I was never the smart one. Or the strong one. Or the handsome one. Or the clever one.
I was just Hogan. The guy who cut wood.
When I was a boy, the other kids practiced swordplay with wooden props and sticks, swinging them around like they were knights or heroes from old stories. I wanted to join them.
But my dad never let me.
"If you ever get in a fight, don't fight," he'd say, sitting in his armchair, pipe in hand, eyes lost in some distant memory. "It's never worth it."
So I did what I was allowed to do.
I cut wood.
I learned the weight of an axe before I even knew my own strength. My shoulders burned with every swing. My forearms ached with every chop. My bones creaked with every slice. I cut down trees. I split them into logs. I carved them into firewood for travelers or planks for carpenters.
Maybe I wasn't meant to be smart. Or strong. Or important.
Maybe I was just meant to cut wood.
And I did.
Until people stopped coming.
Until the forest grew quiet, and my father closed the business, retreating into his cottage like the rest of the world didn't exist. Three years passed in that silence. We barely spoke. I didn't even have to cut wood anymore.
The pigs needed tending. The vegetables needed watering. But it all felt… empty.
Then, one day, he was just gone.
I knocked on his door. There was no response. I opened it and there was no one. No letter. No last words. After 3 days and he didn't come back, he became dead to me.
I should have felt something more. But mostly, I just felt lost.
That's when I started talking to the animals.
It started with Bacon. I told him how frustrated I was, how unfair everything felt. He just sat there, listening. No judgment. No words. Just there.
Maybe, somehow, he understood me.
The other pigs came next. Then birds. Then rabbits. It was like I had become something different—someone they weren't afraid of. They trusted me. Rested near me. Listened.
Maybe I didn't need to be the greatest lumberjack the world had ever seen.
Maybe I just needed to be Hogan.
Maybe I just needed to do something meaningful and have a group of people beside me you call friends and keep them close.
So, to recap.
I, Hogan, joined a group of knights and an elf to head toward PrideFall, tried (and failed) to cross a ravine filled with man-eating spiders… and now?
Now I was sprinting through a tunnel in that same ravine, with a little girl, a wolf, and my pet pig, all of us trying not to get eaten.
The spiders snapped at our heels. Their mandibles clicked, their red eyes glowing in the dim light. The venomous ones dripped poison from their fangs, their twitching, hairy legs skittering too close for comfort.
Meili ran with everything she had. Bacon kept pace, his little hooves kicking up dirt. I led the way while Silver held the rear, snapping at anything that got too close.
Then the light started fading.
The deeper we ran, the less sunlight reached us. The only illumination came from the eerie glint of spider eyes reflecting in the dark.
Seven spiders.
Then four.
Then two.
Then one.
The tunnel opened up into a part of the forest I didn't recognize. The space was wider than I expected—large enough that sunlight could pierce through the rocky exit in eerie, golden rays. We burst out, lungs burning, feet pounding—
And then, suddenly, we weren't being chased anymore.
The last spider stopped.
It hesitated at the tunnel's edge, clicking its mandibles, glancing back like it had expected more to follow. But when it saw it was alone…
It turned and scuttled back into the dark.
Like it refused to go any further.
I finally took in our surroundings.
Something was off.
This part of the forest didn't feel like the rest. The grass was strangely low, like something constantly kept it trimmed. A single willow tree stood in the center of a cleared patch of earth, its long branches swaying even though there was no wind. The air felt… heavier.
Still.
Silver padded forward cautiously. Meili's breathing was ragged, but she slowly straightened, looking around. Even Bacon, normally restless, stayed close to her side.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then—
"Hello, buddy," Meili said softly.
I turned toward her.
A single white rabbit sat on the ground. It hadn't been there before.
It tilted its head at Meili, staring—not scared, not curious. Just watching.
A chill ran up my spine.
Something about this place wasn't right.
I turned to call everyone back—
And then something hit me. Literally.
A blur slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind clean out of me. My mind fuzzed. Pain registered a second too late. I staggered, choking on air, trying to regain my balance—
Another kick snapped into my jaw.
I didn't even see it coming.
I hit the ground hard. My ears rang. The world spun.
"Hogan!" Meili's voice, panicked. Footsteps—light but fast—moving away.
Then I felt bodies pressing around me.
Silver. Meili. Bacon. Huddling close, guarding me. Silver's fur bristled, her growl deep. Bacon let out a snort, ready to charge.
Whoever attacked me hesitated.
