?’ Rabbit had asked her. ‘It gets awfully dark at six. You don’t know what could be lurking about. What about I pick you up at the school gate?’ But she insisted no, she would be fine, and when she started raising her voice to counter his concerns, he backed off. He could have demanded she return earlier, or plan to show up at the gate anyway. He could even demand that she not go at all, and that she come home straight away. 

But he didn’t. And he knows, in a way, that was the right thing to do. But it was eating away at him. Like the foot of the sewing machine, chowing down, gobbling the fabric he passed through it, and vomiting it out the other end. 

“She’s spending less and less time at home,” Rabbit woefully said, lifting his foot off the machine. Since he had reached a corner, he kept the needle in as he lifted the machine’s foot, turning the fabric, before setting the foot back down again and continued sewing. “Going to do this and that, and she doesn’t want me around.”

“That is what children do,” Fox attempted to console, “Rebel against their guardians, fight the government, be liberal, escape from their homes, do substances, get kidnapped and eaten by strangers-”

“You’re making me feel so much better,” Rabbit muttered.

“Perhaps I’m thinking of the wrong age group,” Fox corrected himself, “Lucy is only Simon’s age, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, 9.” Her birthday was coming up, actually. Should he wait to give this bag to her then, or do it tonight? 

“Oh, wrong demographic. I was thinking of teenagers.”

“She’s getting there alright,” Rabbit huffed. “It never gets easier, Fox.”

“Well, she keeps coming back home, doesn’t she?” The canine asked.

“Yeah?” When he reached the end of the track, Rabbit lifted his foot off the pedal again, and this time pulled the fabric out of the machine, cutting the thread with scissors. The lining of the bag was now finished. Instead of picking the flowery fabric, he had looked at the space one, with all the different plants and stars. If you had asked him a year ago, he’d say the flowers would be more fitting for Lucy, as girly as they were. But so many times now she’s expressed her enthusiasm for science. Listening to her was one thing, actually acting on it was another.

He hopes she likes this bag.

“Then you shouldn’t be worried!” Fox claimed, knitting quickly with his needles. Rabbit hadn't asked what he was making yet, but he assumed it might be a pair of wooly gloves, judging by the shape. “She clearly doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. If Lucy hated him, then that would be the worst thing he’d ever have to go through, and he’s certain the two of them weren’t there. “But I want her to like me.”

“What makes you think she doesn’t?”

“She doesn’t spend time with me anymore,” Rabbit, exasperated, turned to Fox, “she goes out of her way to get out of the house, and tells me not to join!”

Fox turned to look at him, tilting his head, “And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know!” He burst out in a tense laugh. “I wouldn’t be complaining to you if I knew why!”

Fox slowed down in his knitting, his eyebrows pinched, as if he actually cared about his problems. A thought passed that mind of his, Rabbit thinks, watching Fox click his tongue inside his mouth before speaking.

“Wanting to be independent doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you, Rabbit,” Fox said. “Considering it's you, I would imagine you were quite overbearing in her childhood.” Still knitting, a row of purls Rabbit soon identified, Fox turned away from him. “She must be testing the waters, now that you’re actually giving her some room to move.”

“So what, if I keep letting her go, she’ll never come back?”

“No.” A gentle ‘no’, he realised. Maybe the gentlest he’s heard from Fox. “It is precisely the fact that you are letting her go now, that she will always come back.”

Fox brightened up as he finished the end of his row, stabbing, strangling, scooping, and throwing off the remaining stitch.

“Children are meant to learn, Rabbit. It’s what they do. Sometimes you just have to throw them out in the wild and let natural selection do its work! All you can do is make sure home is safe to come back to, and they will.”

He is talking to Fox for advice, so he should have known this was the type of stuff he would be told. Mindfully, he will pick and choose the words Fox said to actually consider. 

In the end, he walked home alone with Peter and Emily in their stroller. No Lucy. For the entire afternoon, with Terrapin sitting there with him, he waited for Lucy to come home. He waited, and waited, and waited, while Terrapin started on dinner. He waited, cut some vegetables, and waited. 

And Lucy came through the front door. With a smile, she hugged him, and ate her dinner, telling him all about how during the club, they went out to the school field to map out the distance of the solar system, each kid representing a planet. How afterwards, when it was later in the evening, they had looked through telescopes to see Venus.

