Let's Start With a Pencil.

Look at the point. Perfection! The sort of perfection you only get with no manual intervention. A perfect point, perfect for writing, perfect for drawing. Perfect for stabbing into the arm of the boy next to you in school.

The sort of point that will have the little bugger screaming "He tried to poison me!" at the top of his voice. The idea that something called "Pencil Lead" hasn't got any lead in it doesn't come until later in life. The point was twenty degrees of perfection. Cor! That sounds much cooler than it should.

The point, a dark arrowhead, gives way to blond wood, carrying the twenty degree-ness just that little bit further, to the body of the pencil. The edges of this cone are scalloped against the flat sides of the shaft.

At the edge of those semi-circles we see a line of white, just a hint of undercoat, giving way to a full body of yellow, an interesting shade and texture of yellow. Not too bright, not too slippery. Designed to be easy to locate in the bottom of a pencil case, just the right texture to hold steady, even in the sweatiest of fingers in the most strenuous of exams.

Travelling along the pencil's length we come across the maker's nearly-unpronounceable name embossed into the pen and picked out in a weak silvery tincture. The symbol of an Ancient Greek warrior finishing off the logolisation.

Just a little further we find the pencil's true appellation, the letters "H4" in a thin black typeface. This gives us an idea of exactly how painful the point will be embedded in our desk-sharing schoolboy's arm. This also helps us understand the perfection of the point.

Finally, we reach the end, to find a thin metal sheath crimped around it, with the smallest of erasers held in with a miniscule amount of friction. Examining the edges of this, we note the rightness of the angle formed and this furthers our earlier deduction that this pencil is unused, straight out of the box - we all know that any use of the eraser would cause discolouration and a smoothing of the edges. In addition, anything other than an insignificant use would cause the eraser to pop out of the end and bounce across the desk, normally, but not always, into any awaiting partially-full beverage container.

Lets turn the pencil through ninety degrees and look at it point-on. Now you can see the shape of the cross-section: a simple hexagon with slightly rounded corners.

So: if you took another six pencils of the same girth and length, you could present the pencils side by side. With the addition of a pair of rubber bands (one wrapped around each end), you would end up with another hexagon (but larger) with rounded corners.

If you then took another six identical bundles of pencils, and presented them side by side with the original bundle you would end up with a further, even larger, hexagon. You might need bigger rubber bands too. This would now have 49 pencils, wrapped up nice and tight.

Of course, if you were feeling adventurous, you could take a further six of these largest bundles and, with the application of even bigger rubber bands (or maybe some string) you could make a much larger hexagon.

If you then took this bundle of, now over three hundred pencils, you could take some more of that string and tie them to an old roller skate.

Hopefully you'd have some spare string, in that case you could feed one end through the holes at the front of the roller skate, then give each end of the string to a different rabbit, stand those rabbits in front of the 'skate and tell them to pull hard.

I'm pretty sure it would make a strange sight as you watched them pull these pencils across an open field.

--**--

It made a strange sight, two conies pulling a roller skate across a field, the roller skate didn't look "brand new" and its age and general dilapidated state would probably offend any dippy-hippy-chick with a guitar should there have been one around to present it to (there wasn't). Although, I must say, when you looked at it, you could imagine that, thirty years ago, it would have been a roller skate worth singing about.

"Biggs?"

"Wedge?"

"Is that the 'crookéd larch' ahead?" Wedge asked of his brother.

"The what?" Biggs replied, huffing a little as he pulled at the weight of three-hundred-odd pencils balanced precariously on a roller skate.

"The 'crookéd larch'" Wedge responded, "You know, the one we're looking for?"

"'Crookéd-larch'?"

"Yes," Wedge sounded a tad exasperated, "The 'crookéd-larch' we're supposed to be looking for." His shoulders drooped, "Don't you remember?"

"I remember every little thing, as if it happened only yesterday."

"It was only yesterday... And stop singing!"

"'Yesterday...'" Biggs sang.

Smack! Came the sound of Wedge's hand against Biggs' head.

