Chronically Ill Kat

About three weeks ago my good friend, and fellow disabled person, Alicia Shearsby, contacted me and asked if I wanted to be involved in a project with her. As a sensible person, who knows when they have too much going on, I obviously said yes despite being very busy. For the next week we both worked hard and just about finished it in time. This is a project made for Folk Tale Week and was released for the last week in daily instalments on both my and Alicia’s instagram accounts. Using the seven folktale week prompts I wrote the text and Alicia used this to craft some beautiful illustrations out of scrap fabric. And that is how Branwen and the Hare Moon came about, here it is in full!

Moon

Spring was in the air. All the signs were there. Animals sleepily wandering by, on the lookout for breakfast after their long winter’s sleep; the buds of snowdrops and daffodils pushing out of the ground. Better still, in the daytime there was even a hint of sun. Finally, the long winter nights were getting shorter.

In the many burrows scattered across the woodland, families of hares were getting more and more excited. Excited in the way that only hares can be: a timid, shy sort of excitement, that sometimes expressed itself in a zoom around the woods at night time. Occasionally, one hare would zoom past another, and they would nod at each other and tremble a little with excitement.

Now hares are not particularly social creatures, and they tend to avoid the big get togethers held by the other woodland creatures, but once a year, during the hare moon, they all come together to celebrate the beginning of spring.

In preparation for this great festivity, hares of all ages were hard at work cooking up tasty dishes and making decorations inside their burrows. Even the youngest hares were collecting pinecones and stringing them together to make pretty, woodland streamers.

It has to be said, some of the other woodland animals looked on with a tinge of jealousy at the great preparations made by the hares. Although the hares did not celebrate often, when they did, they did it well, and the celebratory feeling was felt throughout the woods. With Spring and celebration in the air, the woods were abuzz with joy.

Dream

In a little burrow, nestled amongst the blackberry bushes, Branwen, a young hare, was lying tucked up in bed. She was supposed to be helping the family and stirring the jam but, to be honest with you, everything hurt, and she didn’t feel she could.

Instead, she lay there like she had throughout the long, cold winter, imagining the upcoming festivities. Over and over in her head, she played the moment that every young hare dreamed of: the choosing of the moon hare, who would share the blessing of beauty, and a joyful life, with all the other hares. It was an honour to be chosen, and it was an honour that Branwen wanted more than anything.

In the kitchen of the burrow, Branwen heard a couple of new voices. With a groan, she rolled over. Her friends were here, and she would need to put on a smile and pretend she wasn’t exhausted and in pain. They didn’t like to see her like that, and she didn’t want to upset them. Slowly, she rolled out of bed and brushed her fur so that it no longer poked out in all different directions. “There, that’s a little more put together!”

And at that moment, two quivering hares entered Branwen’s room. “What are you wearing to the festival?”

“Who do you think will be chosen?” These young hares were more boisterous than your average hare, and full of excitement.

“Oh most definitely you,” Branwen answered as she pointed to the smaller hare, a beautiful brown hare, with elegant ears and large brown eyes.

“For sure, for sure” agreed the other hare. “No one stands a chance next to you”.

Secretly, Branwen had been hoping for at least one of her friends to tell her that she would be the Moon Hare. But she kept it hidden, hoping that the others were wrong and, instead, joined in an animated conversation about the different party games they would play, and the dances, and the all-important Moon Hare ceremony.

Quickly, the excitement became too much for Branwen’s energetic friends and they ran off for a zoom through the woods, but Branwen stayed at home. As soon as they’d gone, Branwen sank back into her bed and sighed with exhaustion. If only she could be the Moon Hare.

The Awakening

After what felt like endless waiting, the big day finally arrived. In all the streams across the woodlands, hares could be found taking a dip, having a scrub and styling their fur. Some of them even went to the effort of taking straw brushes to their teeth.

Branwen, like most other young hares, had woken up with a pang of excitement. But unlike most other young hares, that pang had quickly been replaced with a steady realisation that she felt terrible. Worse than terrible, in fact. But there was no way she was missing out on the evening’s festivities. So she pulled herself out of bed and tried to wake herself up with a strong cup of nettle tea. But when her mum saw her winces of pain, she was sent straight back to bed.

“If you want to come tonight, you’d better rest for the day.” And although it pained Branwen to admit it, she knew it was the only way she would make it through the evening. And it was definitely the only way she would make it to the feast, which was, quite inconveniently, held right at the very top of the hill.

