He brandished the axe fervently, fur and crimson soaring into the air. These demonic rabbits leaped high, eyes afire, large sharp teeth sparkling in the moon's glow. Patch's sky was painted in red; a bunny nicked his neck, crimson seeping. Merely a swift tilt of his head spared his life. As the first light of dawn neared, the rabbits withdrew into the shadows from whence they came, vanishing into the subterranean burrows that concealed them by day. When night would next descend on the island, they would reemerge, their hunger for the little kobold's blood even more insatiable. Patch, wearied, fashioned a rudimentary shelter and succumbed to sleep, his frame battered and bruised, his slumber plagued by night terrors

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