For a long while, the rabbit simply lay there on the smooth white peak of the mountain, panting and shivering in the breeze. The climb had sapped him of all his strength-more strength than he even knew he owned.

The sky was a deep, gorgeous blue. The horizon stretched on to infinity. The sounds of the ground-world were lost, drowned out by the wind. He was over-awed by the sheer newness of it all. A bank of clouds drifted slowly above him and he was content to watch them pass. He felt that if only he weren't so tired, he could leap up into them and continue to climb.

Presently the clouds departed, and Bismarck began to study the sky. At first he assumed that his eyes simply needed to adjust to the rarefied mountain air, but as he stared more intently, he found that he still could not see the stars.

Tired though he was, he sniffed around the summit, looking for a better vantage point. But nothing appeared in the sky except more clouds, far off in the distance. He tried calling out to them, but he didn't know any of their names. His shouts of "Stars! Stars!" felt weak and ineffective even to his own ears.

The thought crossed his mind that he might simply wait until night. The stars were bound to show up then. But the miserable reality was that he could not stay here much longer. He had not slept but a few hours the night before, and the peak was surprisingly slippery and narrow. He risked tumbling off the edge while fidgeting in his sleep. And now his stomach was rumbling, spurred on by the effort of his climb. He would have to go down and get something to eat.

"Why have you done this to me?" he cried suddenly into the heavens. "I just want to find my brother!"

But from the stars, there was no answer.

He wondered if his brother had made it to the wilderness yet. Juneau was probably prancing happily through the underbrush, eating wild daisies, sleeping in snug burrows, and telling stories about his dumb little brother who had refused to leave his prison for paradise.

Well Bismarck had left. And now he was bitterly alone a mile above the Earth.

With disinterest, he watched a line of insects move casually back and forth. His stomach growled again. Bismarck normally detested eating bugs, but he had endured them on occasion. When one's basic meal was grass, one was bound to ingest a few ants and beetles.

At least the ants moved with a sense of purpose. These bugs seemed haphazard in their direction, zig-zagging all over the place, sometimes stopping as if lost, only to turn again in a new direction. Gradually he realized that they were not insects at all, but people.

How amazing! he thought. From the height of the White Mountain, everything below seemed smaller. Instead of the vertigo that had accompanied his first look down, he now felt an exhilarating detachment. He puzzled for a moment over a thin ribbon of shimmering blue and another realization crashed over him.

It was the moat! The small river that Albany had been too terrified to cross, now seen from above as a beautiful band of glassy water. And there, next to it, the boxy shape that held the Tower of the Feral Council!

Bismarck squinted. He quickly located the bridge, though he was too far away to see details. The thought struck him: Could he see Partner's Corner? The idea excited him so much he sprang to his feet, searching intently. In an instant, he spotted half a dozen green symmetrical patches. How odd this was! Now how could he tell which one was his?

They all looked alike, and he was too far away to see plants. Partner's Corner had a tree in it. That helped narrow it down. Could he see the rain holes? No chance of that.

He had looked over and dismissed the same planter three times when he finally realized what he was looking at. The shock of it sent a shudder up his spine.

That was it. Partner's Corner. A dark green blob on the west, which was definitely the tree, and a smaller, lighter blob towards the middle-his juniper bush. But it was not the familiarity of it that gave him such a rush of hope. It was the shape of his house.

Up close, he had noticed nothing. It was simply their juniper bush. They lived in a burrow underneath, ate of the grass around its perimeter, and sheltered under its branches in the rainy season. Up close it looked like all the other plants: An organic tangle of anarchy.

But it had clearly been pruned. Its edges had been smoothed and sculpted, no doubt by rabbit teeth over the course of a long night with the rain holes stopped up. It had been shaped in the fashion of a rune common to all species. It was a simple arrow, and it pointed west.

Bismarck's gaze followed the path of the arrow and suddenly there it was: a shimmering path of green surrounded by a river-this one much broader than Albany's moat. The wilderness exactly as Juneau had described it. An island of untamed rabbit heaven. Far off still, but not too far.

Juneau had told him to ask the star, for only by reaching the highest heights could Bismarck find the clue that his brother had left him back at home. By happy coincidence, Bismarck had done exactly as Juneau had asked.