When the rest of her family arrived back from the stream, they packed up their baskets of food and decorations and set out to join the party. Branwen’s younger sister carried Branwen’s baskets, and the heavily laden party began climbing towards the top of the hill.

As they passed by hares of all ages, Branwen couldn’t help but feel stared at. She liked to think it was because she looked beautiful this evening, with her fur styled perfectly, and the cutest little hat she could make. But she knew they were probably wondering why the whole family was laden with baskets and she hadn’t bothered to help. Or was it because, try as she might to disguise it, she walked with a slight limp, which was very unbecoming of a hare. She tried not to let the looks sink her mood; this was the Hare moon festival and she was going to have fun.

The feast

As they reached the top of the hill, Branwen’s mood began to brighten once again. It couldn’t be helped. When she looked around the big clearing in the woods, there were bunches of snowdrops everywhere, and little lanterns hung around the trees and the bushes. In all corners of the clearing, were groups of hares, looking their finest, and drinking hot steaming elderflower press or eating beautiful canapes made of flowers, dried last summer specifically for this occasion.

Looking around, Branwen spotted her friends and made a beeline towards them. As she did, she overheard whisperings from some of the other hares: “They say that Branwen wants to be Moon Hare, but whoever heard of a Moon Hare with a limp”.  And from another corner:  “Surely they can’t let Branwen be Moon Hare? Did you see how she made her family carry everything up and didn’t help at all? What a diva!” But Branwen was determined to enjoy the evening, so she brushed it off.

“Hello, lazy!” called her friend in greeting, and Branwen laughed, feeling a little hollow inside. Why did no one understand that she was sick… even after she had explained so many times?

But soon, the hares were dancing together, and Branwen started to enjoy herself, despite the shooting pain that kept taking her breath away.  The dancing and the games were exhausting but such fun. Yet, try as she might to let herself go, Branwen could hear the whispers all around her. It seemed she was in the running to be chosen as the Moon Hare, but no one seemed to want her.

At some point in the evening, the dancing was interrupted by a parade of hares, each carrying baskets filled with dried leaves, which they scattered along the way. It was time for the Moon Hare to be announced. The rest of the hares picked up their drinks and their snacks, and followed the parade to the ceremonial courtyard…. up a long flight of stairs.

As Branwen looked up, she knew that she could never get all the way to the top of those stairs. And worse still, she knew that the other hares knew that, but hadn’t bothered to find a way for her to join.

“Come on, lazy,” one of her friends beckoned to her. But Branwen waved her on. She couldn’t join.

It was at that point, Branwen could no longer ignore what she was feeling. She knew then that nobody wanted a broken hare as the Moon Hare. Nobody wanted a Moon Hare with a limp, who grimaced with pain. In fact, no one even cared if a broken hare was at the Moon Hare ceremony. Broken hares don’t need to welcome spring in; broken hares don’t become princesses; broken hares are broken.

Bird

Although she had tried to enjoy herself all evening – ignored the stares, ignored the whispers, and tried to ignore the judgments – left by herself in an empty clearing, Branwen couldn’t hold it anymore. A tear trickled down her cheek, dampening her fur, and she hung her head. Her body ached with the pain of dancing, with the pain of the games, and with exhaustion of climbing all the way to the top of the hill, and there was a rhythmic throb of pain left over from the loud music.

But she didn’t notice any of that, because she felt numb. Numb from being the odd one out, numb from nobody understanding that she was really sick and trying so hard not to be a burden, numb from the shattered dreams of being Moon Hare.

In a sad daze, Branwen walked out of the clearing and into the woodland. The bright festive decorations only served to rub in the reality that she couldn’t join in, and that no-one seemed to care, so she needed to leave. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed that she wasn’t at the ceremony.

When she was a short distance away from the clearing, and completely unable to hear the Moon Hare announcement, she finally dropped down and lay in a crumpled heap, shivering, and letting the tears flow freely.

From above her, she heard a faint fluttering, but she was too upset to really pay attention or care what it was. But the fluttering came closer, and then she heard very light steps. A tentative and musical voice called out to her, “Hey! Hey?! Are you okay? Can I help you?”

As she sat up, slightly ashamed at being caught crying, she saw that the owner of the voice was a beautiful bird, hobbling daintily towards her.

“Nothing is wrong, but thank you for asking,” replied Branwen politely, desperately trying to contain her sobs.

