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When two rabbits see the same thing, they also see different things – Bigwig had realised this slowly, but every time he was reminded of it, it helped him understand.
Hazel could see things that hadn’t happened. Not like Fiver did, not omens of the unstoppable – Hazel saw things that could be, if a rabbit wanted them to.
Fiver saw death, The Threarah had seen nothing, Woundwort had seen the weakness of others and had brought them to book for it whether they deserved it or not.
Hazel saw what you could do. He never seemed to mind if you were better than him at something, but he saw where it could take you better than you could.
Other things, Bigwig had decided, Hazel could not see.
“With your leg, you’ll never defend yourself in combat.” Bigwig nudged him roughly with his nose as they silflayed together one rustic late summer’s evening, a little way from the others. “If someone challenges your position, you won’t be able to fight them.”
Hazel had taken another bite of cowslip, seemingly waiting.
“Do you understand?” Bigwig moved closer, although even a rabbit could not have heard his whisper. “Hazel-rah I would fight to my death to protect you, but if I go to Inle you must not fight for yourself. Any idiot strong buck would reinstate you in less than one day anyway, once he saw your worth.”
Hazel seemed to be laughing. “Could you not teach me to fight, Thlayli-roo?”
“Roo?” Bigwig cuffed him over and sat on him, casually as if they were still kittens running on the down at Sandleford, when the world was very small and safe and simple. “See, you cannot move. I have you.”
There was a smell like joy from Hazel – he lifted his head and pressed the softness of his nose to Bigwig’s cheek. “I believe you do.”
Bigwig felt as though he danced like a hare in spring, although his feet moved not at all.
“You do see everything,” he said at last, knowing Hazel would see in the words what he did not know how to say.