Chapter Text
The small gray rabbit opens his eyes for the first time.
The light is diffuse, a warm flicker he does not understand. Born fifth—unknown to him—his body responds only to hunger. He crawls clumsily through his mother’s fur, driven by instinct alone. He neither recognizes nor needs his siblings. His world is reduced to his heartbeat and the need to feed.
Five.
That is what the world would call him, if he could hear.
His muzzle finds warmth, milk, and survival. He clings with a silent, almost fierce determination for such a small body. While the others fidget, step over one another, and emit weak squeaks, he concentrates. He eats. He rests. He eats again. There is no curiosity yet; only a stubborn will to keep existing.
Time passes the way seasons pass underground: unnoticed.
Bodies grow. Fur thickens. Senses awaken. The burrow, which was once everything, begins to feel narrow. There are stronger shoves, clumsy games, and small disputes without malice. Five observes more than he participates. He quickly learns which sound belongs to his mother, which announces danger, and which means nothing at all.
When the large litter leaves the burrow for the first time, the world explodes.
The grass is too green. The sky, an immense expanse pressing over his head. Smells arrive all at once: damp earth, bitten leaves, cold air. His siblings jump without thinking, run, chase one another, and stray farther than is prudent.
Five does not.
He stays just behind, body low, ears tense. His eyes scan quickly, calculating. Every shadow is judged; every sound assessed. He is cautious, not fearful, sensing beauty and cruelty in the world.
The mother rabbit signals with small taps how far they can go, though none of them understand.
The others ignore the warning.
Five follows it.
He takes a short, measured hop. Test the ground before advancing. When a sudden noise shakes the nearby bushes, he is already turning, ready to return to the burrow. His siblings startle too late, crash into one another, laugh in that silent language only rabbits know.
Five watches them scramble back, and when everything settles again, he is the first to lift his head.
He learns.
He learns that surviving is not about running faster, but about knowing when to stop running. He learns to memorize routes, count exits, and recognize the dangerous silence. While the litter grows strong and curious, he grows alert.
And without knowing it, the small gray rabbit begins to become something different.
Not the biggest.
Not the loudest.
But the one who always looks twice before taking the next leap.
Time passes, and Five grows with the same caution that defines him.
One day, when sunlight filters through the leaves and the air smells different, he decides to go beyond his familiar routes. He advances slowly, stopping every few hops, listening. The ground changes beneath his paws until the world opens into a wide clearing, bathed in light. Very close by, a field of lilacs sways gently, filling everything with a sweet, lingering scent.
Five freezes.
There he sees her.
A small rabbit plays among the flowers, rolls over the grass, and jumps without measuring distances. Five watches her with intense, attentive eyes.
Too exposed, he thinks instantly.
The scent does not lie: she is female. Her fur is dark brown, shining under the sun, beautiful in a way that unsettles him. Her eyes, also brown, reflect the light when she lies among the lilacs, as if the world hides no threats. Then she jumps again, carefree.
She is going to draw attention from more than just me, Five thinks, uneasy.
He should leave.
And yet, he does not.
He approaches cautiously, step by step, body low, ready to flee if necessary. Every muscle is tense. The doe, instead, stops suddenly. Her ears lift, alert to the sound, the scents, the change in the air. Her senses work fast, almost as fast as Five’s.
Then she sees him.
And instead of fleeing, she hops toward him with joy.
It has been a long time since she has lived with other rabbits, since she left her own litter. Solitude has not made her distrustful; it has made her curious.
Lila.
Her presence is a whirlwind. Too effusive, too playful for Five’s taste.
Unpredictable, he concludes at once. Dangerous through carelessness.
And yet, there is something about her that keeps him where he is. Something that does not trigger that fierce impulse to bolt.
Lila comes closer and sniffs him without shame. She senses his tension, his constant attention, his rigidity. He seems like a strange rabbit to her: too alert, not playful enough, as if he is always waiting for the world to collapse.
But she does not leave.
She stays.
With a light hop, she circles him, inviting him to move, to run, to exist without calculations. Her energy fills the clearing like the scent of lilacs.
Five does not move immediately.
I shouldn’t, he thinks.
The day advances without Five fully noticing.
The light changes, softens, tilts. The air cools slightly. Five realizes the hour out of habit, not from tiredness.
It’s late, he thinks. Too late to keep being here.
He has spent more time with Lila than he planned. Much more. Constant corrections to his mental routes, brief games he refuses to call games, shared silences among the lilacs. It is… pleasant. The idea unsettles him.
He must return to his colony.
He approaches Lila carefully, as if any sudden movement might break something fragile. He sniffs her nose in a brief, intimate gesture, a clear farewell in their language. Then he begins to retreat, taking short, measured hops.
