A loud sound filled the early morning air. An ear splitting screech echoed through the tunnels of the Warren.
Woundworts eyes flickered open. His peaceful dreams of green pastures shattered by the essence of reality. Woundwort slowly rose from his place of rest and staggered to the side of the small dark hole that surrounded him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, a black figure on the opposite side of the tunnel grew clearer.
Woundwort slowly moved closer to the still figure. He did not know what it was but a familiar smell entered his head with each breath the smell of blood. He brushed his nose against the figure and pulled back with a sharp yelp. He had brushed up against wet fur
Warm wet fur.
Another loud shot pierced the air. Woundworts long rounded ears pricked up at the sound. Each strand of His fur tensed as the sound echoed through the Warren. As the echoes of the shot faded into the darkness a soft call could be heard. The call faint and comforting grew louder