Muddleburrow
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Work in progress!
Slightly NSFW!
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Deep beneath the whispering roots of the southern Farenian hedgerows lies Muddleburrow. At a glance from above, there is nothing remarkable - just a gentle rise in a meadow, stitched with wild thyme and dotted with buttercups. But anyone with a keen nose will spot the subtle signs: a circular wooden door half disguised beneath ivy, a wisp of smoke curling from a vented mound, and the rhythmic clink of pottery or laughter echoing faintly from below.
The burrow’s main hall is low-ceilinged and round, shaped by hardworking paws. Smooth clay walls are daubed with pale lime and hung with polished stones, jars, and bundles of drying herbs that perfume the air with mint and marjoram. The floor dips and rises where countless feet have padded for generations. Niches line the walls - some holding lanterns with bee wax candles, others packed with books, keepsakes, and half-finished trinkets.
Muddleburrow is home to the southern Greenvale Rabbitfolk, a small but spirited warren whose members are known for their exceptional Brambleberry Jam, their gossip networks, and their stubborn refusal to move above ground, no matter how wet the season grows. The matron of the burrow, Auntie Pellwort, claims the tunnels are "older than proper manners" and likes to say that the burrow remembers everyone who has ever lived in it. Some visitors swear they can feel it breathe - a soft sigh in the air when old songs are sung or when the first spring rains drum against the roof.
Hidden passageways link the sleeping hollows and family nooks, winding like roots toward the communal chambers: the Tea Den, where a dozen kettles are always on the boil; the Jam Cellar, where hundreds of jars filled with brambleberry jam line the shelves; and the Map Room, its walls marked with old trails, foraging paths, and rumoured fae crossings. Somewhere deep in the burrow’s lower levels lies the Old Tunnel, sealed off after it was said to have connected to something far older than rabbitkind - those who have stood near the blockage claim to have heard a low, uneven breathing from beyond, as though the tunnels themselves were alive and waiting. No one digs there anymore; even the boldest paws grow still when the soil begins to feel colder than it should.
Visitors are welcome if they mind their manners, remove their boots, and bring something to share. Outsiders who spend a night in Muddleburrow report the strangest dreams: of being small and swift, of moving through the dark with warmth in their chest and soil under their nails, of belonging wholly to the earth. Some wake to find a crumb of sweetbread or a sprig of clover on their pillow, as if the burrow itself wanted to say thank you for listening.
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Brambleberry Jam
The pride of Muddleburrow is its Brambleberry Jam, made from a small, dark-skinned fruit that grows in thickets along the edges of the Greenvale meadows. The brambleberry itself is no ordinary berry; it ripens unevenly, each cluster offering a mixture of tart crimson and near-black pearls that glisten like dew-soaked garnets. It tastes of sunlight caught in a hedge - sweet at first bite, but with a sharpness that lingers at the back of the tongue.
Harvesting brambleberries is not for the impatient. The bushes are dense and fierce with tiny hooked thorns, so the rabbitfolk use wicker shields on their paws and weave narrow tunnels through the brambles each year, marking the best bushes with ribbons of dyed grass. They speak of the "singing thickets", where the wind hums softly through the tangled vines; these thickets are said to bear the richest fruit.
In the cool kitchens of Muddleburrow, copper pans bubble from dawn until dusk during jam season. The scent fills every corridor with the aromas of warm sugar, ripe fruit, and that faint, green freshness that clings to the meadow after rain. Each family has its own way of flavouring the jam - some add mint leaves, others a pinch of ground nutseed or a splash of violet cordial - but the result is always thick, dark, and glossy. Locals spread it on oatcakes, stir it into hot tea, or seal it in small stone jars with wooden lids as gifts.
Brambleberries by Tillerz using MJ
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