The Separation

This is the continuation of The Year Before. You can read all the sections of this story here:

The valley was quiet. The only sound was the whisper of leaves in the breeze, and even that felt hesitant, like it didn’t belong in this desolate world. The air smelled clean here, sweeter than the thick, stale stuff I’d grown used to underground. I caught faint hints of wildflowers and damp earth, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe this place might truly be safe.  

Jon stood a few steps ahead of me, his broad shoulders framed against the green expanse. “This’ll do,” he said, his tone as flat and practical as ever. His eyes scanned the valley, picking out details I hadn’t noticed. “Water. Food. Good cover from predators. If your rabbits are smart, they’ll survive here.”  

Your rabbits. The way he said it made me flinch, though I knew he didn’t mean anything by it. They were mine, weren’t they? My family. My responsibility. And yet…  

I stayed quiet as Jon moved to the cage, his hands deftly working the latches. The metal groaned, and the sound made my ears twitch. I stepped closer, my heart pounding as I watched the door swing open.  

The younglings were the first to emerge. They hesitated at the edge, their small bodies trembling, their noses twitching as they tested the air. I wanted to say something, to reassure them, but I didn’t know how. So I waited, watching as they hopped cautiously into the tall grass, disappearing like shadows into the green.  

The older rabbits followed, slower, more wary. Their eyes darted between me and Jon, their fear plain to see. I couldn’t blame them. To them, Jon was a predator—something dangerous and unknowable. Even I’d been afraid of him at first.  

“They don’t like me,” Jon said, stepping back to give them more room.  

“They don’t understand,” I said. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren’t entirely true. It wasn’t just Jon they feared.  

The last rabbit bolted out, and just like that, they were gone, fading into the valley’s shadows. I called after them, my voice cracking. “Wait!”  

They didn’t. They didn’t even look back.  

I stood there, staring at the spot where they’d disappeared. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t draw a full breath. I’d led them here, saved them, given them this chance to live, and they’d run from me as if I were no different from Jon.  

“They’re afraid of you,” Jon said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.  

“They’re afraid of us,” I replied. My ears drooped as I looked down at the empty cage. “They’re afraid of me.”  

Jon didn’t say anything at first. I heard him shift, the crunch of his boots on the dirt. “They’re your family, aren’t they?”  

I nodded slowly, but the movement felt hollow. “They were,” I said. “But not anymore. Not like they used to be.”  

The words felt heavy, like I was letting go of something I’d been clinging to for far too long. I thought of the burrow, of all the days I’d spent trying to protect them, trying to keep them safe. I’d been their leader, their guardian. But now, looking back, I realized I’d been something else, too.  

An outsider.  

“They don’t know me anymore,” I said. My voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “And I don’t belong with them.”  

Jon’s silence stretched on, and I wondered what he was thinking. He always seemed so sure of himself, so grounded. I envied that.  

“What are you going to do now?” he asked finally. “Follow them? Be with your family?”  

I turned to him, and for the first time, I felt certain of my answer. “No,” I said. “They’ll be safer on their own. I can’t go back to that. I can’t live the way they do anymore.”  

Jon tilted his head, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “So, what are you going to do?”  

I hesitated, my paws curling into the loose dirt beneath me. The words felt strange as I spoke them, like they didn’t quite belong to me yet. “Can I stay with you?”  

He blinked, his eyebrows lifting slightly. I think I caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes, though he quickly masked it. “With me?” he repeated, like he was testing the idea. “You sure about that? I’m not exactly great company.”  

I managed a small smile, trying to mimic the expressions that he made. “Neither am I.”  

He chuckled, a low, dry sound that carried no real humor. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. Then he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “You can stay. But it won’t be easy. I move around a lot. Surviving out here takes work. You’d better be ready for that.”  

“I am,” I said. The words felt true, though a part of me still wondered if I could keep up with him, if I could really survive in the world he’d described.  

Jon studied me for a moment longer, then turned back toward the bike. “Suit yourself,” he said.  

He got on the bike and looked over at me, waiting. I hopped over to him and reached up my arms to scramble up onto the machine. He leaned down and scooped me up, helping me get settled in my place.

The machine roared and the world slipped by. I left my thoughts drift by along with the landscape. When the machine settled, we were back at Jon's camp. I looked at the run down brick building with its broken, lopsided door. This was our home. For now.

We sat beside the fire as the sun dipped below the trees, the orange glow of the flames casting flickering shadows across the walls. Jon busied himself tending to the fire, his movements slow and deliberate. I watched him for a while, trying to understand him.  

“Why did you help me?” I asked finally.  

He didn’t look up. “I don’t know,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe because I saw something in you I hadn’t seen in a long time. Something worth saving.”  

I didn’t know what to say to that. I wasn’t even sure I understood what he meant.  

Instead, I let my gaze drift toward the trees, reliving how my family had vanished into a similar tree line. I wondered if they would survive out there, if they would ever think of me again. The sadness was still there, but it was softer now, quieter.  

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” I asked.  

Jon poked at the fire, his face half-lit by its glow. “If they’re smart, they will,” he said. “If not… well, that’s the world now.” 

His words should have stung, but they didn’t. He was right. The world was harsh, unforgiving, and survival didn’t leave room for sentiment. They would do what rabbits have always done. And we had given them a chance which is more then they had before.

The fire burned low as the night deepened, the stars winking into view above us. I stayed where I was, close to the warmth, listening to the crackle of the flames.  

Jon didn’t say much, and neither did I. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.