PART I

Once upon a time, there was a little brown rabbit named Morfodus. Morfodus wandered the lands of his home, the grassy valley of Dandalore in the westernmost kingdom of the 11th age. Morfodus liked to hop right up to the base of the mountains surrounding the green expanse of his homeland to gaze to the very tops of the snowy peaks and wonder what the view looked like from up there. Did the flowers blend together into a sea of color? Could he still smell them from so far away?

His sisters and friends giggled admiringly whenever he ventured close to the mountain, a bit nervous, for they knew lions lurked in the caves where the rocks began. But his courage was seductive, as was his spirit for adventure. He knew deep down that if he ever were to embark on an upward journey, at least some of them would go with him.

Of course, one day he decided to test this theory. It was mainly for the purpose of an ego boost, but he also wanted to impress in particular one bunny who he did not know so well, but had the prettiest rings of velvety brown around her bright red eyes. He often admired her as she frolicked in the flowers, watching secretly from behind a bush or a small tree as she nibbled on leaves and small insects, which none of the other bunnies ever could stomach! What a girl bunny she was. She would surely come with him, he thought. He imagined his gallantliness would woo her in no time once the excitement of the adventure set in.

With the help of his hummingbird friends, Morfodus fastened a cape of deep violet around his little neck and positioned himself on a rather large rock near the edge of the valley. He stood there waiting for rabbits to notice. It took them a little while, as they were all very distracted mating with each other and eating things, but eventually some of them approached him with curious looks in their round eyes. He wiggled his ears and they got the point. Each hopped away after a moment or two.

All except for her. She had a yellow flower tucked behind one soft ear. With a twitch of her nose, she was by his side. And they were off.


PART II

Morfodus led the way. This mountain would be climbed; he would not suffer the sting of defeat. But he was wise enough to know that the goal of reaching the top itself was not the only point. It was the journey, of course. He would find time to stop and smell the flowers. But he was also wise enough to know that no one would care about the flowers he found along the way unless he made it to the very top.

The girl bunny, whose name he learned was Beatrix, had much spirit and vigor. He was pleased he had been right about her. She never fell behind, though she did occasionally wander off. This bothered Morfodus a bit, but also kept him on his toes. And she would always return with something interesting or delightful for them to bat around or eat. For example, she sometimes gathered snail shells. They put them to their ears and heard roaring waterfalls. Not only that, with the help of her spider friends, Beatrix chained them together into a lovely necklace for her to wear. Morfodus admired the way it nestled into her soft furry neck.

The road soon got steep and rocky. Weeds to eat became fewer and far between. This is the test, Morfodus thought to himself. This is where I’ll find out what she’s truly made of. Himself, too, he added mentally. But he was confident. Humbly confident.

And there was danger. It dwelt in the dark, the caves they darted by, ears pricked and eyes alert for any sudden impressions of large fur and teeth. The paw prints in the dirt were constant reminders of their constant peril. It thrilled Morfodus to no end.

Often he debated what he would do once he reached the top. He wanted to leave something to show that he had been there, some sort of monument or tag or etching. He indulged in fantasies of erecting something large enough that his brothers could see it from all the way down in the valley. He imagined his triumphant return, going back to his daily life with occasional glances up to that summit where there would stand majestically a visible reminder and proof of his glory and success.

It thrilled him to no end.


PART III

The dirt turned to snow, and Morfodus was uneasy.

They came to a rock ledge overhanging the valley. Beatrix nudged her way to the edge first. Not wanting to be cowardly, Morfodus rushed forward to have a look.

The view caught him off guard. There was the valley before him, spread below from a perspective he could never have previously conceived of. He felt the pieces of his geographical knowledge clicking into place in new ways. That’s how the river meets the stream! That’s the shape it wound through the forest! Morfodus turned to look up behind him. The peak still seemed so distant. Was it even worth it? Was this view good enough? Had he already gained the understanding he sought? What was he trying to prove by going all the way to the top, and to who? Was it just a pointless gesture, merely a stunt?

His musing was distracted by a nibble from Beatrix. Morfodus followed her gaze, and froze. On the path below them on which they had come moved a black shape. It moved purposefully, head to the ground, nose searching as if following a trail. Their trail.

Morfodus felt a rush of real fear. He turned to Beatrix and hopped urgently. There was no choice now. They had to go on. Quickly, the bunnies continued.

At each lookout point, Morfodus glanced down to check their pursuer. It seemed closer each time. What was it? It was surely larger than them both. They hopped faster.

Suddenly they stopped dead in their tracks. Before them hovered a large silver bird. In each talon, it held a bucket. Its wings beat steadily, blowing back the fur and ears of the rabbits.

“Do not be afraid,” said the great bird. “I am here to help you.”