He’d given it to her then, her new bag, and she loved it. Its boxy trapezium shape was much better suited for holding the amount of stuff she needed. With pockets for all her loose pencils, a big open space for all her books, complete with a zip to seal it all off, and a flap with a bunny shaped clasp. 

She had also said she loved him, and that she was really thankful that she was her dad. She also mentioned that she wanted to go out with some friends after school later that week. ‘Window shopping’, she said. And even though he saw no point in it, he patted her on the back and said ‘alright.’

So long as she was happy and safe. That was good enough for him. 

Fox didn’t show up today.

It was only until the half hour mark did Rabbit realise he’d been waiting for him. And it was knitting day too. Without Fox, he’d learn how to purl, and even went as far as learning how to increase and decrease his rows. All without a canine to look over his shoulder and berate his skills. Speeding that far meant he wasn’t really confident in either technique, but it was still something he could attempt to take home with him. If he could even bear to pick up the knitting needles. A torturous craft it still is for him, and even though his needles were no longer getting stuck between stitches, he was still so far from getting the uniform tension and speed he was chasing after. 

The thought of Fox lingered in every knit and purl stitch he did. Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its guts, and throw it off a cliff. It was as terrible as it was memorable. The two things went hand in hand with each other. 

‘He’s probably just too busy planning his next move,’ Lucy said over dinner when he mentioned that he ‘hadn’t seen Fox in a while’. It was vegetable stew tonight, the only thing he could think to cook while his mind kept drifting. He had asked her then, if she had heard anything from Simon and Barry, but all she said was, ‘Not much, really. Not about Fox. Buuuuut... they did say Wolf was acting a little off.’

Rabbit remembered then, a thing she had said to him once. Something he didn’t think he’d remember. 

‘Dad, you need to make an effort.’ And, he realises now, she was right. Perhaps not in the way she was thinking, but still, right. Going out of your way for someone, he supposed, would be a turning point if any in a relationship. One option would be to knock on his neighbours door, and investigate that way. But how silly would that be? Of course he wouldn't knock on a wolf’s door. No no, he’s not stupid.

Rabbit ended up knocking on Fox’s door.

That is, after excusing himself from dinner, making sure Terrapin would stay in the house until he got back, walked the entire trek to Fox’s house in the dark, got there (it was as it always was. A house with a garden out front. Said garden he’s stolen vegetables from a number of times. If he looked close enough, that might even be his footprint in the dirt), and knocked on his door.

He didn’t even hesitate to do it. He just did. 

There was no response at first, so he knocked again. Firmer this time. Then, after one beat, and then two, he heard footsteps, accompanied by a familiar fluctuating voice. 

“-I swear Wolf, if you’re not outside with the best apology I’ve ever heard-” there was a heavy sigh, the clearing of a throat, and then the door opened. “Wolf, you-” 

Before Rabbit stood Fox. And before Fox stood Rabbit. Rabbit endured the staring, those leering eyes scanning him up and down. 

“You’re-”

“Not Wolf,” Rabbit scoffed. 

“What, run out of cabbage to steal in my garden?” Fox quipped, “I’m sure if you sink your head deep enough into a hole, you’ll be knocked over by all the cabbage you’ll find inside.”

“Very funny. You weren’t there at textiles club today.”

“Pardon?”

“You weren’t there,” Rabbit repeated, firmer this time, “At textiles club.”

Fox put his hands on his tilted hips. Only then did Rabbit notice what he was wearing. No yellow waist coat, only a rolled up white shirt. No ascot either. Actually, his collar was unbuttoned. With some of that orange fur peaking out. Rabbit didn’t stare too much, averting his gaze. All that meant is that Fox definitely wasn’t expecting guests, and he was so far out of his mind to even consider cleaning himself up before opening the door. Well, Fox wasn’t dirty by any means. Just, clearly a bit disorderly. More hairs out of place than Rabbit has seen before, that's for sure. 

“Miss me that much~?” the canine mused gleefully. 

“Maybe I’m full of myself, but I didn’t think you’d miss out on any chance to torment me,” Rabbit insisted. 

“Oh, perhaps you are,” Fox dismissed him with a wave, glancing away. “As tempting as it is to have you here on my doorstep, just waiting to be ensnared, I can assure you I have no interest in quarreling with anyone.”

“So you’re losing your touch, is that it?” Rabbit challenged. 

Slowly, like a creaking door, Fox turned his head to eye him.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“No,” Rabbit muttered with a dry laugh, “I came to check up on you.”

“And I’ve been checked up on. So why don’t you hurry along?” Fox raised his hand to clavicle level and wiggled his fingers, his wrist limp.

