Chapter Text
Judith of the Hopps family--though she preferred Judy, when she had the option--was born in Bunnyburrow, a place just slightly too large to call a village, in a world where her direction was already decided. Born with the purple eyes of her mother, she would follow in her footsteps and become a priestess, communing with the spirits of dearly departed ancestors; she would maintain the family shrine and the surrounding sacred grounds, and in turn the Hopps ancestors would be pleased, and through them the land would provide in abundance. As a child of the third litter, Judith’s chances at succeeding her mother as Head Priestess were extremely slim; far more likely was a fate of attending one of her older sisters in their duties. Judith loved her family and her heritage, but simply couldn’t help her yearning for something greater, something exciting, something more.
This yearning was exactly why Judy had made her way to the thicket west of Bunnyburrow. To the outside mammals (the ones who came and went from the town) it was known by many names--The Whispering Woods, The Shivering Forest, The Wildwood--but to the residents, it was simply the Forest. It was common knowledge that the spirits were abundant and wild there; spirits of such untamed lands were said to do anything from stealing all the sweets in your pockets, to snatching a mammal’s tail or ears so quickly they didn’t notice until they’d returned home. In this particular case, it was known that they rarely strayed beyond the borders of the wood, and as such it was avoided almost entirely by the townsfolk. To Judy, who was only truly familiar with the horde of Hoppses--all perfectly lovely mammals, but rather stuffy and hard to distinguish at times--the wild spirits of nature dwelling in a thicket with such a shadowy reputation was an undeniable call to adventure.
That was what she told herself, anyway. Despite coming to the edge of the woodland after the first and greatest breath of spring, when the spirits would be most overjoyed and benevolent, actually passing the boundary was proving to be somewhat daunting for her. She was well into her training, and neither ignorant nor defenseless, but the bleak rumors surrounding the wilderness seemed to physically loom over her. So involved was she in her minor internal battle that she didn’t notice when someone strolled up until they intruded on her personal debate.
“Excuse me, miss, are you lost?”
She would later pride herself on not leaping into the air in fright, but still managed to yelp and whirl around, paw over her heart as she took in the intruder. It was a he, and he was a rabbit, but he wasn’t like any rabbit she’d seen before. Most of him was a sandy brown that edged towards a burnt orange near his eyes, which were a twinkling emerald green. The edges of him--his paws, his feet, and his ears, which leaned back lazily unlike her own perfectly straight pair--were a dark, charred brown, nearly black, like he’d been dangled over a fire and permanently scorched, a color starkly at odds with the soft cream that crept up from his chest and circled his mouth. A mouth that was grinning in what could only be called wry amusement.
“Oh, butter and jam,” Judy scolded herself. “No, sir, I am where I mean to be.”
The scorched rabbit raised an eyebrow. “You mean to be hemming and hawing at the edge of the Forest?”
The Forest. This rabbit was no stranger to Bunnyburrow, then. Strange, in that case, that she didn’t recognize him; his noticeable, fetching coloration was one that was memorable and head-turning, to say nothing of his his clothes; a rough but sturdy set of laborer’s clothes, a loose and comfortable bright green above and a darker, more subdued green below that ended tightly a small ways past his knees, tied off with a matching sash. Such shades would likely be unusual in town, but seemed all too fitting surrounded by nature as they were. It made Judy brush her own, finer set of blue and purple shrine clothes a little self-consciously.
“I’m not hemming and hawing,” Judy protested hotly. “I’ve business in the Forest.”
“Mmm, pressing business, I’m sure, to have your nose twitching so fiercely.” He paused for a moment and peered intently at her. “A date with the Fox of the Wildwood, perhaps?”
The young priestess-to-be slowed. “A--a fox? In the woods?”
“Oh, yes,” the stranger chuckled. “I’d say I’m familiar with her, even. Chased me through the trees when I was younger, breathing fire the whole way.”