"Thank you," Bismarck said, to the stars, to his brother, to himself. His blood seemed alive again in his veins. He found he had new reserves of energy, awakened by the heady discovery that his brother had shown him the way to a new home, a happier home.

He took one more long look, to be sure of the path, and started back down the mountain.

He soon found out that going down was more difficult than going up. Rabbit bodies are not meant for leaping downward. He landed awkwardly on each step, and though it was not physically as tiring, he struggled to orient himself to a downward direction.

It was with relief that he reached the first of the giant rabbit ledges. He felt his stomach rumble again and a brief wave of nausea came with it. He decided to rest for a moment. The wilderness wasn't going anywhere.

A few minutes later, he felt the rumbling in his belly again. But this time, the rumbling was deeper, and rather than tapering off, it was growing louder.

Bismarck's stomach had never done that before. No, this couldn't be his stomach. The rumbling came from somewhere else. Another sound reached his ears, this time high-pitched and faint, the sound of vibration.

He looked over at the trench in the center of the ledge. The movement was visible only to the animal eye. The twin rails were humming.

Bismarck hopped cautiously over to inspect them. His whiskers brushed one of the rails, and he felt a buzz. Hartford's warning leaped into his mind. How long had he been on the mountain? Dawn seemed an eternity ago, but the reality was probably only a couple hours-maybe less. Do not linger, she had told him. Bismarck was afraid he was about to find out why.

The humming grew louder. Perhaps the giant rabbits had returned. He marveled that he should be afraid. A rabbit, giant or not, was still a rabbit. Perhaps the cats feared them because the White Mountain was where cats received their come-uppance. The giant rabbits might not be so opposed to their normal-sized cousins.

It was on top of him almost before he knew it was there.

He flattened himself to the ground and felt it buzz over his head with a terrific whoosh. He caught only the glimpse of something white as it rocketed around the corner out of side.

Bismarck's whole body was shaking. Had it been a rabbit? It was enormous and sleek, with a horrible screeching call. Where had it gone?

The second one came out of nowhere.

Bismarck leaped back, pinning himself in the small space between the trench and the rocky face. He could hear the wailing calls reverberating up from every corner of the White Mountain. The beasts, whatever they were, had been awakened. Now they were hungry.

A third monster whisked past, blowing his ears and whiskers back in a rush. He couldn't stay here. If he remained where he was, they would soon have him.

He hopped into the trench, leaping over each of the rails. He had barely cleared the other side when yet another beast zoomed past. Bismarck didn't spare time for a glance back. He hurried to the precipice and jumped down onto the ledge below.

The beasts seemed to be everywhere, scouring every inch of the mountain. Their horrible screeching set his every nerve on edge. He found himself flinging himself downward with abandon, caution to the wind. His only hope was escape.

An errant paw slipped on a patch of gravel and suddenly the ground rushed up to meet him.

Bismarck landed with a thud, forcing the air from his lungs, rattling his senses. He looked around frantically. He had no idea where he was. His gaze came to rest on the parallel metal rails. He had miraculously reached the second rabbit ledge, the closest one to the base. Had he eluded the giants?

In answer, one of the monsters shot around the corner, heading straight for him.

He yelped and bolted in the opposite direction, but still the beast plowed after him, shrieking loudly at his heels. With dismay, he realized that he was running uphill. He was still in the trench, flying at a speed he had never reached before. But the beast was just as fast. In fact, it was gaining.

Bismarck sprang into the darkness of the tunnel and dove to the side, only to find that nothingness awaited him. He fell onto a slope and skidded for several yards. The beast did not follow.

He had fallen into a larger cavern. The sound here was deafening, but it was not the shrieking of the giant rabbits. It was an awful clackity sound, the constant banging of metal gears and teeth. To his great horror, he saw one of the giants rising slowly up towards him.

The creature was asleep, though how it could sleep with the roar of the machinery, Bismarck could not guess. It was simply drifting up the hill. Bismarck hoped it would not wake up.

The gleaming shape crested the hill and at once seemed to come alive, its harsh screech starting up. It seemed to lock onto the smaller rabbit. Bismarck's heart sank.

