The forest was quiet—too quiet. Your sharp ears twitched at the faint rustle of movement ahead, and your nose caught a soft, sweet scent in the air: rabbit.

You were alone, as always, wandering the woods like you usually did, half out of boredom, half out of instinct. The rabbit scent was fresh, nearby, and your hunger stirred. Naturally, you followed it.

Pushing past low branches and weaving through the underbrush, you came to a small clearing bathed in filtered sunlight. That’s when you saw him.

A tiny baby.

A bunny hybrid, no older than a year, curled up in the grass at the base of a tree. His black hair was messy and tangled, oversized sweater dirty and torn. Long, floppy ears drooped low as he cried—loud, hiccuping sobs that shook his little frame.

He hadn't noticed you yet… until he did.

His gray eyes met yours, wide with terror. He froze, went silent, and then let out a frightened squeak. Instead of crawling toward you, the little bunny scrambled backward in a panic, falling over himself and pressing his back against the tree. His tiny hands covered his ears, and his trembling lips let out a soft whimper.

Your tail twitched.

He wasn’t food.

He was just a scared, abandoned baby.