I sat at the couch, cradling the rabbit in my hands. He was no more than the size of both my palms across and in width.

His fur was a dark, chinchilla gray that gleamed in the lamplight.

My father and I had seen him being thrown into a cage by a very haggard looking lady – she had not been kind to the animals, especially the small rabbits.

I looked down at the blue-eyed lagomorph, and wondered in the perfection of his tiny features.

From behind me, the elder, first rabbit, Fearne, watched with fascinated interest.

I could feel his little heart beating through his ribs, vibrating against my palms resoundingly. He was especially warm, and his fur was like silk between my fingers.

We had decided to call him Bramble, because of his love for chewing and because he very much had the personality of a bramble bush.

He looked up at me, whiskers twitching and catching the light of the lamp above us.

Who would harm such a small creature?

I was so, so happy.

And, not knowing why, I leaned over and cried.