Chioniphobia

Spots

Danger afraid run hide

The instinct hits him before he can see a source. Were he a real rabbit (or perhaps just more intelligent) he would run and hide. But he is púca, ancient and powerful, and surely strong enough to rip whatever his instincts are screaming about into tiny fleshy bits.

So he sits and stays, only half-watching for any danger, when the danger makes itself known. Suddenly, he finds himself wishing he'd listened to his instincts.

Danger

Púcaí are ancient and powerful, but the danger he had sensed is even moreso. Púcaí are strong, but they also know when they cannot win a fight, and he knows if anything is going to be rent to bits it will not be her.

Afraid

Of course he fears her. Only fools do not, and although he might not have been smart enough to flee at her coming, he is no fool. Had the banshees announced her coming, as they tended to do, he would've been long gone. Heck, had he even glimpsed a dog that might be hers he'd be out of here by now, and not because he was in the form of a rabbit. A black dog could not overpower a púca: their master most definitely could.

Run

There is nowhere to run, not from her. None have ever outrun her. Briefly he hopes to escape unnoticed, but no amount of hope in the world will save him when he steps on a thorn. He stifles a cry, but it doesn't matter- like one of her hounds, her nose lifts at the smell of blood, and she turns her head.

Hide

Running has never saved any from her, but hiding has, albeit temporarily. He thinks to duck behind a nearby dead tree, or perhaps burrow into its softened wood, but she steps toward him so that her shadow engulfs him and he knows that will not work.

So he hides in a different way.

He could become a goat, and ram her with his horns. He could take the form of a bird, and slash with talons and beak before flying away. He could even be a dog, try to bite her, or perhaps endear himself to her. She's fond of dogs- her hounds are proof enough of that.

But he knows attacking her will not work for long, and he has little interest in giving up his dignity in exchange for being some fawning pet. Instead, he stands on his hind legs and shifts to a form that's not a beast at all.

The Reaper doesn't look startled when she sees a rabbit transform into a man before her eyes. Doubtless she has seen stranger things over her long un-life, but knowing this does not make it less unnerving as she stares at him unflinchingly.

She tilts her head, squinting slightly, and he realizes that he still possesses the ears of a rabbit. He does not try to correct this- he cannot show uncertainty, not now when he's chosen to hide behind a mask of stoic fearlessness.

"I like your spots," she says.

Her voice is not like the rasp of a dying mortal or the sigh of leaves in the wind. Her voice is ordinary, and if he had heard her without seeing her he might have thought her human.

She lifts her hand. "May I?"

The Reaper steps closer, reaches out, and he does not move. He nearly holds his breath, but forces himself not to. He does not want to stop breathing in the presence of Death.

She hesitates, and for a moment he thinks he's won- what fun is it to chase down prey that does not run, after all?- but her expression is strange. Her eyes are weirdly childish, curious lights clouded by just a hint of concern. What could the Reaper possibly be concerned about?