“No-one cries like that without a reason, especially not a hare on the night of the hare moon. But you don’t have to tell me what’s up. Would it help you if I sat with you? I happen to have some tasty seedcakes in my pocket. By the way, I’m Peregrine. Nice to meet you.” And the bird pulled a couple of homemade seedcakes, that probably tasted a lot nicer than they looked, out of their pocket.

Branwen accepted one of the cakes and for a while the pair sat munching on seed cakes, side by side, and far out of reach of the crowded Moon Hare ceremony.

River

Whilst they munched, Branwen and Peregrine began to talk. Branwen found that Peregrine was warm and kind and easy to talk to and, as she talked, she found herself telling them more than she had really intended to. But once she started talking, she found she couldn’t stop. Peregrine was such a good listener, nodding at the right times, reaching out to Branwen’s paw at the right times, and all round knowing exactly what to say.

“The thing is, I am just so sick, and no one ever seems to make an effort to include me. Everything always happens at the top of the hill, when there is a perfectly functional clearing right at the bottom of the hill. I mean, I think it’s even prettier, it’s got a beautiful river flowing through it… but what do I know? I’m broken and ugly.” And Branwen started sniffing again.

“It seems to me that they don’t recognise what an amazing hare you are,” said Peregrine gently to Branwen. “Why, with some quite simple changes, they could have made the whole thing possible for you to get to. There is no reason why you had to miss the event or be exhausted for it; they just didn’t take you into consideration and I am so sorry. You don’t deserve that at all.”

For a while, the two sat there, and Branwen sniffed and snuffled as her crying began to cease. Somehow, she was feeling a little lighter, telling someone how she felt – and feeling supported was a new experience for her. And it really was helping.

“I tell you what,” said Peregrine suddenly. “My friends and I have a bit of a Spring welcoming party too. I mean it’s nothing as fancy as the hare moon celebrations, but it’s always a lot of fun, and we make sure that everyone who is coming can get there, can eat something, and can enjoy themselves, whatever they can or can’t do. The thing is, a lot of us have been in your position at some point, until we found each other. Would you want to come? I can bring you there.”

Sky

For the next two days, Branwen rested and rested. When she had got home that evening, her family had been very worried about where she had gone. They seemed even more worried that she had taken up with some random bird from the woods – but seeing how excited she was, they didn’t say much. Somewhere inside them, they realised how excluded Branwen had been at the party; after all, they lived with her and knew more than any other hare, how sick she was.

Finally, the big evening arrived, and Peregrine was waiting at the blackberry bush. Branwen waved in greeting and then winced a little.

“Climb in! It’s not perfect, but we will get you sorted with a wheelchair soon. For now, you’ll have to deal with a sky taxi,” and Peregrine pulled a basket out from under their wing.

Branwen hesitated for a moment and then climbed into the basket. Hares weren’t meant to fly… but, then again, hares weren’t meant to be sick. She was a broken hare after all, so why not be a flying hare too?!

Moments later, Peregrine swooped into a clearing. Not just any clearing but the clearing by the river, down the hill. And to her surprise, there was already a rag tag collection of different animals there, all smiling and having fun. Sure, the place wasn’t as well decorated as the hare moon celebration had been, but there was a cosy campfire, some fairy lights and a lot of friendly faces.

Throughout the evening, Peregrine made sure to take Branwen under their wing, and Branwen was introduced to so many different animals. What she noticed was that many of them winced in pain, seemed exhausted, or seemed “broken” in other ways, but nobody seemed to care. Nobody whispered about each other. Instead, they helped each other to join in when help was wanted – and used all sorts of different walking sticks, wing braces, wheelchairs, you name it.

For once, Branwen didn’t feel like the odd one out, like the weirdo who had to act and perform. She felt like she could be loved whilst still being herself, whilst still feeling broken.

And you know what is funny? Since that spring party, Branwen has become close friends with many of the other animals there. In fact, they’ve become almost family because, although Branwen never did become Moon Hare, she did get a wheelchair that meant she could reach the top of the hill, she got friends who didn’t leave her mid conversation to zoom around the forest and, most of all, she realised that “broken hare” was not quite the right way to say it. She was simply a disabled hare and fully deserving of love.

If you enjoyed this story please make sure to check out Alicia Shearsby on instagram and feel free to check out more of my blog. If you want my new posts directly to you inbox you can sign up to my mailing list. I also have a Ko-Fi where you can donate me a cup of coffee or support me with a regular donation and receive amazing rewards like beautifully illustrated and rewritten fairytales with disability representation. Alicia also has a Ko-Fi where you can treat her to a cuppa coffee. Thank you for your support its much appreciated!