--**--

Yesterday.

Yesterday morning to be accurate.

The boys were eating breakfast, munching faster than absolutely necessary to tell you the truth. Chomping at their carrot-flakes and quaffing quickly at their carrot juice.

"Hey boys!" A doe said as she walked up to their table in the mess hall, a couple of her friends in tow.

"Hey girls." Wedge said, as he came to one of those rare moments between mouthfuls.

"Superstar DJs" Biggs whispered, thankfully, quietly to himself.

Wedge was a little perturbed and a tad confused. Girls didn't usually come up and talk to them in the mess hall.

Or in the corridors.

Or in the fields.

Or in the woods.

"Wassup then, Wedge?" She asked. Wedge racked his brain for her name.

"Not much, Mandy." He replied with as much nonchalance as you can get with milk dripping from your whiskers.

"Oh, alright then." She said, turning to go. Wedge, and Biggs', hearts dropped. "Oh," she said turning back, "The Dark Lord was asking after you earlier." The boy's eyes widened with a gulp. "He said something like," she put on a deep voice, dragging out the vowels as all dark lords are known to do, "'Send them tooo meee as sooon as possible.' I think he said" she said.

"Er," Said Wedge, unsure of whether to ask or not, "When did he say that exactly?"

"Oh," Mandy looked at her wrist where a watch would be if rabbits wore watches, "Dawn. About two hours ago."There was more than a hint of smile on her face.

Wedge looked at Biggs.

Biggs looked at Wedge.

They stood up together and pushed the remnants of their breakfast onto their trays, picked their trays up (they may have been naughty, evil, minions of a Dark Lord, but they weren't about to get on the bad side of the mess-hall staff by leaving their trays on their table) and rushed, first to the tray-handing-back-in end of the mess hall, then out of the door and off towards the Dark Lord's offices.

Just before rounding the last corner to the offices, Wedge halted, held out his arm and stopped Biggs from running round the corner. "Catch your breath." He said, panting like a mad dog in the midday sun.

Biggs pointed behind them, "Its..." breath, "Back," breath, "There..." he said,. His words, or at least his haggard respiration, speaking for themselves.

They stepped into the burridor and walked, as calmly as possible, to the offices of their Dark Lord.

Standing on guard duty was Fudge. He grunted a greeting as they approached then, "E's been waiting fer yer." with a thumb pointing over his shoulder at the door. The thumb turned into a fist and he knocked, much gentler than you would have thought a coney of his rough demeanour could.

Tap -Tap.

"Send them in." came the deep tones of the black bunny through the door.

Fudge nodded, part to the two boys, part as unseen acknowledgement of his master's order, and turned the handle for them, pushing the door ajar and motioning.

They stepped tentatively into the office. Wedge didn't like coming in here anymore. Whilst the Dark Lord was his leader, and so, by that very definition, un-reproachable, Wedge couldn't understand his Lord's treatment of Lottie. She was a nice doe, cute and... well... nice, and didn't deserve to be... punished the way he did.

As they entered the room the black bunny turned away from Lottie's corner and adjusted his buckhood. He twisted his neck as if to release tension, or turn away a ghost, then motioned the boys towards his desk.

"I've got a job for you two." He said, putting his hands on the desk and spreading them apart, smoothing the creases out of some paper laying there.

They stood beside him. The paper was a map, showing the warren and its surrounding areas. The Dark Lord tapped a point to the north. "The 'crookéd-larch'" He said, then looked from one buck to the other, "Yesterday a 'prole escaped our control there."

The boys looked confused.

He tapped a point near the centre of the map. "This is where we are." He then pointed at the contraption sat on the table at the rear - the broken Golden Carrot, jury rigged to control the minds of his subjects, whilst simultaneously boosting the minds of his lieutenants. "And so we should be the centre of the Carrot's influence." He pointed at a spot on the east on the map. "These are the mashed potato fields," he drew a circle with the fingers on the map. You can see that the crookéd-larch is actually nearer than the mashed potato fields."

