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Horace is twice as big as any cottontail in the warren. Instead of bounding, he somersaults. Instead of talking, he grunts. The bunnies tease Horace mercilessly and call him "Dumb Bunny." Horace never complains or hits back. He sits on his haunches, a curious bemused smile on his whiskers. An owl drops Horace into a dark, hostile forest. Sylvester, a wily squirrel, befriends him. Hoping to capitalized on Horace's digging prowess but worried his grunts will drive away customers, Sylvester gives him elocution lessons. "Great gnats! Imagine a good-for-nothing-thief-of-a-weasel slinking off- without an acorn or a piece of flesh! I saw it all. The way you feigned indifference. The way you measured your opponent, even as he advanced. The way you dispatched him with your mighty voice-as though he was a harmless stump!" Horace stared dreamily at the chattering squirrel. Like gusts of wind, Sylvester's words took him on long, beautiful journeys to places he'd never been.
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