A special commission from artist  ManedWolfAshe

Those who know Fiver only from the movie adaptation of Watership Down know a different character, one much less sure of himself as he copes with the visions he has that tend to come true in one way or other. One place where the movie catches up a bit is in the warren of snares where Fiver figures the whole scenario out only to be ignored. That is until Bigwig winds up snared himself and is thought to be dead. Fiver then gives this speech where he spells out what just happened and why. It was absolutely chilling in the book, less so in the movie but closer to the real Fiver than anywhere else in it.

For anyone who has seen the movie, here is how the scene plays out in the book. Read the book, one chapter a night, do it. Direct quote follows:

"‘He sat still and his words seemed to come crawling up the sunlight, over the grass.

‘Listen, Dandelion. You’re fond of stories, aren’t you? I’ll tell you one – yes, one for El-ahrairah to cry at. Once there was a fine warren on the edge of a wood, overlooking the meadows of a farm. It was big, full of rabbits. Then one day the white blindness came and the rabbits fell sick and died. But a few survived, as they always do. The warren became almost empty. One day, the farmer thought, “I could increase those rabbits, make them part of my farm – their meat, their skins. Why should I bother to keep rabbits in hutches? They’ll do very well where they are.” He began to shoot all elil – lendri, homba, stoat, owl. He put out food for the rabbits, but not too near the warren. For his purpose they had to become accustomed to going about in the fields and the wood. And then he snared them – not too many: as many as he wanted and not as many as would frighten them all away or destroy the warren. They grew big and strong and healthy, for he saw to it that they had all of the best, particularly in winter, and nothing to fear – except the running knot in the hedge-gap and the wood-path. So they lived as he wanted them to live and all the time there were a few who disappeared. The rabbits became strange in many ways, different from other rabbits. They knew well enough what was happening. But even to themselves they pretended that all was well, for the food was good, they were protected, they had nothing to fear but the one fear; and that struck here and there, never enough at a time to drive them away. They forgot the ways of wild rabbits. They forgot El-ahrairah, for what use had they for tricks and cunning, living in the enemy’s warren and paying his price? They found out other marvelous arts to take the place of tricks and old stories. They danced in ceremonious greeting. They sang songs like birds and made shapes on the walls; and though these could help them not at all, yet they passed the time and enabled them to tell themselves that they were splendid fellows, the very flower of Rabbitry, cleverer than magpies. They had no Chief Rabbit – no, how could they? – for a Chief Rabbit must be El-ahrairah to his warren and keep them from death: and here there was no death but one, and what Chief Rabbit could have an answer to that? Instead, Frith sent them strange singers, beautiful and sick like oak-apples, like robins’ pin-cushions on the wild rose. And since they could not bear the truth, these singers, who might in some other place have been wise, were squeezed under the terrible weight of the warren’s secret until they gulped out fine folly – about dignity and acquiescence, and anything else that could make believe that the rabbit loved the shining wire. But one strict rule they had; oh yes, the strictest. No one must ever ask where another rabbit was and anyone who asked, “Where?” – except in a song or poem – must be silenced. To say “Where?” was bad enough, but to speak openly of the wires – that was intolerable. For that they would scratch and kill.’

He stopped. No one moved. Then, in the silence, Bigwig lurched to his feet, swayed a moment, tottered a few steps towards Fiver and fell again. Fiver paid him no heed but looked from one to another among the rabbits. Then he began speaking again.

‘And then we came, over the heather in the night. Wild rabbits, making scrapes across the valley. The warren rabbits didn’t show themselves at once. They needed to think what was best to be done. But they hit on it quite soon. To bring us into the warren and tell us nothing. Don’t you see? The farmer only sets so many snares at a time and if one rabbit dies, the others will live that much longer. You suggested that Hazel should tell them our adventures, Blackberry, but it didn’t go down well, did it? Who wants to hear about brave deeds when he’s ashamed of his own, and who likes an open, honest tale from someone he’s deceiving? Do you want me to go on? I tell you, every single thing that’s happened fits like a bee in a foxglove. And kill them, you say, and help ourselves to the great burrow? We shall help ourselves to a roof of bones, hung with shining wires! Help ourselves to misery and death!’

Fiver sank down in the grass. Bigwig, still trailing his horrible, smooth peg, staggered up to him and touched his nose with his own.

‘I’m still alive, Fiver,’ he said. So are all of us. You’ve bitten through a bigger peg than this one I’m dragging. Tell us what to do.’

‘Do?’ replied Fiver. ‘Why, go – now. I told Cowslip we were going before I left the burrow.’

‘Where?’ said Bigwig. But it was Hazel who answered.

‘To the hills.’

South of them, the ground rose gently away from the brook. Along the crest was the line of a cart-track and beyond, a copse. Hazel turned towards it and the rest began to follow him up the slope in ones and twos.

(edited Strawberry's arrival)-L

A few minutes later the rabbits had crossed the cart-track and vanished into the copse beyond. A magpie, seeing some light-coloured object conspicuous on the empty slope, flew closer to look. But all that lay there was a splintered peg and a twisted length of wire."

-Watership Down by Richard Adams (1972)