The next few seconds were a blur. Bismarck's legs churned at an incredible pace. He ran for his life. He saw nothing but streaks of light and patches of darkness. His body was fear in motion. And all the while behind him, the giant rabbit pursued.

He beast howled and Bismarck turned to see it was practically on top of him, the gleaming nose scant inches from his back. In a moment, it would simply overwhelm him.

Bismarck turned forward with his last breath. His pupils shrank to pinpricks as the sun exploded in his eyes. He leaped for what he thought was the last time.

For an eternity, he simply sailed through the air. Then he landed on something hard with a bone-jarring thud.

When at last he risked opening his eyes, he was shocked to see the Mountain receding in the distance. His brain could make no sense of it. But there it was, the White Mountain getting smaller and smaller as whatever he was lying on drifted at a steady pace.

It was a cloud: square, white, and smooth. It swayed gently in the breeze. He could see more of the clouds passing through a gaping hole in the side of mountain, some of them following his own, some of them proceeding in the opposite direction.

He was actually heading somewhat in the direction of the wilderness. But up ahead, a roofline was fast approaching. Carefully he slid he way over to the edge of the cloud and leaned over. Too far to drop. A squirrel like Denver would have no problem making the leap to some of the treetops, but rabbits were not equipped to climb trees.

The crazy thought flashed through his mind that water might be soft enough to land on. It might do in a pinch. In fact, if he didn't decide soon, he was going to be pinched himself. The clouds ahead of him were passing under a low clearing. Who knew how tight things would become once his own cloud entered the building?

Bismarck gathered himself at the very edge of the cloud and tried to steel himself for the jump. There was a long, winding canal almost directly beneath him. It was now or never.

Bismarck leaped.

He hit the water like a rock, sinking straight to the bottom. He tried to squeal, but water rushed into his mouth, into his ears, even into his eyes. His feet came to rest on the algae-slicked concrete at the bottom of the channel. He had no idea what to do next.

He cautiously opened his eyes. Everything underwater was strange and murky, a dreamscape of light shafts and drifting silt. He knew he had to breathe, but the air was somewhere above him. He could feel the weight of the water pressing against him from all sides.

Instinctively, he kicked off with his hind legs and suddenly he shot to the surface. The water was only a few feet deep. He had just enough time to gasp in a welcome breath before sinking again.

All the way to the bottom, kicking again, rushing back to the top. He repeated the process over and over until finally he managed to propel himself over to the bank. The ragged, soaked rabbit gripped the stems of a small plant and somehow dragged himself out of the canal.

He spent the next several minutes shaking great sprays of water out of his fur. He thought with some satisfaction that if the Feral Council had been treated to this rather than a simple sneezing fit, they might very well have carried him to the wilderness on their backs just to be free of him.

When at last he looked around, he was surprised to find himself in a human village. It looked very similar to the villages that he had seen from the top of the White Mountain, with one notable exception: He was too large for it.

He felt a tingling sensation all over his body. The White Mountain had cursed him. He had become a giant rabbit himself. Sitting on his hind legs, he could see over the rooftops. As he walked the cobblestone streets, his mass filled the entire passage as surely as if he were one of the trolleys that often passed by Partner's Corner.

He sniffed the doorways and peered in the windows. Everything was dark. The village was deserted.

How wonderful, he thought. With my new size, I can cross a mile in one hop!

Why, he would be at the wilderness in no time! The very notion of it sent him dancing up the streets, knocking playfully on the sides of the houses. And to think he had been dreading the long journey. Juneau would be delighted to see him, surprised to find him there so quickly.

But then the realization hit him that he was now twenty times Juneau's size. His brother would not even recognize him. In fact, his brother might fear him. Juneau would run. He would have no use for a wilderness inhabited by giant rabbits.

With this, Bismarck curled up in the town square and began to cry. His tears ran in rivulets down the cobblestone streets. I'll probably flood the place, he thought miserably.

It was then that one of the village doors opened.

Bismarck immediately stopped crying with a sniff. An old frog was staring at him from the doorway, the lazy pearls of its eyes unblinking. Indeed, its only movement was the steady expansion and contraction of the bulbous skin beneath its chin.

"Well what are you looking at?" Bismarck said, wiping his eyes.

"Just want to know when you're going to finish," said the frog. "You're blocking the way up town."