“Fire? ” Judy squeaked with equal parts excitement and apprehension.
“Well,” The strange rabbit put a paw to his chin in thought. “That’s how I remember it, anyway. I admit, more likely it was heated words and a youthful imagination. Regardless, I’d advise against it.”
Judy hid a grin and a giggle behind a raised paw, relaxing a bit. A jokester, then; she was familiar with the type, having a number of siblings who took a similar approach to life. None of them, however, could quite match the laid-back ease of delivery that of the relaxed rabbit in front of her. “Sound advice, I’m sure. Who might I attribute it to?”
The darker rabbit looked taken aback for a moment. “Oh! My apologies. My name is Nicholas, of the Wi--Winter family, with a name so cold I shudder to say it.” Nicholas bowed deeply, a slightly chastened look on his face.
Judy met his bow with one of her own, prim and proper. “Judith, of the Hopps family. I must say, you seem more an Autumn to me.”
“Oh, there’s a story or two there,” Nicholas said breezily, looking over the dark fur on his paws. “I’m sure you won’t be the last to mention it.”
“I’ve always enjoyed stories.”
Nicholas laughed. “I’m sure, though I must confess to some curiosity as to why a Hopps is all the way out here. You don’t seem to be here to gather lumber.”
Judy’s ears grew a little warm. “No, I’m a priestess. In training.”
“A priestess? I’ve never met a priestess before.”
“It’s really not so interesting.”
“Well, let me judge that. If I might impose on your time, I would be very interested to hear what it’s like.”
Judy hesitated. “Would you really?”
Nicholas smiled encouragingly. “I really would.”
Judy gathered her thoughts and her breath. “Well, when you’re in training, the biggest part of the job is cleaning. Cleaning the shrines, cleaning the floors, cleaning the paths, cleaning just to clean sometimes. Honestly, I think half the reason any of us bother advancing is so we can dump the cleaning on someone newer than us…” Judy went on to speak about how priestesses were chosen in her family, the kinds of things they were taught before formally entering training, and what a typical day was like. She spoke slowly at first, starting and stopping frequently, as she was not particularly accustomed to speaking about herself, especially not to an audience that paid her such close attention. Nicholas was an attentive and curious listener, and as he asked questions, Judy grew more confident. It didn’t take long for her to get sidetracked, sharing anecdotes and the latest Hopps family gossip, and before she realized it she was sitting with him and the sun was setting.
“Oh, crackers! I’ve been out so long! I need to get back home!” She jumped to her feet and brushed grass off of her legs. “I’m so sorry to leave so abruptly.”
Nicholas waved her off. “Please, don’t worry yourself. I’ve put off my own duties a tad too long, I take no offense.”
“It was wonderful speaking with you, Nicholas. I hope to see you again.”
Nicholas raised his paws as if to halt her. “Nicholas makes me sound so old and dignified. Just Nick, if you have no objections.”
Judy turned to leave, but offered some parting words. “If you’re just Nick, then I am just Judy!” She caught a glimpse of his wave as she dashed off home, thoughts of a smooth voice and attentive green eyes on her mind. It wasn’t until she had bedded down for the night that she realized she’d never actually gotten around to setting foot in the Forest.
---
It took Judy nearly a week to find the time to return to the boundary of the woods. It was quiet, save for the sounds of nature, and empty, which gave rise to a vague sense of disappointment in her. She stepped forward and placed a paw on one of the trees; she could swear that she felt the change in the air that just a few steps would make. It felt like the Forest was a creature all its own, breathing in and out and somehow separate from the world around it. So caught up in the feeling was she that she failed, once again, to notice the approach of another.
“My, but you are obsessed, aren’t you?”
Judy’s ears went stiff with fright as she whirled around to lay eyes on none other than Nick. “Nicholas! Are you trying to frighten me into an early grave?”
He just laughed. “I seem to be succeeding, regardless of my intentions. My apologies, Judith.”