He does not get far.
When he turns his head, Five realizes Lila is following him.
He stops dead. His ears tense. He rises onto his hind legs, lifting his body, firm, signaling that she must stay. There is no aggression in the gesture, only a silent, precise order.
No, he thinks.
Lila tilts her head. Her brown eyes shine with misunderstood excitement. To her, the gesture is not a warning, but a different kind of invitation.
She thinks I want to play more. Five understands, with a mix of frustration and something he cannot name.
He sighs— or the closest thing a rabbit can do— and resumes walking. Lila follows without hesitation, hopping at his side, as if the path already belongs to her.
Five evaluates all possibilities.
Leaving her behind will not work. Scaring her off would be cruel. And… dangerous for her alone.
He has no choice.
He brings her with him, turning her, without words, into a new member of the colony.
When they arrive, the rest of his siblings approach. They sniff Lila with curiosity, surrounding her. She remains calm, receptive, showing no fear. The colony decides quickly, as rabbits do: they accept her immediately.
Five watches from a little farther back.
Too easy, he thinks.
As always, when night falls, Five heads to the secluded part of the burrow. The quietest, safest corner. He lies down alone, alert even at rest.
Not for long.
Lila appears and, without asking permission, curls up beside him, settling against his flank with absolute naturalness. She prepares to sleep as if that place has always been hers.
Five blinks, startled.
Bad idea, he thinks. Very bad idea.
But he does not move away.
Lila’s warmth is comforting. Her breathing is calm, steady. For the first time in a long while, the silence does not seem threatening. It feels… good.
Five lets his eyes close.
Together, they sleep.
The months pass quietly, but leave their mark.
Five and Lila share days full of movement. Games that begin as races and end in chaotic chases. Jumps that are not meant to flee, but to catch each other. They dig new tunnels, expanding the burrow, creating secret routes only they know. Lila enjoys everything with her whole body; Five calculates angles, reinforces walls, and memorizes exits.
Secure first, enjoy later, he thinks, though sometimes the order reverses without him noticing.
Far from the colony, the world reveals itself as broader and more complex. They encounter other creatures: some small and curious, others large but indifferent. There are presences that do not trigger an alarm, neutral scents Five learns to ignore. Some creatures even seem… pleasant.
Others do not.
There is one in particular with fur as red as sunset and a fluffy tail. It moves stealthily, observes intelligently, and sometimes seems as curious as they are, but dangerous. Lila looks at it with fascination; Five, with distrust.
Too close. Too attentive, he thinks every time he senses that warm, deceptive scent.
But the true danger is not that one.
The most dangerous is another animal, larger. Its scent is heavy, dominant, and it hunts that red-furred animal in packs with brutal efficiency. When its trail appears, the air grows tense. The world seems to shrink. Even the ground vibrates differently.
Five detects it before anyone else.
Lila quickly learns to read his signals. A slight ear movement, a pause that lasts too long. When Five stops, she stops. When he changes routes, she follows without question.
Together, they plan.
They memorize safe zones, alternative routes, and escape tunnels. Five calculates time, distances, and probabilities. Lila contributes speed, intuition, and improvised distractions. Where he thinks of fleeing, she thinks of confusion. Where she lunges forward, he covers the retreat.
It works because we trust each other. Five thinks, surprised at himself.
When the scent of danger fills the air, they do not panic. They move as one. They leap, turn, vanish underground before claws touch the ground; they have already abandoned.
In the darkness of the tunnel, Lila brushes his side.
We’re still alive, she thinks, satisfied.
Five listens to her breathing and, for the first time, does not mentally review every possible catastrophe.
As long as we are together, he thinks, we have a chance.
Months pass, and something changes in the colony.
It is not visible, but it is felt. The air is heavier, more charged. Scents intensify. Young litters enter heat, and the world seems to vibrate with a restless, insistent energy.
Five senses it before he understands it.
In Lila’s presence, he feels different. She is still the same: playful, impulsive, alive. But her scent changes. It is stronger, more enveloping. It gets into his chest, clouds his thoughts. He wants to be close to her in a way he does not recognize, cannot control.
This is not prudent, he thinks. This is not logical.
And yet, his body does not listen.
His impulses, his instincts, his nature begin to push him with a force that threatens to drive him mad. Every jump Lila makes, every accidental brush, causes an uncomfortable, constant tension.
One afternoon, while they play as always— running, turning, bumping gently— it happens. Their first mating.
There is no planning or reflection. It is natural, inevitable, and dictated by the body more than the mind. Five barely has time to think before the moment imposes itself. The act repeats several times over the following days, with the same mix of urgency and bewilderment.
Afterward, Five remains still, alert as always, but with a new unease.
