[Watership Down] "Flesh Memory"(PG)
Author's Note: Written for comment_fic's "Watership Down, Bigwig, licking his wounds"
The bites and scratches that Woundwort had inflicted on Bigwig still ached and itched, though he might simply have started noticing them, now that he crouched alone in a side aisle of the burrow. That and the Efrafa Mark would leave scars under his fur, but he had earned them and left plenty in kind on Woundwart. That thought didn't keep Bigwig from licking them to relieve some of the itch.
He heard something rustle in the tunnel. Looking up, he spotted Fiver's small form loping toward him. The smaller rabbit eyed the larger one's wounds, his ears lifting.
"They'll tell stories about them," Fiver said.
"They'll tell stories about what?" Bigwig asked, bending around to lick a cut on his rear hind leg.
"Your scars: mothers will tell their kittens stories about how you got them, from now until Frith sets for the last time," Fiver said.
"They'll tell how I traded worse ones to Woundwort," Bigwig replied, gruffly.
Fiver quivered a little, glancing away, then looked up. "They'll speak of Woundwort in much the same way that they speak of the Black Rabbit of Inle," he added.
Bigwig harrumphed and darted a glare at Fiver. "He bled the same red that I did." They wouldn't tell about how the wounds itched like Inle, or how he sat in a tunnel, trying to lick them while someone prattled nonsense. The tales might tell of the bold adventures and noble deeds, but they rarely told about the aches and pains that came afterward.
The bites and scratches that Woundwort had inflicted on Bigwig still ached and itched, though he might simply have started noticing them, now that he crouched alone in a side aisle of the burrow. That and the Efrafa Mark would leave scars under his fur, but he had earned them and left plenty in kind on Woundwart. That thought didn't keep Bigwig from licking them to relieve some of the itch.
He heard something rustle in the tunnel. Looking up, he spotted Fiver's small form loping toward him. The smaller rabbit eyed the larger one's wounds, his ears lifting.
"They'll tell stories about them," Fiver said.
"They'll tell stories about what?" Bigwig asked, bending around to lick a cut on his rear hind leg.
"Your scars: mothers will tell their kittens stories about how you got them, from now until Frith sets for the last time," Fiver said.
"They'll tell how I traded worse ones to Woundwort," Bigwig replied, gruffly.
Fiver quivered a little, glancing away, then looked up. "They'll speak of Woundwort in much the same way that they speak of the Black Rabbit of Inle," he added.
Bigwig harrumphed and darted a glare at Fiver. "He bled the same red that I did." They wouldn't tell about how the wounds itched like Inle, or how he sat in a tunnel, trying to lick them while someone prattled nonsense. The tales might tell of the bold adventures and noble deeds, but they rarely told about the aches and pains that came afterward.