Winning Story for The Writer’s Quill!

It’s time to announce the winner of last week’s prompt, Over the Rainbow. Congratulations to Katherine Milliken, grade 7, for her story!

Over the Rainbow

Katherine Milliken (Grade 7)

Swiftfoot wrinkled his nose and stared somberly at the sky, full of gray clouds and rain. Then he shook the droplets off his nose and backed into the hole.

“Exactly,” General Longclaws was saying. “So we are well defended. It would be wise, however, to find out where and how the enemy will attack. This job would be best for our scout.” He nodded his head to Swiftfoot, who nodded in return.

“How shall I go about this mission, sir?” asked Swiftfoot.

“Run to the enemy camp and listen, of course,” snapped General Fern, fidgeting with his front paws.

“Yes, sir,” said Swiftfoot. “Shall I start at once?”

“Yes, and try to be back by tomorrow,” said General Kale.

“Yes, sir,” said Swiftfoot, and he hopped off without one glance at the generals’ meeting behind him.

“This isn’t a good day for travelling,” said Swiftfoot aloud as he hopped along through the underbrush. It would be easier to go along through the field, but that would be dangerous. There was war.

“Not that I mind rain,” Swiftfoot added, “but I like to stay in my hole for the most part on days like this.” Swiftfoot picked his way around a withered clump of nettles.

“Another thing,” said Swiftfoot suddenly. “How can I put a time limit on something like this? I find out what I find out when I find out.” Swiftfoot shook his head and sighed, sending drops of water flying on the already soaked grasses around him. “I may as well not make trouble for myself, though,” he thought reflectively, “so now I’ll run.” Picking up his pace quite a bit, he ran steadily and stealthily through the wet forest. Soon all the grass and vegetation would wither away, and the days would become cold. “Not a good time for war,” Swiftfoot reflected.

“There’s always been fighting between rabbits and humans,” thought Swiftfoot. It had started when rabbits had been dumb and stupid, and humans had hunted them. Then the space rabbits had come, full of intelligence and wisdom. They had breeded with the dumb rabbits, who really weren’t that stupid–people only thought they were. Over time they all were intelligent and wise, even the ones originally from Earth, and they finally got their own back on the humans.

Ever since then, there were hostilities between the rabbits and humans. Of course, the humans were the aggressors; mostly, at least. They bullied and mocked rabbits when they came upon them, so of course rabbits fought back.

“There’s hardly any hope of peace now,” thought Swiftfoot. He had never known peace; he had never even known a human. “There are some good humans, of course,” he thought doubtfully, “but really, socializing with them would be an awful risk. One day they’re nearly as nice as us, the next they’re your most bitter enemy. Either they’re bad all the time or they change as often as the weather.” Swiftfoot slowed as he came near the enemy camp, then he paused and crouched low to the ground. He then inched his way out of the underbrush and toward the tent which he knew from past experiences to belong to the man in charge.

“Whatever they call him,” thought Swiftfoot. “Lieutenant of the Army or Head General; it was something like one of those, I believe.”

When he had inched his way to the entrance he put his ear against the flapping fabric and listened. Then he sniffed. Nine men, all smoking. “Disgusting habit,” he thought. “It makes me want to cough, and if I do, I’ll be found.” He wrinkled his nose and listened harder.

“I agree,” said a smooth, plausible voice. “Attack by air would be best.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said a hoarse, loud voice. “They’d just run into their holes, and our planes would be useless.”

“Such a display of power would give them quite a fright,” said the smooth voice. “They could be too frightened to run.”

“Use your head,” snapped the hoarse voice. “Their instinct is to run. Of course they’ll run.”

“I have an idea!” cried an eager, young voice. “First we send planes over. This will frighten and bewilder them, and there will be utter confusion. During that confusion soldiers that had already sneaked over through the woods will attack–shoot into their burrows, you know; they can’t all get out of the way, can they? Perhaps some will actually come out, they’ll be so confused.” This idea must have tickled the men’s fancy, for they talked about it quite seriously and began planning it out in detail.