“Why didn’t you show up today?”

“I just told you, I have no interest in quarreling-”

“Why?”

In a bold move, Rabbit made himself at home. He folded his arms and leant on Fox’s door frame, adjusting his position so that he wasn’t even facing the predator head on. 

There was a moment where all he could hear were crickets and the night breeze, shifting and rustling through the trees.

“If you’re so incessant on bothering me,” Fox finally said, “Why don’t you come inside for a nice cup of tea?”

“Just because I knocked on your door doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to walk inside.” Rabbit glanced over at the small table and two chairs by the garden, “But I’ll take the tea, thanks.”

“Of course,” Fox huffed, turning away and into his kitchen, wherever it was in that house. “Now if only poison didn’t ruin your taste…”

Rabbit was there waiting for Fox when he came back, with of course, a tray with a piping hot teapot and tea cups. It was some kind of antique set, he’s sure, and Fox quickly filled him in while pouring. 

“It’s an heirloom from my great grandmama. I never knew her, but my mother always said she liked to steam the bones of her prey in with the tea. It gives it this vibrant red colour that you just can’t get from something like hongcha.”

“Any rabbit bones in there?” he had to ask. Unwittingly, he leaned back on the chair fully and set his feet on the table. Fox grimaced at his poor modesty, but the cost was that it would take him an extra few seconds to run away. A worthy price, just to peeve Fox. 

“Not that I’m aware, no. But don’t fret, you could be the first!” Rabbit then decided not to drink any tea. He simply cradled the cup in his hands, appreciating the warmth on the rather brisk night. 

“So what happened and what does Wolf have to do with it?” Rabbit finally asked. 

“Jumping to conclusions?” Fox asked, taking a seat opposite him. Prim and proper as always, with his back straight, unlike Rabbit’s slouch and kicked back feet.

“His children are chatty,” is all he offered back. The canine rolled his eyes, politely raising the tea cup to his mouth and taking a discrete sip.

“Me and Wolf had a disagreement, and not the good kind.”

Against the laws of nature, Rabbit prodded.

“Not the good kind?”

“Well~” And there it was. The reason why Rabbit shouldn’t have said anything, or even came here. The way Fox’s eyes rolled more toward the back of his head than to the side, the way his body seemed to immediately melt, “-When that Wolf gets angry, those big, strong arms of his, and that jaw, oh-” he doesn't like the way Fox moaned, “-sometimes being a bit of a chew toy isn’t so bad~” 

Rabbit wanted to hurl. To rip his ears off because that- that was some kind of verbal assault he wasn’t prepared for. He shouldn't have given into the curiosity. 

“But no, this disagreement was not like that. Not even close. Shame, really.” Rabbit withheld himself from saying ‘that's how disagreements are supposed to be’. They’re not supposed to end in… well… that. 

“Uh huh, do I even want to know what it was about?”

“No, because it doesn’t concern you,” Fox scoffed. “All that matters is that it set me off and now I’m put off from going outside.” After another quick sip of tea, Fox murmured, “I suppose I have that to thank you for, pulling me out of my rotting on the sofa.”

“Don’t mention it,” Rabbit said. 

“Wolf hasn’t even attempted once to apologise,” the canine complained, “It’s just been me here all on my lonesome.”

“I can tell.” If Wolf had come over, then this whole issue wouldn’t even be, well, an issue any longer. “Has it occurred to you that, maybe you’re the one who needs to make the first move?”

“Me?” Fox placed a hand on his chest, “Why on earth would I do that? If he wants our relationship to mend itself then he’ll have to work for it.”

“Okay and, so you don’t care about getting back together then?”

“Of course not.”

It was then, Rabbit wanted to make a comment about Fox’s relationship with the family of wolves. It was terrifyingly inconsistent. From how he spoke about them to what he did in action, it was a convoluted mess. A mess, Rabbit reminded himself, that was actually none of his business. Not something he wanted to dwell on. Yet here he was, right in the middle of it. In fact, he had purposefully burrowed his way into it, all the way into the fox’s den. 

“So, if you and Wolf never got back together, you wouldn’t care.”

“No.”

“Like how you’re not caring right now.”

“Exactly. See? You get it.”

No, he doesn’t. None of this makes any sense. A blunter approach was in order.

“You say you don’t care, but two minutes ago you were moaning about being his chew toy.”