"But..." Wedge said, the cogs in his mind whirring at stop speed, "The conies working the fields don't get up and run off?"

"Exactly." The black bunny said, "This leads me to the conclusion that the Carrot's control field isn't circular." He looked at the two brothers, "I need you to help me map the shape of the field."

---*---

"Yes, "The 'crookéd larch'" Wedge said, "I think that's it - that tree there that's nearly bent over on itself."

"Oh," Biggs replied, "That 'crookéd larch'!"

Wedge huffed, the cleared his throat. "I think we should get ready." He pulled something out of his backpack. A collar and chain.

"Are you sure we'll need that?" Biggs said in a small voice.

---*---

"You'll need this." The black bunny said, throwing a collar and lead on the table.

"Er, ok. Er... Why?" Wedge asked carefully.

"This is why I picked you for this job. Brothers have a bond that transcends political loyalty." Then under his breath, "or at least they should do."

Biggs poked the collar with a finger.

"One of you will need to take your ring off," Gilchrist pointed at their forepaws and the glisten of gold. "And accept the negative effects of the carrot." He took hold of the collar and held it up, "The other will need to control you."

---*---

Biggs looked very worried as Wedge slipped the collar round his neck and tightened it up. Scared, Biggs hugged his brother, then, as they parted, Wedge took his hand, and looking into his eyes, pulled the ring off. Wedge's eyes watered as the light, the life, drained from Biggs' eyes.

---*---

"We can't trust a 'prole." The dark lord said, "They might fake it, might pretend that they are still 'under' when they aren't. So we need you, a steadfast pair of bunnies committed to the cause. One can go under - and the other can lead him."

---*---

Wedge took the lead in one hand and walked towards the larch, the crooked one. Biggs stayed still, just wavering in the wind, even as the lead tightened. "Follow me!" Wedge commanded; Biggs' feet stepped one in front of the other, walking as if in a daze.

---*---

"One of you will be in a daze," Gilchrist explained, "the other will need to guide him and so find the exact place where you break free of the influence of the Carrot."

"Why can't we leave our rings on?" Wedge asked, "Don't they stop working at the same point? Shouldn't we be able to work out where that it?"

"It doesn't work like that with the rings." The black bunny explained, "They store power and so just fade once you're out of the influence." He placed the collar back on the table with a clunk, "No, it has to be 'ring-less'"

"Once you locate the edge. I want you to bury one of these up to its neck."

Worried at who he meant, the two brothers lifted their heads slowly from where they had been staring at the collar, to find that Gilchrist was holding a human's pencil. To a bunny, a 5 inch pencil is quite a large implement, a little like a spear or a quarterstaff.

"You'll need to walk slowly," He continued, "and circle round the warren. I want you to place one of these every three or four metres."

---*---

Wedge walked slowly, tugging his brother behind him.

"Come on," he said, "not much further now." as much to himself as to his brother. Biggs, without his ring, was a shadow. He didn't sparkle and didn't make jokes and didn't try his brother's patience. Wedge had thought he might have enjoyed this, leading his brother around on a collar and lead, but, for the moment, it just creeped him out.

Suddenly, behind him, there was a cry like a baby and the lead pulled hard in Wedge's hand. He turned to see his brother kneeling on the ground, tears streaming from his face. The end of the lead slipped from his hand as he felt the wave of emotion flowing from his brother.

Wedge turned and knelt with Biggs, putting his arms around the sobbing form.

Biggs rocked against him. "It's horrid." He said in a small voice, "Horrid." It is very possible that he said a much stronger word than that... He pulled away and retched.

Wedge bent his head down to his brother's. Biggs raised his up, wiping his mouth, tears streaming from his eyes. "I was in... treacle." He had trouble getting the words out, "Treacle in my mind. Or Wool, my head felt very woolly." He shivered, "I knew that I wanted to please you - you had a gold ring and I just felt like I should drop to my knees and worship you. I wanted to cry out how much I loved the Dark Lord, but I couldn't remember how to speak. I couldn't speak. I knew that I'd have to be asked before I could say a word.

