the path easier to take. Despite the scratches on his arms and the twigs in his hair and the friendly insults of the rabbits, Norman was happy. He was back among the people of Undergrowth, and he was sure that he would soon see his friend again.
Even so, it was a relief to finally emerge from the tunnel and rise from his knees to stand again. But he could only just stand. A canopy of woven branches arched upwards, forming a huge dome that just grazed his head. It was like standing inside a huge overturned wicker basket. Vines of flowers and ivy twisted through the weaving, providing a decorated canopy for the wide clearing below. Norman, still capable of being surprised by the ingenuity of the Undergrowthers, gasped as he surveyed it all.
There was a whole village in there. Beneath the canopy the clearing was laid out with streets, each of which was lined with little wicker dwellings, modest huts towards the edge, growing in size and grandeur towards the middle. In the centre was a single building that looked like it had been made of scavenged brick. A broad avenue led from this building to the stone cathedral. It was a perfectUndergrowthian town. It wouldn’t have been out of place in the Borders or the Windward Dales, but here it was instead, hidden in the woods, just a short distance from Norman’s house in the countryside of England. It made him want to cry out with joy.
“Welcome to Willowbraid,” Esme called up from beside his foot. “You’d better wait at St. Peter’s. It’ll be about the only place you’ll fit.”
Norman skirted the edge of the village until he reached the square in front of the cathedral. The two tall doors at the front might open wide enough for him to fit his head inside, there was no way he was going to fit his shoulders through. Instead, he just sat down cross-legged in the square.
A delegation of rabbits approached, following the avenue from the brick hall, where they had evidently just finished meeting. Many of the rabbits wore brown monks’ robes, which were almost indistinguishable from their fur. At the head of the delegation was a dark brown rabbit in red robes. He wore a black hat and had a gold chain around his neck. As he got closer, Norman could see that his hair was grey beneath his ears and about his whiskers. Norman could also see that he wasn’t happy. He carried a tall staff that he jabbed angrily into the ground as he walked.
Behind the official party, all of Willowbraid seemed to have come out. Rabbits young and old poured out of their houses and onto the street, rushing to the square to see the spectacle. The crowd halted when they reached the edge of the square. No rabbit seemed to want to get any closer than two human arm’s lengths, and yet none of them could take their eyes off the human who sat cross-legged in the middle of their church square.
The members of the official delegation also kept a wide berth, skirting the edge of the square around to the steps of the cathedral, where they all gathered in rows as if they were assembling for a group picture. The old rabbit in the red robes climbed the steps last and took his place at the front of their ranks.
“Who is responsible for bringing the two-legger here?” he demanded, rapping his staff on the stone steps as he did so.
The rabbits in the crowd took their eyes off Norman for just a moment to look around. Their eyes flitted madly as they tried to guess who would be mad enough to bring a human here.
Esme stepped forward. “I am, Father. I brought him here.”
The crowd gasped.
The old rabbit frowned, but his voice softened. “Esme, you should know better. There are rules against talking to the two-leggers, and they are made for good reason. You want to end up a martyr like St. Peter up there?”
Norman hadn’t noticed the mosaic on the front of the cathedral. It showed a little rabbit in a blue coat being stuffed into a burlap sack by a giant human hand. The human boy turned around to look at
Even so, it was a relief to finally emerge from the tunnel and rise from his knees to stand again. But he could only just stand. A canopy of woven branches arched upwards, forming a huge dome that just grazed his head. It was like standing inside a huge overturned wicker basket. Vines of flowers and ivy twisted through the weaving, providing a decorated canopy for the wide clearing below. Norman, still capable of being surprised by the ingenuity of the Undergrowthers, gasped as he surveyed it all.
There was a whole village in there. Beneath the canopy the clearing was laid out with streets, each of which was lined with little wicker dwellings, modest huts towards the edge, growing in size and grandeur towards the middle. In the centre was a single building that looked like it had been made of scavenged brick. A broad avenue led from this building to the stone cathedral. It was a perfectUndergrowthian town. It wouldn’t have been out of place in the Borders or the Windward Dales, but here it was instead, hidden in the woods, just a short distance from Norman’s house in the countryside of England. It made him want to cry out with joy.
“Welcome to Willowbraid,” Esme called up from beside his foot. “You’d better wait at St. Peter’s. It’ll be about the only place you’ll fit.”
Norman skirted the edge of the village until he reached the square in front of the cathedral. The two tall doors at the front might open wide enough for him to fit his head inside, there was no way he was going to fit his shoulders through. Instead, he just sat down cross-legged in the square.
A delegation of rabbits approached, following the avenue from the brick hall, where they had evidently just finished meeting. Many of the rabbits wore brown monks’ robes, which were almost indistinguishable from their fur. At the head of the delegation was a dark brown rabbit in red robes. He wore a black hat and had a gold chain around his neck. As he got closer, Norman could see that his hair was grey beneath his ears and about his whiskers. Norman could also see that he wasn’t happy. He carried a tall staff that he jabbed angrily into the ground as he walked.
Behind the official party, all of Willowbraid seemed to have come out. Rabbits young and old poured out of their houses and onto the street, rushing to the square to see the spectacle. The crowd halted when they reached the edge of the square. No rabbit seemed to want to get any closer than two human arm’s lengths, and yet none of them could take their eyes off the human who sat cross-legged in the middle of their church square.
The members of the official delegation also kept a wide berth, skirting the edge of the square around to the steps of the cathedral, where they all gathered in rows as if they were assembling for a group picture. The old rabbit in the red robes climbed the steps last and took his place at the front of their ranks.
“Who is responsible for bringing the two-legger here?” he demanded, rapping his staff on the stone steps as he did so.
The rabbits in the crowd took their eyes off Norman for just a moment to look around. Their eyes flitted madly as they tried to guess who would be mad enough to bring a human here.
Esme stepped forward. “I am, Father. I brought him here.”
The crowd gasped.
The old rabbit frowned, but his voice softened. “Esme, you should know better. There are rules against talking to the two-leggers, and they are made for good reason. You want to end up a martyr like St. Peter up there?”
Norman hadn’t noticed the mosaic on the front of the cathedral. It showed a little rabbit in a blue coat being stuffed into a burlap sack by a giant human hand. The human boy turned around to look at
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