Bismarck got unsteadily to his feet. "I didn't know anyone lived there."

"No one does. But up town leads to down river. And it's time for my morning swim."

"Do you come from the White Mountain?" Bismarck asked.

The frog did not blink. "No, son, we frogs come from the water. What kind of frog ever came from a mountain?"

"A giant one," Bismarck said.

The frog smiled. "Have you come from the White Mountain? Is that why you're crying?"

Bismarck nodded. Before he could help himself, he found himself spilling the entire sorry story: His brother leaving, his capture by the cats, his journey up the mountain and his miraculous escape, only to find that he had been turned into a giant. The frog listened patiently, stopping him only once, to clarify just where Bismarck had seen the wilderness.

"It seems to me that you've had quite a stroke of luck," said the frog.

"Weren't you listening to what I just told you?" Bismarck said.

"Indeed! And an unluckier rabbit would not have been so fortunate as to stumble upon Indianapolis."

"Where's Indianapolis?"

The frog let out a great croak. "It's me, you young pup! That's my name! You are speaking with one of the great magic frogs of the modern era!"

"Hmmm," said the frog thoughtfully. "It's possible. Your cause is almost worthy. In fact, it's right on the bubble. But there are a few problems I may not be able to solve."

Bismarck's ears drooped so pitifully that the frog let out a great belch, chuckling and jiggling all over.

Indianapolis led him along the riverbank for a short distance until they arrived at a hill. The ruins of a human castle-abandoned, but perfectly preserved-jutted up from its flank. Behind it, hidden in the shadows, they found a tangle of weeds blocking the entrance to a dark tunnel.

Indianapolis sighed. "Well, it's a terrible thing, lad, but I'm afraid this is it. I'm sorry, my boy. I had no idea."

"But can't you see?" said Indianapolis. "The way to the tunnel is blocked. I'm a skilled magician, but not even a High Wizard Frog can remove dandelinicus giganticus."

"In layman's terms, yes," said Indianapolis sadly. "I'm afraid you're stuck here. But you'll get used to it. Giantism has its advantages, believe me."

Bismarck did not answer. Instead, he hopped over and gave the patch of weeds a sniff.

"Yes, yes. Indeed they are. Except of course, they're gigantic. Insidious plants! A botanical evil too much for the likes of us."

Indianapolis raised an eyebrow. "You do? Well that is strange. Perhaps their power over rabbits is not as strong. But then again, what you ate were normal dandelions, and these are much too large for a normal rabbit."

"Ah good point, lad. Excellent point. But I count at least six dandelions here. If you were hungry, it might be one thing, but on a full stomach-"

What a glorious feast! The moist, sweet texture flowed deliciously over his tongue and he swallowed it. He felt its warmth in his belly, driving out the cold of his fear, the cold of his swim. In another second, he ate two more of the weeds.

Indianapolis watched with his eyes wide. "My goodness, boy! You must be starving. Are they tasty?"

"Very tasty," said Bismarck with his mouth full. "Would you like to try them?"

"Oh no lad. A magic frog mustn't. Now, if you had a good ticklish fly, or a plump bumblebee, I would not be able to resist. But one must never touch a dandelion when one is preparing for magic."

"So do you think it will work?" Bismarck asked as he finished the last of his meal.

Indianapolis hopped over to the tunnel and inspected it with a critical eye. At last he turned with a shake of his head.

"It doesn't look good. There's magic in the tunnel all right, but no light. You'd be lost, my boy. It's simply too dark."

Bismarck laughed. "But Indianapolis, I'm a rabbit. I sleep in dark tunnels every night. I use my whiskers and my ears to find my way. I hardly ever even open my eyes."

The frog brightened. "Really? Well if that's the case, then we just may be able to get you out of here! Now hurry, head-first into the tunnel - No, no, not too far. I need to be able to pass the spell onto you."

Bismarck waited, his hindquarters sticking out of the tunnel entrance, his head hidden from view.

"Is it working yet?" Bismarck asked.

"Hold on now, I haven't cast it yet." The frog's voice coming from behind him sounded hollow in the tunnel. "When I do, you will feel a small force on your behind. Once you feel it, you need to move through the tunnel. It will be dark, but keep going at all costs. Just follow it clear to the end, and when you come out, you will be a normal sized rabbit."