"Then, suddenly the wool was pulled from my head, the treacle poured out and I could think again."

"Biggs," Wedge said, "It's my turn next."

Biggs shook his head. "No. I can't let you." His eyes widened, "I can't make you go through that." He shook his head, "It's not... Right..." He cleared his throat. "We shouldn't do this to anyone. It's evil."

Wedge's eyes took a turn at widening; he switched his head from side to side and tried to look up without moving his head, causing his eyes to spin up. "He's watching," he said, "remember, he's always watching."

---*---

"We're going to need an awful lot of pencils." Biggs pointed out.

"I'll be watching." The black bunny replied, "I'll have a hawk keeping an eye on you at all times. He'll keep me apprised of your progress and, when you lay this out," he dropped a large red and white spotted handkerchief on the table, "He'll drop you in a replacement package."

---*---

"He's always watching." Biggs said. "We have to finish this job."

His brother gulped.

"We have to." Biggs stood up, leaning on his brother's shoulder. "I'll take it. I'll do all the time without the ring." He forced a smile, "On the bright side, you get to plant all the pencils!"

---*---

It wasn't easier the next time - twenty minutes later and three metres away Biggs was back on his knees weeping with his brother standing over him, tears also streaming down his face.

It wasn't easier the third time, or the fourth time.

"There's a wall over there." Wedge said, although his brother ignored him, "I think we'll reach it before you cross over next." He tugged wearily at the collar, "We'll have a rest there."

"There's a stile here." Wedge said as they reached the enclosure, "Up you come!"

The stile was on the 'dead' side, the inside of the 'field. Which made it quite a job for Wedge to pull his brother up over it. Biggs was under the influence, he *wanted* to help with his entire being - he was just uncoordinated and, well, his elbows seemed to have multiplied in number.

"Oh great. Sheep." Wedge said as he poked his head over the top of the stile. No, he hadn't caught a strange kind of woolly religion, you could probably tell from the tone of his voice. He looked at his brother. "Remind me of anyone?" He mumbled to himself.

Wedge looked back at the last pencil he'd sunk into the earth. It was a metre and a half away at most. So he'd need to go a couple of meters into the field before looking for the border. There were sheep everywhere. He scowled. The chances of Biggs collapsing with tears into a pile of sheep-poo looked dismally high.

He coaxed Biggs over the top and they both pretty much fell off the other side.

Wedge made a face as he shook sheep-shit from his front paws.

A voice came from behind him.

"Oooo! Gwynneth! Look! Rabbit!"

Wedge turned his head to see a fluffy white bundle bearing down on him at a fair rate of knots.

"Ohh! Genny! Yes!" came another voice from a different angle.

"You know what they say about rabbits don't you?" The first sheep said.

"No, what's that?" said another voice, "Are they good at running?"

"Gladys! You silly girl!" The first sheep said. You could hear her eyeballs roll. "They're, you know..." There was the hint of a nudge-nudge in her voice.

"What Genny?" Said another voice.

Wedge realised that they were now surrounded by fluffy ruminants. He gave a start as a cold nose prodded his behind.

"They, you know," Genny said, "Breed like rabbits!"

As one, the ovines chorused a dirty laugh. Wedge realised he'd never felt so frightened.

The noses were pushing them into the middle of the field, away from the edge of the Golden Carrot 'Field. The noses seemed rather, personal, in the way they touched his body.

"So," Said one of the sheep, it could have been Gladys, "Are they good at it then?"

"Maybe they'll show us their prowess!" giggled a sheep.

Wedge shook his head. It couldn't get any worse. It looked like he was going to be raped by mutton. "That's what I get for complaining about not getting laid." He mumbled to himself.

"Gissa kiss, big boy!" a mouth said, smelling strongly of fermented grass.

---*---

Cola poked the fire with a stick, causing a few sparks to fly and some extra smoke to wend its way up and over the carrot she held over the flames. "It's ready!" She called.

From behind her, from behind a bush, Madison strode out, smoothing the hairs on his head as he sat down next to her. "Looks tasty!"

