White Easter Hare

No one could say when it arrived. One moment the snow lay untouched, the next

— tracks, impossibly light, threading between the trees in patterns that made

no earthly sense.

The White Hare did not belong to the forest the way the Oak did. It did not

guard, did not fight, did not choose sides in the war between frost and flame.

It simply ran. Through shadow and starlight, through the space between one

heartbeat and the next, it carried something no other creature could hold —

the first rumor of spring.

Hunters had tried to catch it. Morana herself had sent frost along its trail.

But the Hare moved in ways that winter could not follow. It slipped between

seconds, left no warmth to track, no scent to chase.

Those who glimpsed it spoke of a calm they could not explain. A certainty that

the cold would end. Not hope — something older. Something the body understood

before the mind could name it.

By the time Vesna set foot in the forest, every creature already knew she was

coming.

The Hare had told them — without ever making a sound.