Jackalope

The Jackalope is what would happen if a rabbit read one too many heroic ballads and decided it needed armament. It is a round, fluffy thing with ears long enough to fold over twice, and on its brow sits either a single stubby horn or a little crown of antlers no bigger than a child’s fingers. The horn glows very faintly, like a candle seen through a frosted window, and it is almost impossible to look at one without smiling.

They live in bright meadows and forest glades, usually in warrens dug beneath the roots of old flowering trees. Where there is one, there are forty. Where there are forty, there is no longer any lettuce.

The Mystery of the “Dusk Procession”

Every evening, as the light goes amber, the meadow Jackalopes line up. I mean this quite literally. They emerge from the grass in single file, horns glowing a little brighter than usual, and hop in a slow, solemn line along exactly the same path, all the way back to the warren. The path never changes, even if you put a log across it (they hop over the log, in order).

The Ventara who live in the treetops above one such meadow told me this is a dance, and that the Jackalopes are “keeping time” with a tune only they can hear. They then played me the tune on a reed pipe; it was very pretty and I do not believe a word of it. The Redcaps I asked later had a far simpler answer: “They’re counting each other.” When I asked why, one of them grinned with all his teeth and said, “Because of the black ones.”

On the Matter of Bonding

You cannot catch a Jackalope. I want to be clear on this point, because I spent most of a spring trying. Their escape is a sort of zig-zagging leap that seems to bend slightly around your hands, and by the end of the season I had grass stains on every garment I owned and not a single rabbit.

The Ventara laughed at me for weeks before explaining that you do not chase a Jackalope; you let it chase you. They play a game with them called “Follow the Glimmer,” in which a summoner sets off across the meadow at a gentle trot, humming, and pretends not to care at all whether anything follows. If a Jackalope is curious, it will tag along. If it is still with you at dusk, it may join the procession at your heels instead of its own warren. That, apparently, is a bond.

I tried this with great dignity and was followed home by eleven Jackalopes, none of which stayed, and all of which went through my tent.