“Here, let’s look at a map,” said a heavy, gruff voice, and Swiftfoot heard a rustling of paper.

Now it was mostly silent; there was an occasional, “That line’s rather crooked, sir,” or “sir, the planes shouldn’t go a mile beyond the rabbit camp, should they? Here, let me fix it.” Swiftfoot waited in the hopes that they would discuss what was being drawn on the map.

“This cigarette’s done with,” the young voice murmured. “I’m throwing it out.” Swiftfoot heard the sound of somebody getting up, and then he heard footsteps. It didn’t register in his mind what was happening until he saw a hand grabbing the entrance flap. He suddenly saw that the entrance was about to be opened, and he would be seen. Swiftfoot gathered up his muscles and sprang away in the very instant that the sharp cry “A spy!” stung his ears. He had just reached the underbrush when he felt a tingling pain across his side, and the loud, startling noise of a gun.

***

Swiftfoot woke up to find that his side still ached. The bullet had only grazed him, but the frightening escape, with several men crashing behind in pursuit, had been a little much for him. He knew a couple things about escaping, however, and it hadn’t taken long to throw them off and, leaving them whispering and wondering where he had gone, limp into this little hidden hollow. Swiftfoot nuzzled the wound. It had stopped bleeding, and should heal quickly. Meanwhile, he had to get back to camp, and he had to hurry. It was daylight already, and it would take him several hours to get back. It would probably take him four or five if you remembered the wound, and, with it aching like it was, it was hard to forget it. Swiftfoot sighed and opened his pack of supplies.

Fifteen minutes later, having eaten and bandaged his wound, Swiftfoot went to the entrance of the hollow, which was almost entirely hidden by undergrowth, and sniffed. “The men have definitely left,” he said aloud. Their smell was a few hours old.

As Swiftfoot hopped home, he wondered if things like sense of smell or hearing had been sharpened by the space rabbits. Had they been able to smell and hear better too, as well as being wise? Swiftfoot suddenly halted. “Oh, why didn’t I pay more attention?” he wailed inwardly. “I’ve done it again!” This human, however, was only a juvenile, she couldn’t be more than ten years old. Even in this serious situation, Swiftfoot remembered that before the space rabbits had come, rabbits had only lived for a few years, instead of living to be at least a hundred.

“Hello,” said the girl, dropping to her knees.

“Good morning,” said Swiftfoot stiffly. “Kindly let me pass.”

“Oh, don’t go!” wailed the girl. Swiftfoot instinctively covered his ears. “I’ve never met a rabbit before,” the girl continued more quietly as Swiftfoot cautiously brought his paws down. “They say that rabbits are bullies, who are arrogant to make up for being so small, but I’ve often wondered if it’s really true.”

“It’s not,” said Swiftfoot hotly, and he continued homeward. The girl followed, chattering relentlessly.

“My name’s Erin,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Swiftfoot.”

“I like your name.”

“So do I.”

“Do you live near here?”

“It’s a few hours away.”

“Is it nice there?”

“I suppose so.”

“Could I live there?”

“No. We live in holes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t like that. Did you just raid a garden?”

“No.”

“What were you doing?”

“I can’t tell you, and I’m sure there’s something else you should be doing right now.” Swiftfoot burst into a run and, when he looked back, there was nobody there, to his relief. He continued at a fast but easy pace, and got back to the camp at a little after eleven.

“Ah, there you are,” said General Kale as Swiftfoot came into the nearest burrow and found the one general resting there. “Wounded, are you?” he added.

“Yes, sir,” said Swiftfoot, and he told General Kale all that had happened.

“Just the sort of plan they’d come up with,” said General Kale. “Sneaky, you know. Well, we’re prepared.”

***

Swiftfoot paced up and down and stared at the gray sky above the green field in front of him. No planes yet. Swiftfoot sighed, paced, shouldered his gun, fidgeted, and stared at the sky again.

Swiftfoot was relieved in half an hour, when he went to his hole and slept. At dusk he went on duty again. The thought that he was the only rabbit above ground, and therefore a perfect target, was not consoling.