Finally, a voice—sharp, clipped, like the words didn't come naturally.
"What is a human doing here?"
I blinked, vision still swimming.
And for the first time, I got a good look at her.
Strange was an understatement.
She had paws instead of feet—flat, fur-covered paws with four digits. Her legs were short but dense with muscle, the fur a deep brown. And her face...
It was like someone had merged a human and a rabbit together.
Her head was oval-shaped, her ears short and twitching. From her cheekbones up, her fur was a light brown shade, but from her small black nose down, the skin was bare and dark. Large green eyes studied us with open distrust.
She wasn't tall—barely reaching my ribs.
Didn't look like much of a threat.
Then she crouched.
The tendons in her legs tensed like coiled springs, muscles flexing in a way that made it very clear she was about to attack again.
I understood now.
She was built for speed. For power.
"It's okay, guys," I chuckled weakly, brushing off my friends. I straightened, locking eyes with her.
Her distrust sharpened—
Then she lunged.
I barely dodged, sidestepping as she closed the distance in a single bound.
I turned just in time to see her land, rebounding off the ground, already sending another kick my way.
I raised my arm to block. The impact shook me to my bones. If I hadn't spent years strengthening my forearms with an axe, it probably would have snapped.
"Hey!" Meili yelled, grabbing a stick like she was ready to swing.
But before she could do anything, the rabbit-woman clicked her teeth together sharply—
And the forest moved.
Bunnies of every color—brown, caramel, black, white, even mottled ones—emerged. Dozens of them.
They surged between us, cutting off Meili, Bacon, and Silver. Some snapped at Bacon's legs. A few leapt at Silver, forcing the wolf back.
Meili froze, wide-eyed. "What—"
"I've got this," I cut in, gripping my axe tightly.
This was my fight.
This was my chance to prove I could protect them.
She struck again.
I softened the blow by using the base of my axe to absorb the impact, sending her flying backward. But instead of landing, she rebounded off a tree and launched herself straight back at me.
Not touching the ground. Not slowing down.
Her kick came fast. I dodged—then another one came. I absorbed it with my arms, knocking her off.
Then another. And another.
She was relentless, attacking over and over.
I blocked. Redirected. Took the hits when I had to.
Until finally—
I dropped to one knee.
Bruised. Breathing hard.
She stood over me, distaste flickering in her expression.
"Why don't you just use the sharp end of your axe and cut me down?" she scoffed. "You've had plenty of chances."
I exhaled, shaking my head. "Because you don't want to kill me." I met her eyes. "And I don't want to kill you either."
She tilted her head. Confused.
I pushed myself to my feet. "We weren't looking for a fight. We were running from the spiders. We've intruded in your territory, and we apologize. But we don't want trouble."
She didn't speak. Just stared, studying me, then the others.
Then, with a sharp breath, she huffed in frustration.
After a beat, she stretched out her hand—reluctantly.
I grasped it.
Her grip was firm.
Stronger than I expected.
She pulled me up like I weighed nothing.
"See that clearing over there?"
She pointed toward the open space beneath the willow tree.
Now that I was really looking at it, something felt off. The grass there was shorter than the rest of the field, as if it had only just started growing back. Like something had kept it bare for a long time.
"Man came," she said, voice flat. "I don't remember when. But he killed rabbits." She paused. "Twenty-eight of them. For tests. In anger. For fun."
Then she gestured around us. "This is the Grove of Memory. This is where we remember our fallen friends. And where we remember what humans did to us."
I saw it now.
She wasn't just protecting herself.
She was protecting them—the rabbits scuttling between tufts of grass, their small bodies pressed close together. This wasn't just a group. This was her family.
"Are you a rabbit too?" Meili peeked from behind my legs, voice small.
"I… I don't know."
Doubt crept into her voice, barely noticeable, but it was there.
"What I do know is that these are my friends. My children. And I am their protector. I will let no harm come upon them."
"We promise not to harm you, or your friends," I said, lowering myself into a bow. It was the only gesture I could think of to show that we meant no threat to this strange but strong woman. . . thing.
The red sun dipped lower toward the horizon. The willow's long shadows stretched over the clearing.
She watched me carefully, then gave a short, gruff nod. "Fine. You can rest here."
I exhaled.
"The spiders get bolder at night," she added. "But they won't be a problem with me around."
"You don't need to tell me that," I said, trying to crack a joke, rubbing the back of my neck.
She didn't laugh.