Photography: Little Peck Of Light, by Sara T

Fiction: The Jackalope, by Tessa W

My nose quivers as I stick my head out from my den into the chilly autumn air. I look to my left, making sure that my horns don’t get caught on the mess of roots and leaves above me. It’s early. Early enough that the wolf won’t be on the prowl. Every day for as long as I can remember, that wolf has been making his rounds in my neck of the woods. It makes my life difficult, really, as I have to gather food for my young, not to mention find a way to avenge the death of my parents. Five years ago, when I was just a wee jackalope, my parents were taken in the middle of the night. I didn’t get to see the face of the predator, the evil glint that must have been in their eyes when they dragged my parents away, but I did see one thing. A long, black cape, picking up the half-decomposed leaves on the forest floor. I grew up without knowing how to be a jackalope. My siblings and I were raised by the crow who lived in the trees above us. I grew up with anger boiling in the pit of my stomach, a dark need in the back of my mind to find that animal that took the lives of my parents and deprived me of a normal life and take their life as well. It was a good three and a half years before I realized something. I was scurrying back from a forage with food for my young when I heard something rustling in the bushes behind me. I paused, my ears perked up, waiting for the other animal...or thing... to advance. It snuck away quickly, so quick I almost couldn’t see it, but I did manage to see two things. One: a dark, dark cape. And two: the evil eyes of the panda that had taken my parents from me years ago.  
I’d been planning since then. I’d lie in my den at night, nestled against the packed dirt that I call home and think about what I would do. I was going to kill the panda, there was no doubt about it. But how? The wolf constantly circles my den along with the dens of the other jackalopes, knowing he’ll eventually get something. We’ve lost many good creatures this year, creatures that didn’t deserve to die. But after planning for some time, I created a plan that would work. And I was going to go through with it. 
One of the hunters had left behind a small gun. They dropped it when the wolf came out, snarling and scaring them enough that they dropped their backup weapon and ran out of the forest. I’ve kept it in a smaller pocket in my den since I came across it that day, waiting for the perfect day to execute my plan. And today it should work. 
It’s getting colder, which isn’t what usually happens at this time of morning, but I guess the seasons are changing. The pistol, tucked underneath my paw, is turned into a piece of ice by the chill and I can feel it through my fur. The wolf should be here soon, about when the sun rises. But even if I get back later than that, it’ll be difficult for him to find me. It’s foggy today. The fog comes every once in a while, and when it does arrive it comes in big, rolling waves that make it difficult to see anything around you. For most predators, this puts them at an advantage with their prey. But with the wolf, it’s different. He got in a fight with a coyote a few years back and got his nose clawed up pretty good, a chunk taken out of it. Since then, he relies mostly on his sight and hearing for hunting. I’m also in luck because a murder of traveling crows have come to rest in our woods for a while, and they caw endlessly. The wolf is going to have difficulty getting much to eat today. 
The breeze shifts, and I know it’s time for me to go. I wiggle my body out of my den, my tail brushing against the well-eroded entrance. I don’t even need to think hard about where to go, I’ve run over my plan many times in my head and I know it won’t fail me. Before I know it, my body takes over and I’m running, scurrying through bushes and dodging roots and leaping over fallen oaks and it’s glorious, so glorious, because it’s finally happening, and nothing can stop me, I have been waiting for this moment and no one and nothing can stop me. And then I get there.
The tree is one of the oldest in the forest. It reaches high up into the sky, limbs climbing far past my vision, and looms over the rest of the woods. The bark is peppered with holes from woodpeckers and wrapped with vines trying to strangle the tree, squeeze the life out of it. I can see, although it is far up, a black cape fluttering in the light breeze. I stand on my hind legs, looking up at the colossus. My ears start to quiver but I will them to stop. I summon a breath and call out to the panda. 
“I know what you did!” I scream, slowly brandishing the pistol. “Come out and show yourself!” 
There is a rustling as the panda grabs its cape and makes its way down the tree. It falls on the ground in front of me, with an audible oof. It looks up at me and the gun I was brandishing at it, and raises its eyebrow. “You’re just a scared little jackalope. You won’t really do anything.” 
I grinned, a sick smile twisting its way across my muzzle. A sound you don’t typically hear from a creature like me, a growl, escapes from my grimacing face. “Try me, you human.”  
I pull the trigger.

Digital Art: Love Bomb, by Akira L

Photography: Sunset Flower, by Sara T