Morfodus’s eyes darted to Beatrix and to the road behind them. Beatrix gazed at the bird attentively.

“I know what pursues you. In each bucket, I have a deadly weapon. You will need one if you wish to triumph. You will choose only one bucket to take. One bucket is full of laughter. The other is full of carrots. Choose wisely.”

Now Beatrix looked to Morfodus. He understood. Morfodus dove for the bucket of laughter. Beatrix hopped to the carrots.

Morfodus tried desperately to convey they reasoning behind his choice. Laughter was the greatest weapon, he knew. Laugh at anything, and it becomes harmless! But Beatrix was adamant. What is laughter against true teeth? Teeth desire food. And besides, carrots are roots. Thus, they grow. Laughter only dies. And carrots are hard. They can be pelted. Laughter is soft. One cannot fight teeth with a grin. The only way to fight teeth is to make them chew something else.

As usual, Beatrix was wise. The silver bird gave a resounding caw and released the bucket of carrots. With a powerful gust, it flew into the dusk. Beatrix picked up the bucket in her teeth.

Dark was falling, and the black creature was gaining on them.


PART IV

The carrots spilled everywhere, and Morfodus panicked. He could hear galloping paws approaching and the steel shwing of claws being bared. Far above, the great silver eagle soared, a tiny silver speck glinting in the waning sun. It wore glasses to observe the battle.

Beatrix began to dig. Dirt flew into Mordofus’s eyes as he hopped around furiously near tears. Clouds passed over the sun. Thunder sounded. The beast pounced. Beatrix dove into her tunnel. It began to rain. The tunnel turned to mud and collapsed, sucking half the creature’s lower legs along with it. It roared in annoyance.

Grabbing it by a stalk, Morfodus swung the largest carrot at the monster. He spun in a circle and released the carrot. It hit the monster in the ear and lodged itself there. Slowly, it turned towards Morfodus.

Morfodus burst into nervous laughter. The beast roared again in fury. Lighting flashed. Just then, a ball of feathers fell flaming from the sky. A bucket tumbled from its talons and beside it landed a pair of spectacles. Upon hitting the mud, the flames ceased and the charred eagle giggled.

And the beast burst out laughing.

It was then that Morfodus understood. Laughter is not a weapon to be thrown—laugh at something, and it only gets angrier. But hand it a bucket full of laughter and a flaming bird and once you laugh together, you are friends! The silver bird nodded, adjusted its spectacles, ruffled its feathers, and with a wink, flew away again. Morfodus giggled. The beast giggled. Lightning struck a bit further away. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud.

However, Beatrix was still buried in the mud.


PART V

The rain had finally stopped and a beautiful rainbow arched through the periwinkle sky. Morfodus stood stoically where Beatrix had sunk and admired it. It existed by the same logic as the mountain, there by an accident of minerals and energy, there for only a moment in the vast scheme of the earth (among bigger things) and gone again, yet both perceived as beautiful through the two-dimensional vision of a rabbit. Wisps of understanding these things passed through Morfodus’s mind like dandelions in the wind.

Morfodus started slowly to dig. He dug and dug until the rainbow was long gone and the sun was setting. He paused only to watch the sunset for a brief moment, noting its similarity to the rainbow, yet how far less special it was for being far more common. He dug into the night. The moon rose over the valley and the stars glinted above the snowy mountain peaks. The trees tilted in the night wind and Morfodus shivered as the the cold mountain air blew down in gusts from above. He kept digging.

As the sun peaked out, pink and grey in the overcast rising morning, Morfodus felt a touch of fur in the dirt. Excited, he dug faster. Faster and faster until the fur became an ear and the ear became a head and the head became Beatrix herself!

She did not seem particularly excited to be dug up, however. Upon further inspection, she did not seem to be in distress at all. Morfodus blinked the dirt from his eyes and she blinked the sleep from hers.

He now observed that she was simply nestled in a little burrow she had made for herself. The walls were even lined with nice tufts of her hair. How warm she must have been, sleeping soundly underground through that cold mountain night!

Morfodus blinked tears of anger from his eyes. To scare him like that!

But Beatrix wiggled and hopped out from her hole, snaking the dirt off her soft head. Morfodus headbutted her reproachingly. She headbutted Morfodus apologetically and amusedly. Morfodus headbutted her again, but it turned into a nuzzle. Embarrassed by this betrayal of emotion, he hopped back a little. Beatrix eyed him with a mix of affection and condesention and began hopping up the hill as the sun turned yellower and rose in the sky.


PART VI

Morfodus and Beatrix hopped up the road side by side. They had passed the timberline and the road was lined with small colorful flowers in a sea of shrubby grass. The air was crisp and the bunnies felt lightheaded with the altitude.