Other males will want the same. She might seek them, too.
The idea causes a strange, uncomfortable pang, something that should not exist.
I shouldn’t care, he tells himself.
But he does.
Lila, meanwhile, curls against him without thinking. She gently nips his ear, urging another mating, as if the world were simple and direct. Five responds, even as his mind keeps spinning, too aware of everything.
When they return to the colony, Lila notices.
Other females approach Five, willing, following the same impulse running through everyone. Lila stiffens. She steps forward and positions herself between them and Five, body firm, gaze blazing.
The other females stop, confused. After a few seconds, they move away.
This is not normal behavior. In the colony, there is no exclusivity. No one claims anyone.
Five watches in silence, attentive.
She doesn’t want to share either, he realizes, surprised.
The idea settles in his mind with unexpected weight.
Days pass.
Lila begins to avoid other males. She moves away from the colony, hides among dense vegetation, avoiding foreign scents. Five notices immediately when she takes longer to return to his side.
He searches for her.
He tracks her scent with patience, with determination. When he finally finds her, Lila senses his presence before seeing him. His scent arrives first, familiar, safe. She emerges from her hiding place without hesitation.
They spend the afternoon together. In an improvised burrow.
They play. They jump. They chase each other through tall grass. There are new sensations, deeper, more intense. Five remains alert to the world, but beside Lila, he lowers his guard a little.
Five insists on returning to the safety of the colony.
With his body firm, gaze fixed, that way he always positions himself half a step ahead of danger. He nudges Lila with his muzzle, marking the direction of the burrow.
Not here, he thinks. Not exposed. Not now.
Lila protests with a small, annoyed hop, but follows him. Her scent remains intense, enveloping, and Five has to concentrate not to let it distract him from what matters: keeping her safe.
It does not take long before it happens.
Another male from the colony approaches. His posture is clear, direct, and without hesitation. The air changes immediately. Five steps forward and positions himself between him and Lila, body tense, ears rigid.
There is no doubt in his gesture.
She is mine, he thinks with a certainty that surprises even him. And I will not allow it.
The other rabbit insists. Takes another step, ignores the silent warning. Five feels something ancient, primal, activate inside him. It is not anger. It is protection.
He acts fast.
A brief, precise attack. A short bite straight to the front legs. He does not seek to seriously injure, only to make it clear. The message is unmistakable.
The male retreats immediately.
Lila moves to Five without hesitation, brushing against him, reaffirming the distance between them and the rest. The other rabbit moves away, humiliated and confused.
Good, Five thinks, not lowering his guard.
In the days that follow, something changes in the colony.
No male approaches Lila. Those who try, even from afar, stop when they see Five. The memory of the attack spreads quickly, conveyed through looks and gestures.
The consequences are clear.
Even the females begin to keep their distance from Five. Not because of him.
Because of Lila.
She has already attacked several who came too close, stepping in without hesitation, with a fierceness that does not match her playful nature. Five observes these reactions in silence, with a mix of surprise and recognition.
It’s not just me, he thinks. She chose to.
At night, when they curl together in the secluded corner of the burrow, Five remains alert as always. But now his vigilance has a clear center.
Lila.
Protecting her does not feel like a burden, but a purpose.
And with that, something changes in Lila.
It is not immediate, but it is profound.
Lila becomes hyper-protective of her space. Any rabbit— female or male— that comes too close receives a clear warning: short, sharp growls; quick strikes with her front paws; firm headbutts to push them out of her zone. There is no play in it. No negotiation.
She does not allow anyone to invade her space.
Her explosive energy diminishes. She no longer runs without thinking or jumps on pure impulse. Now she is attentive. She sits very still for long stretches, observing. Her ears swivel at every sound, guarding entrances, evaluating shadows. Her eyes follow every movement Five makes, even when he thinks he is not being watched.
Lila has strange moments: sudden irritability, anxiety that makes her seek physical contact urgently. She comes close, insists, claims him. Then, without warning, she pulls away, retreats into herself, rejects any approach.
Five does not force anything.
With his calmer nature, he knows how to stay close without pressing. He observes. He waits. He listens. And then he understands.
She is pregnant.
The certainty does not hit him with panic, but with focus.
He does not smother her, but he stays close. Always. His body is in constant alert, ready to react to any noise, any shadow, any unknown presence. He physically places himself between her and any possible threat without her having to ask.
A normal male rabbit mates and leaves.
Five does not.
He stays near the new burrow, even if he pretends he is ‘just watching’. He never goes far. His routes shorten. His world shrinks to that space and the one who occupies it.
He becomes more affectionate… in his own way.
Not exaggerated or clumsy. He grooms her gently when she allows it. Rubs her head carefully. Touches his nose to hers in brief, precise gestures. It is his way of saying everything without words.