"Well, I don't have my herbs and spices, so we have to settle for a simple grilled carrot for breakfast."

He pulled half the carrot from the stick, then, as it was rather hot, spent the next few seconds saying "Ah!" and "Oh!" whilst throwing the hot food from paw to paw.

Cola smiled a wary smile as she bit into her end of the carrot, safely held on the stick she'd used as a cooking implement.

"I want to thank you." She said as she finished her half carrot.

Madison had a mouthful, so he answered with a raised eyebrow.

"For taking Phump under your wing." Cola got up as she spoke and started kicking dirt over the breakfast fire. "He's always been a little bit of a loner, someone on the outside." She gave a deep breath. "And his weight was against him - I wondered whether he'd ever find anyone, now it looks a lot like he's got an actual girlfriend!"

"He reminded me of nothing like me at all." The buck said as he swallowed the last mouthful. He gave a shrug. "He seemed like an okay kind of a guy and I needed someone with me."

"You've taught him how to swing a sword." Cola said, her hands inevitably ending up on her hips. "And he's started to turn that weight into muscle."

"He just needed encouragement."

Beat.

"Are you saying we didn't encourage him? His family? His friends?" Cola bristled a bit here - she'd given Phump responsibilities and didn't think she'd been ignoring him.

"Are we going to fight?" Madison said, getting to his feet, looking at her, into her eyes, "Because I'm not really up to fighting at this time of the morning."

His eyes weren't like Gilchrist's - that bunny had always seemed as if he was staring deep into your naked soul. Very naked soul. His eyes weren't like Gorden's - Gorden always had a smile in his eyes. Madison's eyes were weary, they seemed more weary than anyone had a right, had a need to be.

He wasn't joking about fighting, he was honest about it. His honesty deflated her outrage. She'd only been trying a little outrage to see if it fitted anyway. This bunny was still a bit of a mystery to her.

"No," she smiled, "No fighting." She stepped to her pack and shouldered it. "But if I get a second wind later today I'll give you fair warning and we can have at it then."

"'sright." Madison said as he located his pack. "What direction?" He said as he pulled his sword from the ground where he'd stuck it the night before.

---*---

"So, Gorden couldn't read?" Madison said as he bent down to give Cola a hand up the stile.

"Not really." Cola said, feeling a little awkward opening up to the white rabbit, "He knew a few words," she had to defend Gorden now, "His strengths weren't literary."

She stood on the top of the stile, searching for a way to change the topic, "What are those sheep up to over there?"

"They've got a couple of rabbits in that scrum!" Madison exclaimed. "Lordie! They could tear them apart." He looked at Cola, "I'll see to this." and jumped down to the ground.

Cola frowned and looked around. She spied something in the next field and started out along the top of the wall.

Madison landed like a cat. Which is to say, on all fours. He scowled as he wiped sheepie-doos from his left front paw then unsheathed his sword.

"Harmlessly passing the time in the grassland away, eh?" He said to himself as he set off for the ruck in the centre of the field.

A metre from the scrum Madison started to wail and wave his sword, screaming "With bright knives he releaseth my soul!"

The tide of sheep parted and the wailing white rabbit rushed towards the two prone and multiple beprodded conies in the centre.

Madison smiled a cold smile and waved his sword menacingly.

Swiftly, a Ewe span round and kicked at him, his sword went flying, and, aside from an "Ouch be careful you could take someone's eye out with that!" from the crowd, didn't seem to do any harm.

Wedge looked at Madison. "Nice rescue."

Cola, meanwhile had reached the gate to the next field and grabbed at the latch. She heard a noise as of hoof-on metal and glanced to see Madison's sword flying through the air, unfortunately without Madison attached to it.

She grimaced and grunted as the latch came up in her hands. She kicked at the gate and spoke to the solitary occupant of the next field. "Come on, Barry." waving her hand, "The girls are gagging for it."

The ram strutted into the field, "LADIES!" He called, with just a little "Baa" at the end, "Daddy's feeling hungry for a little loving!"