“A fox can have needs and have them separate from actual attachment,” Fox insisted, making Rabbit gag outwardly. Really, he couldn’t help it. And it was worse how Fox didn’t even seem to notice what he was saying wasn’t appropriate. Prude, is what he felt as though he was being. But justified, he reasoned. 

“Did you end up giving Simon that new beanie?” Rabbit tried instead, attempting a different approach.

Did it work? He’s not sure. Fox just paused, his tail no longer swishing in the air below him, his fingers still against the tea cup.

“Yes,” he said, “But the ungrateful pup said it was itchy and didn’t like it.”

“Ah,” Rabbit said plainly, but also finding a little empathy. Only because he’d watched a fraction of Fox’s progress on it. “That must have hurt.”

“It did!” Fox whined- he whined, letting go of the tea cup completely and folding his arms. “Wolf said he appreciated the gesture, but then went on to say Simon would probably end up never wearing it! And, before you even ask, Barry did not like the tie dye shirt. He said it ‘didn’t look like what he thought it would’, whatever that is even supposed to mean.”

“So all your hard work went to nothing.”

At that, Fox groaned, leaning his head back. 

“I can’t believe you get it, and it only took you five minutes!” Asking the right questions gives straight forward answers, Rabbit thought to himself, a bit confused, but understanding that whatever dialogue this path was going on was probably the right one. “No wonder your wife married you.”

… No longer the right path. 

Rabbit sat with himself in the silence, staring at Fox. The way his snout closed after saying that. How the predator lifted his head back toward him, with a blank expression. 

“Hm, I don’t think I ever told you,” Fox mused.

“What?” Rabbit asked. 

“I’m sorry.” The blood thirsty predator, Fox, nursed the tea cup in his hands. “For what happened to her.”

Rabbit’s shoulder tensed, his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t say that.” A sharp exhale. “Don’t say that, like you haven’t been trying to kill me this entire time.”

“I did quite like her,” The predator continued, ignoring his words “a nice rabbit she was, back while we were in school. A bright mind. I still remember when we tied in English in our final year.”

“Stop talking.”

“I didn’t understand why she picked you, but I suppose now I do. Rebec-”

Rabbit stood up, slamming his hands on the table. It creaked and shuddered under the sudden weight, the tea jostling in the cups. 

“Get her name out of your mouth.”

Fox was calm, when he set his teacup back down on the table. He was calm, when he leaned back, his spine against the back of the chair. A hand met his chin and jaw, trailing the underside. 

“You would make a good predator, if you weren’t a rabbit.”

Rabbit seethed, the words digging into his head. “And what does that mean?”

“It means,” Fox said, “You’re not afraid to fight back. Fierce even, when pushed in just the wrong way.”

“Then you would be typical prey, if you weren’t a Fox,” he countered. 

“Oh?”

After sitting back down, he said, “If something doesn’t go your way, you run and cry about it.”

The bristles on Fox’s neck and tail raised, but he didn’t move, he didn’t budge, he only stared.

Then he laughed. A snicker at first, malicious throughout, and then a cackle, and finally a howling laugh.

“Ohhh Rabbit~! What bark you have!” In delight, the canine kicked his feet and his tail trashed, his snout flashing his teeth as he cried out, “If only you had some bite in you too!”

The sigh that came out of Rabbit then couldn’t be one of relief, but he felt a little tension in his shoulder wash away with it. Though his muscles ached from how long he’d been ready to pounce away, or pounce at Fox. Either or, the adrenaline was still there. 

“You should talk to Wolf,” Rabbit said, not caring if his advice was good or not. He wasn’t a licensed professional, and Fox should know this. “It’s not going to go your way unless you talk to him.”

“But I don’t care.”

“You do.” In his own, messed up way, Fox cared. Co-existing with that observation, Rabbit can't see it being anything more than superficial. Fox cared, because he must need Wolf in some way, and now that he doesn't have him, he's all out of sorts. Retreating, fleeing, because things haven't gone his way. He'd be hard pressed to believe genuine affection was involved here, and he would think the canine would agree.

Fox merely sipped his tea, deciding not to argue anymore on that. 

“Tell me, Rabbit, why are you really here?”

“To check up on you.” But since that wouldn’t be accepted as an answer anymore than when he first said it, then he brought himself to add, “Because that's what friends do.” Rabbit sunk in his chair, letting out another exhale. “Isn’t it?”

Expectedly, Fox froze up. His teacup lingering idly in his hands, no doubt empty if it wasn’t already (it was so tiny, the ornate porcelain).