"Mr. Indianapolis, how will I ever thank you?"

"No need, my boy. No need. Now are you ready?"

Bismarck felt the magic strike him full in the tail and he shot down the tunnel into the darkness.

The tunnel was tight, but comfortable enough for a rabbit. As it turned this way and that, he could sense the weight of the earth growing heavier above him. Gradually he began to smell a damp, unpleasant odor. The ground became softer beneath his feet.

Suddenly the tunnel widened. The ground disappeared from under him and he splashed down into an inch of running water.

The dirt walls had become ribbed metal. The tiny stream echoed loudly as it trickled across the floor. Bismarck followed the flow, and it was not long before he saw light up ahead.

At last he reached the mouth of the culvert. The water between his legs flowed onward for a few more inches before falling out of sight. He hesitated. Indianapolis had told him not to go back through the tunnel, lest his affliction return. But the only way forward was an expanse of murky sea. His last experience in the canal of Giantland had left him terrified of the water, yet it was the only option before him.

He thought of crying again, but suddenly found that he no longer wanted to cry. He was too angry to cry. He had been through so much, and crying had never seemed to solve anything for him. He would just have to think. If his two choices were to either drown in the water or live as a giant, he was just going to have to decide like an adult.

An ear-splitting blast of sound exploded in the chamber.

It was a doleful, single note. Low pitched, impossibly long. When it finally stopped, its echo seemed to linger forever. Bismarck's eyes watered from the force of the sound. His heart hammered in his chest. What had caused it?

In answer, a great white whale glided slowly into view.

It coasted by at a steady pace, never even looking his way. It seemed to stretch on forever. As Bismarck stared up at its incredible height, he was awed to see that there were people riding on it! It was not a whale at all, but another crazy human contraption. It could carry people on the water. And even though it was enormous, it was reassuring for one reason: The people were normal-sized. Indianapolis's spell had worked.

The whale-thing's revolving, flapping tail churned up great torrents of water. Bismarck watched the waves ripple over the surface of the sea and winced as they splashed against his culvert. He was so hypnotized by the unceasing motion that he didn't notice the proud, green-headed duck until it was right next to him.

"Oh, hello!" said Bismarck suddenly. The duck, coasting in the wake, rolled its eyes.

"Oh no," said the duck to himself. "Not another one."

The duck shook his head with disdain. "I'm sorry, no autographs either."

Bismarck did not know what an autograph was, but he was getting the sense that it did not matter. "Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"That's all you've been doing!" said the duck. "Asking me for pictures and autographs. Probably want to put your cute little baby bunny next to me. I simply do not have time."

"I don't have any babies," Bismarck said.

"Well too bad for them. It probably would have been the highlight of their day."

"Look," said Bismarck with exasperation. "I just would like to know if you could help me out."

"That's what everyone says. Oh, it would be a great favor to me. Please just turn this way, give a little smile!' You have no idea the demands on my time, my young little rabbit. No idea indeed."

Bismarck looked around for a moment. "There's no one else around."

"And for that we should be thankful. You're lucky, you know. An inconsequential rabbit such as yourself. Imagine what a chore it is to be me."

"Just who are you?"

"They're here to see you?"

"You should see them. It's pathetic. I cannot get a moment's peace. They'll mob us, I'm telling you. Just as soon as they can find me again. And then you'll really see a sight. Flashbulbs going off, all their little children pointing and screaming. "Look at the duck! Look at the duck!' And would it kill them to use my real name? My friends and my mama just call me Montgomery. But no, that would be almost sacrilege to a fan. I'm telling you-and I'm not making this up-they'll give me the food out of their own hands. Popcorn, French fries. You should see the amount of bread crumbs that get thrown at my feet every day. It's all I can do to keep them off."

"Sounds awful," Bismarck agreed.

"You get used to it," said Montgomery with a dismissive wave of his wing. "Such is the price of fame. So since you're from out of town, what can I do for you? Want to call home, have me chat with the folks for a minute? That's always popular."

"Well actually, it's about my brother.

