European Rabbit

European Rabbit

You step into a quiet meadow beside the park—a soft carpet of grass broken by tufts of dandelions. Among the blades, you spot the medallion nestled just above a rabbit-sized tunnel entrance. You press it gently—and the world seems to sway.

Suddenly, a dozen little noses poke out. Then more. Soon, dozens of rabbits—ears aflutter—circle around you. Amid them, one larger rabbit hops forward, whiskers quivering with urgency.

“I’m Clover,” she says, voice wavering just enough to show she’s the oldest sibling—and also terrified by your shoes.

Her family rustles behind her, a soft chorus of rustling fur and anxious thumps.

“You touched the medallion. Good,” Clover breathes. “It’s… complicated. You see, my family? We’re enormous. More siblings than I can count. Too many. We pop out of burrows before we even know our names.”

You crouch. “A huge family… that feels like chaos.”

Her eyes soften. “Chaos, yes. Noise, maybe. But also community. We squeak our concerns together. Warn each other. Teach each other pathways to food, safety, stories. We’re living reminders that there’s power in numbers.”

You ask, “What do you think the medallions are for?”

Clover sniffs the air, flanked by twitching noses.

“I think they’re… anchors. Things that help you find your place amid all this.” She gestures toward her family. “They’re like burrows—networks connecting points. You hold one, it hums of the rest. Of community, connection, purpose.”

A smaller rabbit pipes up: “But we’ll overrun the place!” Clover hushes her sibling, gentle but firm.

You ask, “Will I need them all?”

Clover tilts her head. “You might. But remember—alone, a medallion lights a path. Together, they light the sky. You don’t find one—or even just one family. You find whole living maps.”

She glances at the burrow network beneath her paws.

“This meadow, this tunnel system—it’s a performance, really. An orchestra of soft feet. The medallions… they invite humans to join in the rhythm. Don’t worry—my siblings plan to be very involved.”

She gives you a shaky smile, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

Then, with a final twitch of her nose, Clover calls to her family and they disappear into the tunnel, leaving you surrounded by only grass—and a distinct sense of belonging, multiplied.