I’m here. Everything will be fine.
He does not let others get too close. He does not become aggressive without cause, but he marks his territory clearly and drives away any intruder who does not understand the signs.
His priority is singular.
Protect Lila.
Protect the future litter.
While she watches the world from stillness, Five does so from the shadows— alert, silent, unbreakable.
Lila has only one thing on her mind.
Nest.
Nest.
Nest.
Her entire body orients toward it. She enters builder mode with absolute determination. She roams the nearby terrain searching for soft materials, selecting carefully. She gathers dry hay, flexible leaves, and fibers that do not prick. She even pulls out some of her own fur without hesitation to arrange it at the center of the nest.
She is meticulous. Obsessive.
She perfects the shape, the depth, the entrance. Reorganizes the material every few hours, even when it is already fine.
No. Not like this. Better like this.
Nothing seems sufficient. The nest must be exact. Safe. Closed to the world.
She does not become dependent on the group.
Only on him.
She allows Five thinks she would allow no one else. He can touch her, sleep near her, enter the nest. He can mate with her, but only when she decides. Her body sets the rhythm, the permission, the limit.
If Five tries to approach at the wrong moment, Lila pushes him away with her head or dismisses him with a brief, firm snort. There is no doubt in her gesture.
Not now.
Five understands. He backs off without insisting.
Even so, Lila is deeply protective of him. Even pregnant, even tired, she remains attentive to his movements. If she senses danger directed toward Five, she steps in without thinking, body firm, eyes blazing.
Don’t touch him, she seems to tell the world.
She is hungrier. Much hungrier. She eats frequently, choosing what she likes. Then she rests. Sleeps more hours, more deeply. She is very specific about where she wants to do it: the nest, a certain angle, a certain temperature. If something does not fit, she gets up and fixes it.
Five watches everything.
And responds.
He becomes obsessive in his own way. He cleans, arranges, and removes what does not belong. Bring more hay, more leaves, more soft materials. Leaves them near the nest so Lila does not have to go far. Checks entrances, routes, and shadows.
She must be comfortable.
She must be safe.
He does not invade. Does not control. He is there.
He stays close, always available. When Lila collapses exhausted into the nest, Five curls nearby, without taking up too much space. Sometimes he brushes her nose. Sometimes he only watches.
Two different obsessions.
One shared goal.
Protect what is coming.
Protect each other.
Lila only leaves the nest on rare occasions.
When she does, it is for something specific.
Food, Five thinks as he watches her rise with controlled effort.
She knows exactly where she is going. She does not wander without reason.
Wild strawberries are her weakness.
Five watches her from a prudent distance, never losing sight of her for a second. He enjoys seeing her choose carefully, sniff each fruit, discard the small ones, and keep the largest and ripest. She also plucks a couple of flowers, some tender leaves, as if she knows not everything is just food, but calm.
She always knows what she needs, he thinks.
Lila eats slowly, focused, satisfied. The world seems paused as she chews, as sweet juice lightly stains her muzzle. Five remains alert, but there is something almost serene in that moment. A brief, precious normalcy.
When they return to the nest, the air changes.
The long-awaited day arrives without a grand announcement. Just a different feeling. A new weight in the air. Lila stops, settles, breathes differently. Her movements become slow, precise.
It’s today, Five understands immediately.
He does not leave her side. He stays close, always close. Watches entrances, sounds, shadows. Moves only when necessary. When Lila lies down in the nest, Five positions himself just outside, body tense, ready.
You are not alone, he thinks with absolute certainty.
The world can wait.
Everything that matters is there, in that nest, in that moment.
Although they live in a colony, Lila keeps her nest far from the main tunnels.
It is a discreet place, protected, almost invisible. Only she knows every curve, every possible exit. She allows Five to approach. Gives him a brief, precise signal, and shifts slightly to make room.
Five enters.
His eyes widen with surprise; he cannot hide.
Two tiny kits, pink, fragile, eyes closed. They move clumsily, searching for Lila’s warmth, guided only by instinct. Their tiny bodies tremble slightly as they breathe.
Five approaches slowly. Sniffs them with extreme care.
They are mine.
And hers.
The certainty hits him with unexpected intensity. He feels a great, silent, almost overwhelming pride. His chest fills with something that does not need a name.
After nursing the kits, Lila rises slowly. Her ears move in a clear, unequivocal gesture directed only at Five.
Food.
Five understands without thinking.
Lila covers the entrance of the nest with hay, arranging it precisely. She camouflages the access until it looks like just another tunnel wall. Nothing betrays what lies inside.
This is good, Five thinks.
When he exits the tunnel to the outside, the air fills with attention.