“Friends?”

“We spend three hours a week talking about useless jargon,” Rabbit replied, "Acquaintances, I thought. But I think what happened just now crossed some kind of boundary.” More like several boundaries. And both he and Fox were still unmaimed. It would be great if that stayed that way. 

Rabbit watched intently as Fox pinched the bridge of his snout, between his eyes, and let out a helpless groan.

“My mother was right,” he spluttered, “I am getting soft.” Rabbit would have taunted him then, but Fox stood up. “Alright, get up, I’m going to chase you.”

“Huh?” Refusing the demand, he stayed put.

“Yes yes,” Fox insisted, “You’re going to run away now and I’m going to hunt you down and kill you."

“I don’t think so.”

“Yes?” The canine shook his head, probably shooting himself in the foot for how he worked that like a question. “Yes, this is what's going to happen.”

“No it isn’t.” Rabbit leaned back in the chair, propping his hands behind his head.

“Go, run along now-” Fox pointed out to the woodland path.

“No.” He kicked his feet back.

“No?” The canine faltered, staring at him. 

“No-” 

The predator pounced forward and gekkered. His mouth curled to reveal his sharpest teeth, his eyes piercing and sharp, angled down right at him- his claws gripped the table, his claws threatening to cut through.

Rabbit didn’t move. 

It was a wild bet, really, but he really did believe in it. 

When things didn’t go his way, he ran, and cried. And Fox proved him right. 

After far too long of a wait, Fox finally stopped, his face falling flat. He recoiled, yanking his claws out from where he dug them into the table, and- Rabbit couldn’t believe this, started muttering curses under his breath. 

“Rabbit, you’re not giving me anything to work with!” He screeched, fuming, his lid blowing right off as he snapped back toward him. 

“And I’m supposed to?”

“Yes!?” Fox threw his hands out, gesturing wildly, “Just because I said you would be a good predator didn’t mean you should disregard me! Me! An actual predator!” You’re not acting like one, Rabbit thought, undeniably amused. But he knew saying that would be crossing yet another boundary. “I don’t like this,” Fox confessed, blurting it out into the open for anyone to hear, “Go off back to your house-!”

“No, actually, I think you should sit down.”

“Like I would listen to you!”

“Sit down.” He even gestured to Fox’s open seat, as if the canine couldn’t see it. He grinned, watching Fox’s tail flicker, his ears twitching, his mouth curling and strained. Fists balled too, but they didn’t go anywhere. 

“Sit down,” he repeated.

Fox did not in fact, sit down (Rabbit knew he had been pushing it. It didn’t surprise him that a demand from prey would certainly not stand in Fox’s books). He stayed standing, but made no moves to attack him, His hands very much kept to himself, and his legs not in any kind of formation to pounce. He was stiff, if anything. 

“I will not.”

“Fine by me then,” Rabbit shrugged. As quickly as Fox had snapped, he reset himself. He watched it before his own eyes, the way the canine rolled his shoulder’s back, smoothed out his tail, and corrected his imbalanced collar. The final touch was batting his eyelashes and picking up the teapot. 

“Would you like some more tea?” He asked pleasantly, with the tone of someone who was going to dump the piping hot liquid onto their guest. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” And he poured more tea for himself. 

Rabbit, in the end, didn’t stay much longer than that. After all, he did need to get back home before it got too dark. Fox, of course, attempted to get him to stay. A really bad attempt to try and murder him, but, well, Rabbit would have been confused if Fox didn’t try one last time. Rabbit was not chased out of the garden at least. ‘I’ve been wounded enough for one night, another defeat is something I cannot take’ Fox had said. ‘Go on. I’ll catch you another day’

Or, he’d see him at the next textiles club meeting. Whichever came first. 

As it turns out, he did in fact see Fox again during one of his really bad attempts to catch him. But Wolf was there, going along with Fox’s plans again, so good to know that that issue was well and solved. 

Today was general embroidery techniques, and it was here he finally learned how to do that so called ‘backstiching’ he remembered the sheep with glasses mentioned to him all the way back. As it turns out, it was the easiest thing he’s ever had to learn, along with the satin stitch, french knot, chain stitch- and eventually the sheep handed him a book of embroidery techniques and designs, telling him to borrow it from the library and ‘go crazy!’. 

Beside him, as always, Fox had his knitting needles. But this time, he wasn’t, erm, knitting anything. 

