Hiberdale the Rabbit

Once upon a time, there was a rabbit named Hiberdale who lived in the forest with his family. Hiberdale was a playful, fun rabbit, but also intelligent, kind, and caring. Every day, Hiberdale would run through the forest, playing with his friends. He would have so much fun. Life was just one big game.
Then one day, Hiberdale’s father, an ocelot named Tenby, called him in from outside, where he was playing with his friends.
“Hiberdale, Hiberdale,” said his father. “Hiberdale, come here my son. I must speak to you!”
Hiberdale heard his father and proceeded to come inside the family home, a hollowed-out tree which was close to the largest source of fresh water for miles around. Hiberdale was tired from playing, and he didn’t want to do chores, but he was ready to do his duty, either way.
Hiberdale walked inside to find his father standing next to the kitchen. There was a pie in the oven.
“Hello, dad?” said Hiberdale. “What is it that has happened? Is all well?”
Suddenly, Hiberdale’s mother, a flamingo named Oseaga, walked into the room. She had a bright, beautiful, pink coat of feathers that reflected the beautiful sunlight and made her even more beautiful. She was slender and youthful, for her age.
“Hello, dad, mom,” said Hiberdale. “Why have you called me?”
“I have called you because you are a man,” said his father, pointing at the door.
Confused, Hiberdale looked at the door, then back at his father. Suddenly, a trickle of rain started outside.
“I’m a what?” said Hiberdale. “What does that have to do with…?”
“You are a man,” said his father.
“A man, it’s true,” said his mother.
“And?” said Hiberdale, chewing on a carrot he had found on the counter. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“You think I didn’t see you playing with your friends, outside?” said his father.
“Go easy on him, Pop,” said his mother. “He’s still so young.”
“Yes, I was playing with my friends outside,” said Hiberdale. “Just like I always do. What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that a man doesn’t play,” said his father.
The rain started to increase steadily as the sky got darker outside. The depressed light shone in through the windows of Hiberdale’s family home. It was a beautiful sight, in an august manner. Something that reminded one of the seasons of life.
Big, heavy beads of rain beat down on the hollowed-out tree, leaving streaks of liquid all the way to the ground, where pools of rainwater had gathered. Hiberdale listened intently to his father.
“What should a man do?” said Hiberdale.
“There is a right of passage,” said his father.
Suddenly, a large crash could be heard outside. Was it a lightning strike? Had the local hunters set off some dynamite for fun? Tenby paused for emphasis.
“There is a right of passage at the end of the forest. I want you to come with me. We will show you the ways of the men of the forest.”
“Okay,” said Hiberdale, resigning to his fate, but not knowing what to expect. It might as well be hades if it meant not playing with his friends.
He went to his room and gathered a spare set of clothes for an overnight jaunt. He also gathered a book and two apples, as well as a napkin, for his sustenance.
The rain continued the entire time as Hiberdale and his father, Tenby, left the hollowed-out tree, their home for as long as Hiberdale could remember.
Hiberdale’s father carried nothing but the clothes on his back. Then…
They both went out into the wet, hot, staccato breeze. The rain couldn’t make it through their parkas, at least they would likely hope so. Hiberdale hung back, behind his father, looking for special rocks that he would find by the road. They continued, looking through each lane and bend of trees. Moving away from the river, they braved deeper and deeper into the forest.
After a while, they made it to a small mountain which overlooked a fertile valley.
“We climb,” said Hiberdale’s father.
“That?”
“Yes, that.”
“What’s at the top?”
“Your manhood, if we’re lucky.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning crashed down, hitting a nearby tree branch. Hiberdale cowered in fear as sparks rained down.
“You my boy?”
“What do you mean?”
“I said, are you my boy?”
“I guess so.”
They continued up the mountain as the rain continued to beat down. It seemed as though it would never end. After about an hour, they came to a cliff higher up on the mountain. There was a fire going, but Hiberdale could see no people around. Suddenly, Hiberdale’s father produced a special horn and began to blow. Suddenly, the inhabitants began to emerge from their caves and huts.
The first thing Hiberdale noticed was their sharp teeth, their sharp claws and their rough, course fur. Even though they were all covered with dark robes, amulets, and shawls, Hiberdale could see through it.
“Wolves and Hyenas?”
“Listen to me son, this is the only way.”
“Only way to what?”
Hiberdale looked behind him to see that the carnivorous monks had blocked his retreat. Looking around for any way to escape, Hiberdale could find none.
“Is this the one?” said the one who looked like the leader.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and a large, powerful snout, which looked like it had eaten its share of rabbits and ocelots.
“What’s this about?” said Hiberdale.
“Your son will make a worthy sacrifice,” said the leader of the carnivores.
He removed his hood to reveal a lion’s mane and a confident, if ascetic, demeanor.
“Truly a worthy specimen. We will feast for weeks on such a one. Will we not?”
The other carnivores began to hoot and holler.
“Sacrifice?” said Hiberdale. “You would sacrifice your own children, father?”
“It was either you or me,” said Hiberdale’s father. “I’ve got a family to feed.”
The carnivores surrounded Hiberdale, trapped him, and then tied him to a stake. After that, they collected some drier wood and placed it near Hiberdale’s feet.
“Father,” said Hiberdale. “I know not what I hath done to make thee requisition me thus over green boughs, but for thee, as for the entire world, I declare my innocence.”
“Trouble not your soul, Hiberdale,” said Hiberdale’s father. “Thine innocence…is a feature.”
The leader of the pack, the lion, sent one of his minions, a scraggly wolf, to light the boughs. Hiberdale stood there as the fire grew, never knowing why he was given.