"Look kid, you don't need to pretend. You have any idea how often I hear that? Oh, it's for my brother. No, it's my kid sister, she's a big fan.' Mostly from the guys. They're embarrassed, you know. Trying to play it off--"

"I just want to get across the water!" Bismarck yelled.

"If that's what it's called."

"Well there's nothing to it! You just have to swim. I have a brilliant idea: I'll help you!" said Montgomery. "I love to give back to the community. It makes it all worth it. Look, just first get in the water."

He tried to nudge the rabbit with his head, but Bismarck wanted none of that. He nipped in warning, then set about getting into the water his own way. He dipped his back paw in, trying to feel for the bottom, but of course there was nothing but water. As he tried to reposition himself, his hind end fell out of the culvert, leaving him clinging by his paws to the lip of the metal. The trickling waterfall tickled his whiskers.

"Just let go," said Montgomery in a soothing voice. "I've got you."

"What about that thing?" Bismarck sputtered. "That white thing with all the people on it. Is it coming back?"

"The boat? No, it's gone, it's gone. Won't be coming back for quite awhile. Plenty of time."

Bismarck hesitated, then let his paws slip. He splashed into the water and of course sank like a rock.

Montgomery shook his head, then ducked under and seized the rabbit by his scruff, tugging him back up.

"There," said Montgomery.

They repeated this scenario several times, Montgomery shouting instructions as best he could. But every time the duck opened his mouth, he lost his grip and the struggling rabbit sank again.

At last Bismarck came to understand that he was to kick with his legs and paddle with his front paws. He was none too good at it, and it was all he could do to stay afloat. In fact, his nose was often under water. Only by kicking furiously could he propel himself up for air. He was beginning to realize that this was a very bad idea.

"Ah, you've got the hang of it!" said Montgomery. "Now for deeper waters!"

"Arg, no, I'm not ruggle guggle-" Bismarck sputtered as he disappeared beneath the surface again. But Montgomery maneuvered behind Bismarck and began to nudge him out into the middle of the river.

With the duck propelling him, Bismarck found it easier to keep his mouth above the water. He smoothed out his kicking motions, and though it was still a little clumsy, he felt like he might be okay. He even allowed himself a quick smile.

The sun-sparkles on the water suddenly vanished.

An enormous shadow clouded over them. Bismarck craned his head to see another boat closing in on them.

"I thought you said it was gone!" he shouted. In his panic, his kicking became more erratic. He was beginning to sink again.

"Different audience. Everyone wants their piece." Montgomery bravely raised his chin. "And of course, we have to give it to them."

With that, Montgomery swam away.

Bismarck's forward momentum stopped immediately. His hind section drooped and he got a mouthful of water. His last vision before he went under was of Montgomery swimming up alongside the pointy wooden boat as humans leaned over the rail to point at him.

Underwater, Bismarck could see that there was more to the boat than he had thought. The hulking mass was heading straight for him. He set his teeth and kicked with every ounce of strength.

He burst from the water too late and the ship bounced into his flank. But rather than cleaving him in two, it simply pushed him away like the water. He rippled and bounced helplessly along its side until it finally passed him.

The water of its wake crashed over him.

And then miraculously, it propelled him to the surface. The wave was carrying him! He had only to kick lightly to keep himself afloat. The current carried him inexorably towards the shoreline.

With a great splash, Bismarck washed up on the sand. Digging in with his claws, he dragged himself further away from the murky river water. Wet and bedraggled, it nevertheless felt good to be on dry land again.

He shook off the loose water with a shiver. He inspected his tail, and with some precision gnawing removed the burrs and splinters. Carefully, he groomed his whiskers, combing out the mud. Somehow he had made it.

He struggled to his feet and took note of his surroundings. With a shock, he recognized it. He had seen it a thousand times in his dreams and imagination.

It was the wilderness.

The underbrush grew thick and tangled, the trees tall and mighty. Far from the cultivated landscape of Partner's Corner, this was an untamed new land. And sitting in the shelter of a sprawling rivertree was another rabbit.

For a long while, the two of them simply looked at each other. Then the other rabbit smiled and nodded. They raced for each other.

"I knew you'd make it," said Juneau.

Bismarck's eyes widened. "There are others?"

Juneau just grinned. "One thing about rabbits in the wilderness: There's always a lot of us."

© 2008 Kevin Yee