THE NAME’S HUMANKIND; HER’S MOTHER NATURE; THEIRS’ S COLONY RABBITS

In the burning grasslands, Mother Nature and Humankind faced off under a sky bruised with ash.

“Mother Nature, look at your devastation—these poor rabbits,” Humankind said, voice tight, as if blaming her would fix anything.

Mother Nature’s reply was the wind rustling through the brittle branches before she spoke.

“Preposterous, Humankind. Maybe you should consider your actions before you question mine.”

Below, chaos. Thumper, the matriarch, caught the scent of something wrong—smoke, sharp and bitter. She nudged her kittens urgently.

“Stay close!” she called, her heart beating an irregular, frantic rhythm. Always the first to jump, Foo Foo nudged Bugs.

“Hurry!” she screamed, wide-eyed and desperate. Bugs trembled, his fur prickling with panic.

“Where’s Papa?” he shouted in reply, his voice barely above the roar of the approaching fire.

A crash overhead—the tunnels shuddered, dirt falling in clumps. Mice and moles darted for any exit, their bodies quivering with fear. Peter, voice steady despite the chaos, tried to herd them.

“This way. We’ll be alright. Just follow me.”

The thick smoke caused Hare Buck’s cough to recur.

“Papa!” Foo Foo shouted again, searching the haze for her father, but the smoke swallowed his reply.

“Run!” Thumper urged, fear slicing through her words. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Bugs’ voice was a thread. “But Papa—”

“There’s no time!” she snapped, urgency overwhelming her gentleness. “To the river—now!”

Foo Foo hesitated, torn between the pull of safety and the pain of leaving someone behind. She darted to the mouth of the warren just as flames licked its far edge, the world behind her dissolving in fire.

Mother Nature’s tears streaked her cheeks and mingled with soot.

“Nature, aren’t you responsible for the lightning bolt that started this fire?” Humankind pressed, arms folded.

“Hardly. More like your ‘man’ is responsible for this mess.” Mother Nature shook her head, voice trembling with old anger.

"Nature, you destroy my forests and pollute the air with waste; yet, you blame me for a fire caused by a storm?" What about fires that burn out of control while ignoring human responsibility? Don’t be so naive.”

Humankind’s lips thinned.

“The world change is constant. Humans need more and more space. It’s not malice—it’s what we do. Come now, Nature, now who’s being naive?”

Mother Nature’s voice cracked, sad and fierce.

“Once, every creature found shelter. My inhabitants are self-sufficient; all mankind had to do was keep to themselves—with few exceptions that I could handle. Now, each fire represents one of your careless brushstrokes against my canvas of trees, animals, and habitats.”

If orange haze were sunlight, the rabbits would bathe in it as soon as they broke free from under the ash and into the searing light, a haven from the suffocating warren. Their paws burned on the scorched earth. Thumper pressed her kittens onward, glancing back in search of Hare Buck. Should she go back? Her mind screamed with guilt and the weight of a promise: “We’ll always protect our family, no matter what.”

Smoke stung her eyes. She dashed back into the warren, her heart thwacking, and found Hare Buck, half-conscious, chest heaving. She let out a grunt, and she grabbed his scruff, determined not to fail him.

A burning branch crashed down. For a moment, her grip slipped; however, with a wild leap, she managed to get through.. The warren behind her collapsed with a muffled roar.

They plunged into the river, the water biting cold. The current tugged at them, but Thumper held tight to Hare Buck, letting the flow drag them to a muddy bank.

On the far shore, the rabbits gathered: Foo Foo, who was shivering and wild-eyed; Bugs, who was sniffing and hugging himself; and Peter, who was counting noses.. Around them, total devastation set in. The trunks were black, and the ash drifted about, falling like cruel snow. Foo Foo’s voice, a squeak: “What about the others?”? What if they didn’t make it?”

Thumper, exhausted and shaking, licked her kittens one by one. “We’ll remember them. Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

Other rabbits crawled from the reeds—some limping, some singed. The smoke overpowered the smell of burnt hair, which would have dominated the atmosphere. Huddled together for warmth, they exchanged broken stories and the little food they had saved.

The fallout from the argument had taken its toll on the two above: each presented their best argument. Remorse cast a shadow over Humankind's face as Mother Nature wept.

“Humankind, you see? Look at those charred seedlings, lost dens, and orphaned fawns. My heart aches for every life affected.”

Humankind’s voice was softer now. “We meant no harm… but we did nothing to stop it. We saw the warnings, heard the cries, and turned away.”

Mother Nature’s anger faded into tired grief. “Your progress leaves scars deeper than any wildfire. If you want healing, you have to change.”

It began as a light rain, grew steadier, and eventually became a downpour. Every surface torn down by grey tears. Firefighters trudged through the burnt remains of long grass and ash. As a tiny response to the destruction, a child and a parent pressed a sapling into the damp ground, hands muddy, hope quiet but real.

In the silence that followed, the rabbits pressed forward, inch by inch, into the uncertain countryside of a new landscape. Despite their burns and bruises, the animal survivors scattered. Soon afterward, they banded together for a new habitat, determined to begin anew. One green shoot emerged from a patch of blackened ground—a glimmer of hope persistent enough to rise from ashes.

Mother Nature's final words, "Help me heal," floated in the ashen pools collected.

“Let’s rebuild another habitat—together.”

Humankind listened and nodded.

The firemen chopped away at the last bits of terrain the fire hadn’t destroyed, hitting everything they could with water. The fire had total control over everything it touched.

The men and women firefighters saw the animals running scared. For once, the animals saw mankind as helpful instead of hunting them, and they were grateful.

Once the animals rested their feet on the other side of the water, they knew they had to keep moving. The giant flames and the heat, with the smell of burnt animal hide, caused much anguish. As if the fear reached out like a ghoul in the night, the animals reacted with anxiety when they heard helicopters flying overhead. The number of people who left the town allowed the animals to seek temporary refuge there as they contemplated their next move.

And in the centre of this ruin, where black soot met the first hints of green, the survivors—rabbit, human, and nature herself—waited, battered but not yet beaten, for something new to grow.