Swiftfoot had only begun to fidget when his ears pricked up at some noise. He sat perfectly still and listened. It was a monotonous humming sound, which grew louder and louder, until, finally, one airplane, then another and another appeared in the sky.

Swiftfoot ran into the mouth of the burrow, blew shrilly on a police whistle, and ran to his hole. Due to careful planning and the fact that their tunnels twisted a good deal, no rabbit could be seen if you peered down the holes. Swiftfoot smiled with satisfaction as he heard all the loud, frustrated noises above ground. They were safe. Humans were far too big and clumsy to get into their holes.

As he was feeding by the edge of the woods the next morning, he suddenly froze. There was a human a few feet away, just watching him. He was in the act of turning to run when a human voice said, “No, Swiftfoot, don’t go! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was the juvenile, Erin, he now realized. “Why don’t they name them something sensible?” he wondered as he turned back.

“Why did this place look deserted yesterday?” inquired Erin. “I only saw one or two rabbits at all then, but there are lots now.”

“We were sheltering from attack,” said Swiftfoot, a little stiffly. He was still recovering from the surprise.

“Oh yes, I saw that. You rabbits must be awfully clever,” she said admiringly.

“I agree.”

“Look at that rainbow,” she said, pointing. Swiftfoot looked, and, sure enough, there was a rainbow right over the field. He had never seen one so bright and vivid.

“Erin!” called a faint human voice.

“I’ve got to go,” said Erin, hastily getting up. “Goodbye.” Then she ran off.

Swiftfoot felt all day that something was going to happen, and he was right. It was a little after noon, and he was nibbling grass and looking at the rainbow, which was still there, when he heard a strange voice over his shoulder. “Good afternoon,” it said.

Swiftfoot turned, but he didn’t hurry about it. He could tell that this was a rabbit by the smell and the voice. It was a strange rabbit, of course–his fluff was a light blue, and he had an odd accent–but still, he was a rabbit. “Good afternoon,” said Swiftfoot. “My name is Swiftfoot. What is yours?”

“Mine is Apple–or Valkima.” A realization suddenly jumped to Swiftfoot’s mind.

“You’re a space rabbit!”

Valkima sighed. “Yes, but Earth is the only home I have known,” he said. “I do not even know of my parents. The only life I remember is life in a colony of space rabbits here. I often think of where the space rabbits came from,” he added, looking wistfully up at the rainbow. “Rainbows make me think of it. When I was a child, I thought that the world of the space rabbits would be like living in a rainbow–they are so beautiful, aren’t they?–but I now think it would be something more than that; something more than a rainbow; over a rainbow.”

Swiftfoot listened, fascinated. None of the rabbits he knew talked like this. None of the rabbits he knew were space rabbits. “The rainbow,” continued Valkima, “has always seemed to me to be a sign of peace. The rainstorm is the conflict; the rainbow is the peace when a conflict is finished. Honestly, though, peace can’t stand by itself. If you throw away all your weapons and say, ‘We stand by peace,’ another nation will come and enslave you, as they know you will not fight back. I believe that somewhere–somewhere over this rainbow here–there is a bigger, better rainbow, that is the sign of justice, and it is there that the space rabbits live. Oh, friend,” he said, suddenly turning to Swiftfoot with his odd, gray eyes shining, “how I wish to live on the Rainbow of All Virtues: peace, justice, good-will, and all of them. Ah, friend, we have so much to hope for–so much that we can attempt to gain.”

Suddenly he was gone, and Swiftfoot was by himself. He struggled to come out of the trance that the odd, accented voice had put on him, and turned his gaze from the bent grass where the space rabbit had sat to the bright, colorful rainbow above him. “Somewhere over this rainbow,” he murmured. He lowered his gaze and saw a man waving a white flag approaching him.

“With the compliments of our leader,” the man said stiffly. “We request an armistice, and a meeting in Peace Hollow to discuss terms.”

“I’ll go tell my leader now,” Swiftfoot said, and, shaking off the daze that had fallen on him, he went down the nearest hole to find his leader.