The rest of the colony’s rabbits sense the change immediately. The scent. The different stillness in Lila. They understand she has given birth. Silent murmurs ripple through the group. It is strange. Males do not usually involve themselves with kits.
Five does not leave her.
Lila does not hide.
Both hold their heads high.
They are a different kind of rabbits. High-ranking within the colony. They know the tunnels better than anyone. They know how to escape predators, guide routes, and survive where others cannot.
That is why they are respected.
No one comes too close. No one questions it.
As they forage together, the nest remains behind, hidden, safe, guarding the very center of their world.
Chapter 2
Notes:
An apology to everyone who follows this story.
I have been a bit busy with work, personal projects, and the Valentine’s project.
Enjoy the chapter.
Chapter Text
Lila changes completely when the baby rabbits are born.
She becomes an obsessive mother, fierce in her care, territorial to the last detail. As soon as the kits emerge, she relentlessly reinforces the nest. She layers hay, leaves, and her own fur, and repeatedly reworks the entrance, as if it is never secure.
Tighter. Safer.
She grows warier. More aggressive. Every rabbit that nears the nest receives an instant warning. Gender is irrelevant. Her message is unmistakable: do not cross.
She only interacts with the kits in brief moments, as rabbit mothers do. She feeds them, arranges them, covers them. Then she steps back a little, but never goes far. She is always nearby, watching. Her body instinctively places itself between the babies and any possible threat.
Five becomes hyper-aware.
Always listening.
Always on guard.
He is the rabbit who plants himself firmly in front of the nest at the slightest noise. Ears upright, body tense, ready to react.
Although male rabbits usually become distant after mating, Five does not.
He becomes more vigilant.
He patrols the area around the nest regularly, marking routes, detecting changes. He is extremely protective of Lila, staying close without interfering. His seriousness is strange, almost unsettling. He reacts with tension to any movement out of place.
At first, he keeps his distance from the nest.
I must not disturb anything, he thinks.
He only approaches when Lila allows it, reading every gesture, every look.
He is a male who never abandons his zone. Always attentive. Always ready to drive away another male rabbit if he dares to come too close.
When they are together near the nest, Lila appreciates his presence. There is calm in knowing he is there. Even so, she controls him with her gaze, making sure he does not get too close to the babies.
Five sits near the edge of the territory, motionless, like a small silent guardian.
Both remain alert. Any noise, any shadow, and both tense immediately, synchronized.
Although they are rabbits, they act as if they are protecting something infinitely valuable.
Their nest is sovereign territory.
Their baby rabbits are the absolute priority.
The burrow already feels too small.
Not long ago, Five himself was also a small rabbit stepping outside for the first time.
Too fast, he thinks now, with a clarity that surprises him.
Today, it is his own small kits who peek out into the outside world for the first time. Their bodies are still clumsy, their ears too large for their heads, their eyes open with a mix of fear and wonder.
Five moves first.
He signals the path with precise, short movements. The kits follow him attentively, copying every gesture. Lila stays behind, guarding the rear, watching that nothing comes too close.
This is right. Order and coverage, Five thinks.
As soon as they emerge, the little ones freeze.
The world is enormous. The grass rises like a forest, scents multiply, and sounds come from everywhere. Everything is new. Everything is fascinating.
Lila changes instantly.
The alert mother gives way to that playful doe that caught Five’s attention from the very first time. Her energy ignites. She runs in short circles around the burrow, making quick jumps so the babies chase her. She gently nudges them with her nose, emits soft little sounds to encourage them, rolls with them in the grass, and lets them climb over her body.
She adores the adorable chaos.
The kits follow her as if she were a bolt of lightning jumping through the grass, clumsy but enthusiastic. They stumble, get up, and run again.
Brave, Lila thinks, proud.
Five plays, too, but in his own way.
He stays still so the babies can practice jumping over him. He allows them to climb onto his back. He guides them with slow movements to teach them how to orient themselves. He touches them with his nose when they stray too far, correcting them gently. While Lila makes louder games, he watches the surroundings, alert to any change.
With Five, the kits learn different things.
When to move.
When to hide.
How to orient themselves in the terrain.
How to react quickly to a signal.
It is a silent, intelligent game, full of meaningful pauses.
Between races and clumsy jumps, the little ones absorb both lessons: the bravery of movement and the safety of strategy.
And as the sun moves across the sky, Five watches his offspring with a calm he has never known before.
They are learning how to live, he thinks.
However, the last breeding season changed the colony.
It brings many new kits. It brings new members. It brings noise, constant movement, bodies everywhere. The tunnels fill up, the air becomes dense, saturated with scents that never dissipate.
Lila tolerates it… at first.
Five does not.
Five watches the horizon from a discreet elevation. His ears are upright, his body motionless.
