They call him the Great Hare, and they sure aren’t lying. A spirit of the hills and copses, he’s been in these parts for many centuries. Despite his size, this is our first time meeting him, though we’ve walked this way hundreds of times.
Oddly, he’s utterly silent. Even with my long ears I can barely hear his footsteps. I thought that maybe he might speak to me, as we’re both hares, but he merely watches and sniffs at our scents. In his eyes I see no clear emotion, only a bright, sharp reflection of myself.
Maybe he doesn’t like my jacket.
“Oh wow, Barley,” my little witch mutters, peering up at the spirit, “will you grow that big?” I shake my head, noticing the faintest crease in the corner of the Great Hare’s mouth.
After a moment of silence passes between us, the Hare simple nods his head at us once, then dashes away.