As they progressed, a light snow began to fall. Morfodus looked again to the tips of the peaks, now not very far off at all. The path below had been such a journey to make the top worth it, yet the sides would not exist it all were it not for the peak. This paradox bemused him as they crossed the terrain.

They stopped to eat, munching on some wildflowers, tasting their varied colors as they systematically chewed. Morfodus let Beatrix have the most colorful flowers to eat—this was perfect, for not only did she get to enjoy their superior taste, but Morfodus got to enjoy the delightful spectacle of lovely Beatrix sucking down their vibrant hues through her layers of quickly chomping little teeth. He was purely charmed.

They continued on, slower in the cold and careful not to exert themselves too much in the thinning air. The clouds seemed closer to eye level, but the moon, visible still in the daytime, was high and faint as ever. Morfodus pondered this, and concluded that there are always higher points to reach. Some, he reasoned, could not be reached by rabbits at all.

But that only meant they must try harder to reach the ones they could. They were almost there.


PART VII: THE NIGHTMARE

And so Beatrix and Morfodus came to the top of the mountain. The wind whipped around them as they stood side by side on the icy summit, soaking in the cold golden panorama of late afternoon in the world below.

As they gazed, Beatrix noticed a strange beeping sound. It was a slow, low rhythmic beeping unlike anything she had ever heard before. She perked her ears about, searching for the source. When she identified it her heart began to pound.

The beeping came from Morfodus. It seemed to come from deep within him. The rhythm of the beeps was slowly gaining momentum, increasing in frequency, growing in volume, and rising in pitch. Morfodus appeared to be in a trance.

Beatrix bared her teeth. Morfodus’s eyes began to glow. Above them, a speck of light in the sky grew steadily larger and brighter. The beeping began to race and the pitch was piercing. Morfodus’s eyes beamed through the afternoon with an otherworldly effervescence.

Beatrix pounced. With her teeth and claws she ripped and tore away his fur and stringy flesh. He did almost nothing to resist.

And underneath where a rabbit had once been, there stood a small, metallic bunny-shaped contraption. It had antennae where once there had been ears and two glowing orbs in place of those bright eyes. The beeping was deafening. The robot that was once Morfodus stood transfixed in the dimming afternoon, staring starkly at Beatrix. It took a step towards her, its joints making a soft mechanical whirring sound.

Beatrix turned and fled down the mountain. The light in the sky was now blindingly bright and lowering steadily. Morfudus wanted to call after her, to tell her that she, too, was like him. That he understood everything now. He understood why he was different and what had been calling him to this peak all this time. He felt a profound sense of homecoming. He knew that beneath her fur, Beatrix, too, was a machine like him.

A black door opened in the bottom of the floating lights and a bright pink beam shot down, striking Morfodus directly. His eyes rolled up and his mechanical body began to levitate, slowly rising above the mountain and above the valley and through the soft white clouds, slowly rising to meet the glowing lights. The pink light dimmed and the lights flared and the ship receded and Morfodus had reached his destination.


PART VII: THE DREAM

Morfodus arrived at the top of the mountain. The view was excellent. He understood everything, yet nothing had changed. He was still hungry. He was still cold. He still had to go back down the mountain and take care of all these things, or he would become one with the mountain in ways which he did not want to be. Not yet, anyway.

He tried to memorize the view as well as he could. He wanted to be able to conjure this perspective once it was no longer accessible to him. He knew it could help him to navigate the meadows of the world below when all he would see was what lay in front of him. But now he had made it to this overhead vision, seen the planning and the patterns from above. He had to keep it in mind. He had to! He had to capture it. How could he portray this, convey this, document it and remember it? Share it with the others? Would they even understand? How could he make them understand?

This, he suddenly realized, was the real challenge. Getting to the top of the mountain was only the first step. Now he had to get down and make something of his trip.

But even as these thoughts crossed his mind, he questioned them. Did he have to share his revelations? What made him obligated to do so? Did the other rabbits really need to know? Would it help him if they did? Why couldn’t they also just go to the top of the mountain? Why was it up to him to do all the hard work and make it easier for them?

If he succeeded in gaining their understanding, would they regard him as a hero?

Was he a hero?

Not yet, he decided. But if he followed his plan through, he very well could be.

He could also be ridiculed, but he realized he wasn’t afraid of this prospect.

He would have to share this glory with Beatrix. He didn’t mind at all. In fact, he hoped that she would be as venerated as him.

Would he simply hop from hutch to hutch telling his story? Would he make a large and colorful arrangement of flowers in the shape of things depicting the tale? Perhaps he could teach other bunnies to act as if they were him and perform the story. He could tell it in a song, an easily repeatable song, and sing it to the bunnies who would all remember it and pass it on. He could even do all these things.

The way down would be the easiest part.

If only these came in the cast of Jersey Shore.

This is without a doubt the sweetest ride I’ve ever seen.