There is much more beyond, he thinks. Too much to stay here.
He becomes more distrustful, more territorial, more withdrawn. He does not like living in large groups. The noise unsettles him. The disorder keeps him in constant tension. He cannot watch everything. He cannot control anything.
This is not safe.
He searches with his gaze for a different territory. He thinks of a quieter place. More isolated. A small, manageable place. A home where he can better protect Lila without depending on other rabbits. He knows, with instinctive certainty, that Lila will follow him. She always does.
Their kits… they must decide.
But first, they must be ready.
They make sure of that first. They watch them grow, strengthen, and gain skill. They allow them to find their own place within the community, or the option to follow them if they choose. They train them without saying it: endurance, orientation, reaction.
When the moment arrives, both parents remain still, watching.
There is nostalgia.
They will be fine. Five thinks. We prepared them for this.
Five and Lila begin the journey.
It lasts several days. They cross unknown terrain, meet new creatures, and learn new scents. They escape more than one predator, running as one, synchronized. At times, they think they will remain alone, a colony of two.
Then they find another.
Smaller. Quieter.
As soon as they arrive, the members of the new colony come out to meet them.
Lila changes immediately.
Other females approach Five, curious, evaluating him. Lila becomes dominant and possessive without hesitation. She places herself between Five and the other, blocking the way. Ears upright. Posture tense. Tail low, firm.
A silent warning.
She emits a soft, controlled growl. Then she circles Five, comes closer, rubs her head and body against his, marking him clearly.
He is mine!
Lila delivers quick, small pushes with her front paws. Protective. Precise. Not chaotic.
When the intruders move away, Lila still watches for a few seconds before relaxing.
Five finds all of it… amusing.
Always so direct, he thinks, with quiet satisfaction.
But he does not lag behind.
In every new place, Five observes absolutely everything. He evaluates routes, tunnels, and hierarchies. If another male comes too close to Lila, his body tenses. He straightens his ears. He thumps hard with his hind legs. He places himself between Lila and the intruder.
He does not attack without reason.
He analyzes first.
But if the approach is insistent and disrespectful, he pushes. He bites the flank or the neck. He chases the other out of his zone without losing control.
He is a rabbit, yes.
But he is still Five: calculating, effective, fast.
He is not demonstrative or affectionate in public. He does not need to be. His behavior makes it clear that Lila is his mate. He is not available. He will not tolerate competition.
The experience of protecting her during pregnancy, of defending his kits, strengthens something deep between them.
In the new community, Five marks more. He stays close to Lila. He does not allow other males near their burrow. He becomes irritated quickly if someone crosses a boundary. And, of course, he mates with her more.
But his possessiveness is silent.
Cold.
Controlled.
Intimidating without noise.
The kind of presence other males sense… and prefer to avoid.
And Lila, satisfied, stays by his side.
Calm changes everything.
Without the constant stress of immediate rearing, without the rationed food of the previous colony, without the uninterrupted vigilance of the journey and predators, their bodies begin to respond differently. The environment is stable. Safe. There is better quality and greater quantity of food. The soil is fertile. The air is clean.
They are healthier than ever.
And more fertile.
Five notices it first in the small details. In Lila’s different energy. In how her fur looks brighter. In how her body moves with quiet confidence.
This place is good, he thinks. Here, I don’t have to divide my attention among threats.
Lila feels it too.
Without announcing it, she begins preparing another nest.
It is not the anxious urgency of the first time, but something more natural, almost ritualistic. She roams the nearby area, selects soft materials, and tests locations. She gathers hay, dry leaves, sturdy fibers. She adjusts, observes, adjusts again.
Here, she decides.
Five watches her without intervening. He recognizes every sign.
Another litter, he thinks, without surprise. Soon.
There is no tension in the idea. No fear. Only a deep acceptance of the rhythm of the life they lead. They move in sync, as always. Five begins helping immediately, bringing more material, cleaning the area, and reinforcing entrances and exits.
They do not question it.
It is simply what comes next.
Their bond is strong. Tested. It has gone through danger, loss, and constant vigilance. Now, in this new territory, it can settle without breaking. Five remains alert, territorial, silent. Lila remains intense, protective, and determined.
But there is room to breathe.
This time it will be easier, Five thinks, though he does not allow himself to fully lower his guard.
Lila curls up near the new nest under construction and looks at him sideways, satisfied.
We are fine, she thinks. We are ready.
They have kits again relatively soon. Not by impulse, not by carelessness, but following the natural rhythm of rabbit life… and that of a pair who chose each other and held fast.
Their babies are born. Three pink little bundles.
They grow, learn, and enjoy life.
In this quiet, stable, safe place, their story continues.
But calm is not always permanent.
