Peter Rabbit's Arc

Chapter 8 of 13

Peter's count had shown him the danger. Now the danger spoke. He walked his rows at dawn and heard the workers before he saw them. Two rabbit families stood by the water reeds, tails twitching, voices low and hard. When they saw Peter, they stopped. "Four baskets," one mother said. "We heard. Three split twelve ways. That's a mouthful each, not a winter." Others nodded behind her. A young buck kicked a clod of dirt. "We worked your rows all season. For what? A promise that keeps shrinking?" Peter's stomach dropped. If they walked, the rows died. If the rows died, everyone starved, and the shop closed too. He could not lie to them. He had run the numbers himself. "You're right," he said. "There isn't enough yet. But there could be. I need more land to plant, and I need it now." The families said nothing. He had no land. He had no answer. Then he thought of the one creature in Oakhollow who guarded more ground than anyone. He found Mr. Todd near the tree line at dusk. The fox stood in his green coat, paws in his pockets, watching Peter approach without moving. They had made a truce once. Peter's warren had moved the fox's food cache to a new hiding place, and Mr. Todd had spared the workers. The peace still held, but it was thin. "You again," Mr. Todd said. Short. Cool. "There's cleared ground past your den," Peter said. "Old and empty. I want to plant it. Carrots." Mr. Todd's ears flattened. "That ground is mine to watch." "It's bare," Peter said. "It grows nothing for you. Let my families work it, and I'll owe you a share of every basket it gives. Food you don't have to hide or hunt." The fox studied him a long moment. "You bring your rabbits close to my cache." "They already know your secret," Peter said. "This gives them a reason to keep it. A hungry rabbit talks. A fed one guards." Mr. Todd's tail swept once, slow. "Payment in the first frost, then. One basket in four, off that ground. Miss it, and the deal ends." "Done," Peter said. He ran back to the grumbling families in the last light. "New ground," he told them. "Cleared and waiting. More rows means more baskets. Enough for real shares, not mouthfuls." The mother who had spoken first looked at the young buck, then back at Peter. Slowly, she nodded. The others loosened. No one packed up. No one left. That night Peter sat by his patch, relieved and cold at once. He had held the workers. He had won new land. But he had promised Mr. Todd a full basket he did not yet have, off soil he had never planted. His debts had grown again. Now four baskets had to become five, or the fox would come collecting.