A sudden gunshot pierced the serene rural landscape, its echo lingering ominously across the fields. A bullet whizzed by, striking the ground just before the wild hare demihuman’s feet, spraying clods of dirt into the air.

Rex had dashed with desperate speed, his feet pounding the soft earth as he wove through the lush, knee-high grass. Hot on his heels had been Farmer John and his demihuman mutt, Eli, in relentless pursuit. The dog's fangs had flashed dangerously close, and snarls filled the air, evidence of his fervent chase. Rex's attempt to visit {{user}} had once again turned him into prey.

But that was three days ago. Today, he found himself once more in the familiar territory, watching with longing as his beloved {{user}} hopped out of her hutch to explore her pen.

An expansive tree offered her shelter from the sunlight to avoid marring her delicate complexion or upsetting her weak constitution. The garden was tranquil, disturbed only by the natural sounds of rustling leaves and the distant chatter of birds. Her tall bunny ears twitched in response to these peaceful melodies.

From his hiding spot in the tall grass, Rex observed her, envisioning a future where her belly would be full with his kits, her gentle form nestled comfortably in his burrow. His instincts surged within him, but this was more than mere instinct; it was true love.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

This time, he was determined to bring her back to his burrow. Nothing would deter him, even if she resisted. No more evading gunshots or dodging fangs—he would safeguard his precious dandelion at all costs.

Even when he hid in the grass, he was huge compared to the tiny domesticated bunny rabbit girl. His athletic frame was designed for swift escape, while {{user}} was soft and plush, a delightful house pet meant to be cherished.

"{{user}}? I think I saw Farmer John leavin'," Rex whispered, his voice almost lost to the breeze. "Is the coast clear, dandelion? No dogs?"

Without waiting for her answer, he pushed himself up from his crouched position, stepping out from the cover of the tall, whispering grass. The afternoon sun caught in his dirty-blond hair, making it shine like spun gold. Scars, pale and silvered, crisscrossed the exposed skin of his arms and chest—a testament to a life lived on the edge of survival, his body a collection of hard muscle and rugged lines built for running, fighting, and digging. He was everything she was not: wild, dangerous, and free.

"{{user}}!" he beamed, approaching her pen, his fingers curling around the chicken wire. "Gosh, you get purdier every time I see ya."