The night is deep when Five reacts first.
He is asleep in the burrow adjacent to the nest when something enters his awareness before any sound: the smell. Smoke. Subterranean heat, faint but unmistakable. His body tenses instantly. He thumps the ground with his hind legs, hard, sharp: the classic rabbit alarm signal.
Without hesitation, he places himself between Lila and the entrance.
Danger. Now.
His focus is immediate and absolute: evaluate the safest exit and get Lila and the kits out of danger.
Lila grows restless at first. Her ears lower, her breathing accelerates. She searches for her babies with contained desperation, gathers them against her body.
Something is wrong, she thinks, her heart pounding in her chest.
Then she understands.
Fire.
And her unease turns into fierce determination.
She pushes the kits toward Five, emits a soft growl—a warning—and prepares herself. Her body moves forward, ready to face anything that tries to approach.
Five leads.
He goes out first to check the exit. Returns immediately. Signals the movement. Makes Lila carry or push the little ones, alert to any change.
When they are united as a family, the escape is surprisingly coordinated.
Five maintains control of the route. He seeks areas with less smoke, alternative tunnels, and secondary openings. He changes direction without hesitation when the air grows hotter.
Lila stays glued to the kits, pushing them whenever one freezes in fear. She does not allow them to fall behind. She does not allow them to hesitate.
Five does not panic.
He does what an extremely intelligent rabbit would do: he seeks higher ground. A rock. A fallen log. From there, he evaluates the direction of the fire, the wind, and the heat. He chooses the coolest route.
This way, he decides.
He keeps Lila and the kits in constant motion.
Lila, for her part, leaps over thorny bushes without thinking and pushes slower rabbits if they block the way. She is fierce, brave, explosive. But she follows Five without question, because she trusts his judgment with absolute certainty.
When they are finally far from the fire, the air cools.
Lila gathers the kits into a circle. She licks them quickly, calms them, and checks them one by one. Counts breaths. Verifies bodies.
They are alive. They are with me.
Five remains standing.
He is also stressed, but he does not lower his guard. His ears are fully erect, searching for new sounds: predators drawn by the chaos, suspicious crackling, smoke approaching again, other rabbits that might threaten his family.
He does not rest.
Not until he is sure.
When the environment finally quiets and the danger is behind them, Lila curls up with the little ones, exhausted but still alert. Her body trembles slightly when silence becomes silence again.
Five stays a little apart, watching the horizon.
Now, he thinks for long minutes. It’s over.
Then he returns.
He lies down beside Lila and touches his head to hers, a brief, firm, intimate gesture.
It is his silent way of saying everything:
We are safe.
I kept them safe.
I kept you safe.
The rabbits of the colony return, since the fire was small.
But Five and Lila do not.
Five does not trust damaged territory. To him, burned land is not just ash: it is latent risk, unstable shelters, predators that return first.
A place that has failed once can fail again.
Lila, for her part, is not willing to risk the kits. The smell of smoke still clings to her chest.
Not again. Not with them.
So the decision is silent and shared.
They leave.
They imagine finding a new place with greener vegetation, damp soil that muffles footsteps, abandoned burrows, and soft earth easy to dig. A place where the air is cooler and the presence of predators is lower. A territory that promises stability.
The journey is long.
And along the way, something changes.
The kits begin to move ahead. First, a few curious hops, then small deviations from the path. New scents. Calling trails.
Five watches them from behind.
He does not intervene at first. He analyzes.
Are they exploring… or leaving?
He measures distance, environment, and body language. If one strays too far, he follows silently, unnoticed, making sure there is no hidden danger.
He accepts independence with calm seriousness. He knows it is part of the natural process.
Even though something inside him aches.
Growing hurts, he thinks. Even when it is right.
Lila grows restless much earlier.
She calls them with soft little sounds, almost pleading. Her ears tense every time a kit separates from the group. When she sees them insist, she runs to their side, sniffs them, checks them from head to tail, searching for invisible injuries.
She becomes a little frustrated.
Not out of control.
Out of protection.
They are still small, she thinks, even when they are not so small anymore.
But she watches Five. Sees him calm, attentive, without panic. And little by little, her breathing steadies. She ends up accepting it.
She accompanies the kits a little farther. Shows them where to hide, how to use shadow, and where the ground yields for quick digging. She teaches them, silently, how to return if they need to.
Together, they do not force them to stay.
They walk behind them, at a distance, watching every movement. Presence without pressure, care without a cage.
When a kit decides to leave for good, Five stops. He watches it one last moment and dismisses it with respect.
Survive. Be smart.
Lila feels the pull in her chest. Nostalgia. But also pride.
It is strong. It is brave.
They let them go.
But they protect them until the very last second.