For the most part he had just chatted with Rabbit, talking about how yes, he and Wolf had made up- going on to describe in unnecessary detail how the make up was very satisfactory, and that if he knew that was how the conflict would end then he would have ended it much sooner. The only thing stopping Rabbit from grabbing Fox’s snout shut was his keenness to keep embroidering. Right now, he was sewing the orange fur of a very ugly fox. Something he’ll turn into a pin cushion. He had an abundance of needles that needed a home. 

“You could knit something for Wolf,” He suggested lamely, “You know, as a thank you gift.” For that apparently exceptional time Fox had. 

“No no, we will consider that his apology gift. Besides, I already made him a pair of gloves the other day, I even accommodated holes so his claws wouldn’t poke through and damage my hard work!”

“Thoughtful.”

“As always- you know, speaking of Wolf, I finally managed to get him for brunch and tea! Even convinced him to try chamomile.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the canine said, as if speaking in front of a crowd. He supposed it would be Fox if he wasn't constantly full of himself.

“Well what about making something for Barry, then?” Rabbit offered, knowing it was pointless. A dumb idea, really, considering what he knew of the pups. “Maybe he would appreciate a hat better than Simon. Or another tie dye shirt.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Fox huffed.

“Scary, you’re getting smarter by the day.”

Despite being under the penetrating glare of Fox, Rabbit’s needle continued to effortlessly slide in and out of the fabric. Yes, Fox knew he was embroidering him. And yes, Fox knew what it was going to be for. He’d actually laughed when he told him. 

“Cable knit scarf it is!” Fox settled to say. “For myself.”

“Good for you.”

“Yes, very good for me. I’ll make it green too.”

Rabbit had to assume right then and there that Fox had brought all the colours of the rainbow in that shoulder bag with him, because after a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a nice sage green.

“Compliments your fur,” he mindlessly said. 

“Dear, if you keep talking like that, Wolf will have some competition.”

Like a creaking door, Rabbit turned his head away, his eyes squinted as he attempted to forget what Fox had said. He’s not sure if he wanted to hear that, and that's what scares him, the fact that what he felt wasn’t a firm repulse. 

“Just teasing~!” Fox quipped, noticing his reaction. Yeah, and he hopes so. 

He wouldn’t say the novelty of watching Fox work his knitting has died off, but it was less bewildering than it used to be, now that he knew the technique behind it. Except, the way Fox was casting on his stitches was much different than how the sheep taught him.

“There are several ways to cast on. The sheep here probably taught you the long tail cast on.” His left hand was in an L shape, his index finger and thumb sticking out. Yarn was threaded and guided through his curled fingers, and wrapped around his index finger to make a loop, and when he stabbed through the loop, pulling the yarn off, a cast on stitch was made. 

“And you do it this way because…?”

“Personally, this way is much quicker and easier. And also-” Fox held his left hand closer to Rabbit, the L shape still firm. “I like to think this is a gun.”

Ah. Right. There it is. That homicidal tendency Rabbit was missing from his weekly routine.  

“An L shape.”
“A gun.”

“A finger gun.” There was a definitive difference. A finger gun didn’t actually look like a gun. It was an upside down gun, if anything. Inaccuracies aside, something that makes you say ‘pew pew’ when you gesture it to someone had to inevitably be referred to as such, 

“Close enough! Well done! You’ve proven yourself to be capable of learning after all this time.” The more and more Rabbit and Fox learned about each other, and the more time they spent, the less these kinds of half-witted and jabby insults actually had an impact. Because no, Rabbit has been proving he is capable of learning this entire time. 

“The progress of a student is reliant on its teacher.” Again, another insult with no impact, because Fox proved himself to be a good teacher over these past few weeks. Better than Rabbit is comfortable with. 

A heavy exhale left Fox, and he glanced at his knitting needles. 

“I could, you know, just stab you with these?”

“Oh I know,” Rabbit said, “But you won’t.”

“Maybe tonight,” Fox proposed, lifting his head up slightly, genuinely considering it, “I’ll sneak into your house and gouge out your eyes.” Rabbit would beat him to it, metaphorically, by stabbing this embroidered version of Fox with all the pins he could find. 

“See you tonight then. Make sure to close the window behind you. I’d like the warm air to stay inside.”

Bitterly, Fox resumed casting on, chittering under his breath how ‘he would do a lot of things to go back to the early days when Rabbit was still new to the club’. 

An overwhelming success for Rabbit. He thinks he’s finally proved his point.