In a field of soft purple flowers, a small rabbit watches the clouds. His ears, torn and scarred, almost look like feathers. This is no surprise, for young confident bucks are liable to get themselves into numerous scrapes. He can't quite recall the stories for each one. His coat is the same color as the blossoms, a mirage of violet and blue; naturally, when one leaves the world of the living, they leave their natural self behind. Only their spirit is left. Of course, they hadn't counted on him returning.