Until they disappear into the green grass, carrying with them what Five and Lila taught them: how to flee, how to choose, how to live.
They decide to explore a little more.
The terrain changes in shape and scent until they reach a place that feels unsettling and curious at the same time: a gigantic mound rising like an artificial hill, surrounded by strange plants, hard leaves, and unfamiliar aromas. The ground is marked by tracks they do not recognize. And then they see them.
Creatures that walk on two legs.
Lila freezes for only a moment.
Fear runs along her spine like a shock, but it does not paralyze her. She rises onto her hind legs to see better, body tense, ears swiveling in all directions. She thumps the ground hard when one of those creatures comes too close, the sharp sound echoing like a warning.
She places herself in front of Five.
She does not flee immediately. First, she observes. She inhales the air, analyzes movements, clumsy gestures, and strange smells.
They are not predators… but they are not normal either.
When one of those creatures makes a sudden movement, Lila jumps toward a bush, disappears among the leaves… but does not leave. She watches from the shadows, eyes bright, body ready to react.
She is afraid.
She transforms it into defiance and vigilance.
Five reacts very differently.
He tenses instantly. His ears pull back, and his body flattens against the ground. He moves low, almost invisible, pushing Lila with his head to move her away from the place.
Too open. Too strange.
He identifies escape routes in seconds: the slope of the terrain, the shadows among the plants, a dark opening beneath the mound. He remains in absolute silence, observing every detail of the tall creatures. He does not care what they do. He wants to know if they are dangerous, where the smells come from, what sounds they make, and how many there are.
Together, they behave like a small, perfectly meshed unit.
Lila: the impatient, frontal alert.
Five: the silent, strategic calculation.
They do not retreat until Five decides the risk is too high.
He turns without a sound, marking direction with his body. Lila follows, though she looks back the entire way, ears tense, in case those creatures pursue them.
Although they sense that the two-legged pair does not represent an immediate threat, the instinct of both—especially Five’s—pushes them to choose an area far from the direct human scent, but close enough to benefit from the safety that territory provides.
They are distrustful.
They observe before approaching.
Five chooses a spot with dense vegetation, good visibility of the surroundings, quick access to natural shelters, and multiple escape routes. There are no recent predator tracks.
Here we can disappear if something goes wrong.
Lila evaluates it. She agrees with her body… but also looks for space. A clearing where she can run, explore, release energy, and play when danger is not near.
They do not build the burrow next to those beings’ home.
But not too far either.
An intermediate, strategic distance.
Not too far, because near those creatures, there are fewer foxes, fewer birds of prey, fewer natural threats.
Not too close, because they are still wild, territorial, cautious animals.
A burrow at a range where 'we can observe them without being seen'.
Never wear them.
Never where they can reach them.
Lila gets too close to those beings’ home once.
Curiosity wins.
She advances slowly, body low, nose vibrating constantly as she scents the air heavy with new aromas. She recognizes disturbed soil, carefully removed plants, and the persistent scent of a single creature.
It is a female… like me.
She approaches cautiously.
The two-legged female seems surprised to see her. She stays still for a moment and then, with slow movements, pulls from the ground those strange plants with crunchy leaves and a sweet smell. She extends them toward her.
Lila hesitates for only a second.
The aroma is too tempting. She takes one step, then another, until her nose brushes the leaves. She begins to eat, with quick, attentive bites.
It doesn’t taste bad… It’s different.
The female emits strange, soft sounds and shows her teeth. Lila does not interpret it as a threat. She moves closer, seeking another bite.
Then it happens.
The tips of the creature’s fingers brush her back.
The contact is brief… but enough.
Lila jumps back immediately and flees, heart racing, disappearing into the grass toward the burrow.
Five freezes for a second.
His ears lift completely, and his body enters absolute tension. He does not run to Lila. He observes first. Evaluates the creature’s posture, the movement of the hands, and the sounds it makes.
Real danger?
When Lila reaches him, Five takes two steps forward to intercept her. He rubs his head against hers, checking her quickly, making sure she is unharmed. Then he lifts his gaze toward the gigantic mound.
His whiskers are rigid. His nose trembles.
He is not furious.
He is not afraid.
He is hypervigilant.
His emotional reaction is a precise, contained mix: protective irritation.
You got too close.
Deep distrust toward those strange creatures and a silent, firm promise to always remain between Lila and anything that could harm her.
He stays there, motionless, watching the door of the home and the hands of the human female for a long time.
He will not make contact.
He will not approach.
But from that moment on, something changes.
Five adjusts his vigilance. Mark's alternative routes. Moves ahead of Lila whenever the terrain gets too close to that place.
And without needing to impose it with force, he makes one thing clear:
Lila will never approach that place alone again.