“I thought we agreed on Judy.”
“I thought we agreed on Nick.”
Judy hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right, you’re right. I’d forgotten. I just wasn’t expecting to see you; it seems quite the coincidence for you to stumble upon me with my head in the clouds at the Forest’s edge more than once.”
Nick shrugged. “Not such a coincidence. My work takes me all around the wood’s edge rather often. It speaks more to how long you spend lingering, really.”
“Oh? Your work?” Judy grinned. “We spent so much time talking about me last time that I don’t think I ever caught what it is you do.”
“Oh, it’s nothing quite so glamorous as training to be a priestess for such a large family,” Nick drawled as he leaned against the thick trunk of a tree. “I’m a caretaker.”
“A caretaker?”
“That’s right. I manage the trivialities of an estate, as well as maintain a number of old shrines here and there that nobody else has time for.”
Judy’s interest was piqued. “Shrines? I don’t pretend to be overly familiar with the practices of the other families, but there shouldn’t be any shrines in the village unattended.”
“You’re right.” Nick gestured past the trees. “The shrines are in the Forest; old shrines to the spirits of the wood and water that have fallen out of favor as it’s grown more disreputable. I work to keep them from falling into disrepair, to keep the spirits content, if not happy.”
They lapsed into a thoughtful silence for a time before a thought occurred to Judy. “You said you spend a great deal of time here. Do you know why everyone is so afraid?”
Nick simply shrugged. “I’ve no idea. It’s been that way since I was young, but I’ve never heard any particular reason. Enlighten me?”
“I don’t know,” Judy admitted, and scratched her neck with some embarrassment. “I’ve never been told why, simply that it isn’t safe. Perhaps if I had a guide…?”
“Oh, no,” Nick deflected teasingly. “A fine attempt, but I’ll not be charmed into marching off into the heart of the Forest to do battle with a fire-breathing vixen to sate your curiosity. You’re the priestess; I would hazard a guess that your family has been here for quite some time--longer than mine, no doubt. Were I a gambling mammal I would put down money on you being in a better position to find out than I.”
Judy sighed with good-natured exasperation. “I’m not a priestess yet. ...But you aren’t wrong. Maybe my mother will know.”
Nick pushed himself off the tree and clapped his paws together. “Wonderful! A quest! I won’t keep you. It pains me to admit, but I do have things to tend to before nightfall, and regrettably cannot spend all day traipsing around the woods with a cute young shrine maiden.”
Nick’s brazen flirtation caused Judy’s ears to shoot into the air and begin to burn. “N-Nicholas! That’s not--that’s too forward!”
He laughed at that, a smooth, rich laugh that echoed off the trees. “My apologies, I’m rather out of practice. I won’t embarrass you any further. A fine day to you, Judy.”
As Nick retreated beyond the trees, Judy grasped her rebellious ears and tried to quench the heat there that refused to leave (even as she failed to fight the smile that worked its way onto her face.) Nick had a way with words, teasing and prodding without any actual malice--an art some of her family could learn from. It was a good thing she had a bit of a walk home; if her mother caught wind that a male had managed to put any sort of fire to her ears (or grin on her face,) Judy would never hear the end of it, and the thought of her mother being even nosier than usual was enough to help wipe her smile away.
She sought out her mother on her return. Bonnelyn Hopps, the matriarch and Head Priestess of the Hopps family, always had time for her children despite her position--or perhaps because of it. Bonnie’s talent for delegation was legendary in her family. Judy wondered how much extra work she created for some of the younger trainees when she sat down with her mother. Then she wondered how much extra work she’d received when she was younger because someone needed to speak with her mother, and promptly stopped caring.
“Sit, Judy, please, have some tea.” Bonnie gestured to a modest cup, already filled, hot and waiting. “I don’t get to spend nearly as much time with you as I’d like. What’s so important that you need to sit with me?”
