Sometimes superstitions are silly. Sometimes they're necessary.
"Can't you see?" Fiver whimpered from his dream-like delirium. "This place…this place isn't right. It's not right. We need to go. Must leave!"
"Leave? Already? This place is warm and safe, and we just got here." Bigwig snorted. "I'm going out for flay." The big rabbit heaved himself up and outside. Fiver twitched and worried in the corner, but the others payed him no heed and continued to listen to Dandelion's story.
A "whip" and "crack" was heard outside, an their ears darted up. A rabbit's scream pierced the air.
"What was that?" Hazel asked. The Cowslip rabbits looked down, assuming an even more lackadaisical expression. The others ran outside to find Bigwig on the ground, his neck encircled in blood. He wasn't breathing.
"What is it? Why won't he get up?" Hazel asked, looking at the others. Blackberry sniffed around Bigwig's neck. "He's trapped."
"Your friend is unlucky. That is all." Cowslip's voice was heard from the warren entrance. "Come back to where it is warm and safe, or you will become unlucky, too."
"Unlucky?" Fiver, whom none of the rabbits had noticed, suddenly exclaimed. "Bigwig is unlucky?" The small rabbit suddenly dug his teeth into his leg.
"What are you doing?" Hazel, his brother, asked, pushing Fiver with his head as blood began to poured down his foot. Fiver gnawed all the more vigorously, stifling screams with his own fur. Then his foot was off -- severed.
"Give it to Bigwig!" He gasped. The others, aghast, did as he said. Suddenly a sapling near Bigwig snapped, and the tension on his neck broke. Bigwig began to breath again.
"….Not…unlucky…anymore." Fiver whispered.
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