Rabbit Guardian of The Glen—Short Story by Victoria Beata

In a glen, kissed by the dew and the light of a bashful sun, there lived a magician named Rabbit. He was not just any rabbit but one with a cloak woven from the whispers of the night. Rabbit had an important role in the glen, for he was its guardian, a keeper of secrets and a weaver of spells, and he knew every twist and twirl of the bluebell woods.

"Now, my little saplings," Rabbit would begin, speaking to the gathered kits and calves of the forest under the arching boughs of an old oak, "the tale I tell tonight is not just a story, but a breath of our very world."

Rabbit's eyes twinkled like the stars above as he hopped onto his favourite stump, cleared his throat, and adjusted his hat with a paw. "In the days when the bluebells first carpeted our glen, they brought with them magic from a realm delicate and wild. This magic," he said with a solemn nod, "is still among us, woven into the very roots of the bluebells."

The young ones shuffled closer, their eyes wide with wonder. "But beware," Rabbit continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "for this magic is guarded by the fairies, those little folk who dance in the shadows and play melodies on spiderweb harps."

He paused dramatically, his whiskers twitching. "And so, as the guardian of our glen, it fell upon me to meet these fairies and secure their blessing."

"Did they grant it?" piped up a small fawn, barely able to contain his excitement.

Rabbit chuckled, a sound like the rustling of dry leaves. "Ah, it was not so easy. For the fairies are tricksy, and they asked of me three tasks."

The kits and calves leaned in, and their ears perked in anticipation. Rabbit leaned forward, his cloak spreading around him like a pool of shadow. "First, I had to find the dewdrop that held the first light of dawn; second, I had to fetch a feather from the blue jay who never lands; and third, I was to bring back a whisper from the mountain that speaks to the stars."

The assembly gasped, wondering how such feats could be done. Rabbit's nose twitched with pride. "With a flick of my wand and a hop of bravery, I journeyed beyond our glen, using my wits and the help of my woodland friends."

"And did you succeed?" asked a young rabbit, her eyes round as saucers.

"With each task completed, the fairies danced and laughed, realising I was a true guardian of the glen, worthy of their trust. They blessed our bluebells, weaving in protections so that all who walk with kindness under their blooms would be shielded from harm."

"But," Rabbit added, his voice stern yet kind, "they also warned that those who take lightly the power of the bluebells, seeking to harm or deceive, would find themselves turned about and lost, perhaps forever."

The young ones nodded, understanding the gravity of their guardian’s words. "And so," Rabbit concluded, "we must always respect the bluebells, our forest, and all its creatures. For we are all threads in the same tapestry, spun with magic and moonlight."

As the moon rose, casting silvery light over the glen, the children of the forest felt a new reverence for their home and its guardian, Rabbit, who had ensured the magic of the bluebells would protect them, just so.