Judy did not answer right away. She gave herself a moment to take a quiet sip of the steaming beverage, the warm ceramic chasing away the last gasps of winter’s chill. “It’s not urgent, exactly, just--I felt it important to know. Why is the Forest so feared?”
Whatever Bonnie might have expected, apparently it wasn’t that. She looked at her daughter over her tea, eyebrows raised. “Well, dear, that’s…” Her cup clacked softly as she set it gingerly back on the table. “That’s just the way things are.”
Judy fought back a grimace at the non-answer, but rather than launch into an argument, she took another unhurried sip from her drink. Maybe her mother was shrewder than she thought, having refreshments ready like this. “When a field underperforms,” she started slowly, “or the crops are not healthy, we do not tell ourselves that’s just the way things are. We seek to understand it, so we may correct or avoid the problem in the future.”
“...and if there is no correction to be had?” Bonnie questioned cooly.
Judy shrugged. “Then the danger is known, and a danger you know will never catch you as readily as one you don’t.”
“It isn’t a danger you need concern yourself with at all.”
“As a priestess,” Judy’s gaze sharpened, “we don’t always get to choose, do we?”
Bonnie was silent for a long stretch, so long that Judy had nearly finished her drink and was wondering if she should call for more or simply leave when her mother spoke again. “Understand that, truly, it was before my time. I am not uninformed, of course, as it is my duty to know, as it was my mother’s, and hers before. For--oh, goodness, it must be a century or more, now--the Forest has been angry. I do not know the cause, not surely, for the spirits of such untamed land are often fickle. Oh, we may gather wood well enough, it’s true; from the edge, so long as the proper respect is paid and rites observed. But mammals who attempt anything more than a shallow journey rarely return.”
Judy swallowed rather heavily and thought back to the time she’d spent standing on the very brink. “What about the ones who do?”
“Very few attempts are made at all these days, of course. The lesson has been learned, but I do recall one occurrence many years ago, when you were still very young. The poor young doe was very confused, speaking of wind and pale fire and one very angry fox. Which, really, tells you all you need to know.”
“It does?”
“Of course it does! Foxes are tricksters, Judy, I know you aren’t ignorant of this.” Bonnie leaned forward, intent and serious. “Not just tricksters, but whimsical ones; you cannot predict a fox, and a fox spirit--whether it has horns, five eyes, or nine tails--are worse still.”
Judy gripped her empty cup tightly, and for a moment felt the missing warmth keenly. “You seem to be very afraid of them.”
“I can see why you would think so, dear,” Bonnie started as she shook her head, “but no. I do not fear foxes, but neither do I trust them. You would do well to keep that in mind.”
Judy bowed her head in acceptance. “I will consider your words thoroughly, Mother. Thank you for your time, and the tea; it was lovely.”
Bonnie smiled gently at her daughter, then perked up as though a sudden thought occurred, and all at once an intense chill ran up Judy’s spine. “It was wonderful speaking to you, Bun-Bun, of course, but as you are not busy…”
The list of chores Judy received from her mother after that was a brutal reminder as to exactly why Judy and her mother didn’t have as much time together as Bonnie would have liked. Even after delegating some of the more mind-numbing chores to some of her nieces and nephews in true Hopps fashion--if she ever had to clean the shrine’s main hall by paw ever again, it would be too soon--what remained she could not reasonably beg off and would consume most of the daylight she had left. With a sigh, she chose to look at the sacrifice of her day as the price for her newfound knowledge, and liked to believe that it was, all things considered, a bargain.
The tedium, at least, was an excuse to revisit the events of the day. It was then that she realized she’d gone to the Forest intently, once again, only to be smoothly deflected away from it by a particular rabbit. Wind. Pale fire. Tricksters.
Judy’s sweeping slowed, and stopped, as she cast about for any reason, any excuse she could find to quash the burning suspicion that was quickly forming. To her dismay, she found nothing.