Sven was late, as usual. He willed Nimrod faster through town past the newly reopened bank along the canal and the outer castle walls through the Poor Gate. When he arrived at the clapboard hall north of the Stables the horse was frothy at the flanks and Sven was short of breath himself. Spurring the charger onto the steps Sven threw open the door and began to dismount. Somewhere in the oddities and trophies of the well appointed great-room there should be some token as to the location of Clanin's burial party. But, before he could begin a search in earnest his nostrils were assailed by a cloyingly sweet aroma. Fearing a precursor to some malady of the aging, Sven grasped his wrist above the thumb and pressed two fingers on the lifemeter of the vein he found there. He was nearly thrown when a brilliantly yellow rabbit, well it certainly looked like a rabbit, and yet not truly a rabbit, appeared out of nowhere and darted directly under the belly of the horse. Nimrod, already restive and normally skittish in any circumstance, shied back out the door on his hind two hooves nearly brushing the top of Sven's robe against the over sized doorframe and forcing him to lean far forward over the beasts neck while grabbing two handfuls of mane. Alternately muttering curses and soothing words to the stallion brought some sense of calm though the horse continued to whinny and lift his head skyward, rolling his eyes to find the source of the smell and brilliant colors. Sven however had the rabbit well in sight and was passing a much more thorough eye over it. It did look like a rabbit. Long ears, strong hind legs, shorter front paws, its nose twitched like a rabbit, but the sheen of the coat was off, it seemed dull rather than glossy and was the same yellow normally found in ducklings at springs hatching. Sven was still intently puzzling this find, Clanin and his burial completely forgotten, when the rabbit spoke. Well, of course, it speaks, Sven thought. "Have you seen the eggs?" Eyes the same powder yellow as the rest of the creature stared up unsettlingly at Sven. In fact, there wasn't a single spot of another color on the small creature anywhere. "I'm so sorry", replied a flummoxed Sven. "Did you... Say something?" "Have you seen my eggs?" The nose was twitching too much like a rabbit for it to be NOT a rabbit. One that talks, of course. Sven rolled his eyes at himself. "Well, no, point of fact. I have not. No, assuredly not, seen any eggs." Sven contemplated these words, hoping they would be sufficient, and assuring himself of their correctness. Sven thought of asking after a rune or some means of transport to Clanin's burial of State, to which he was supposed to act as representative, and missed apparently. The day just kept getting better. But the colorful rabbit spoke again. "I must find them, it'll be my tail if I don't." And damned if the little puffy, that was it. or part of it, he was puffy, not fluffy, tucked his tail up under its backside as if to protect it. Now, Sven was a mage. He sought out, had spent his entire life training for, the unusual and inexplicable. He became frustrated that, with the opportunity at hand, he seemed to hear absolutely no inner voice urging him on in any particular direction. But the rabbit stole the moment and took off down the cobbled fairway towards the other side of the Bardic Chapter House. Sven tried to form words. Like, Where were they last, or, Did you have them in a container, a basket maybe? But nothing actually made it out of his throat and instead he found himself now lagging behind an increasingly small yellow blur through the Capital of Sosaria. Past the forge and the library they flew, Nimrod notably agitated that no rest had been afforded him. Finally, right in front of the Poor Gate where it met the entrance to the Castle and its drawbridge Sven managed to catch up. The rabbit stared down all the different courses of possible movement, and Sven sagged over the horses neck, trying again to ask a question of the most elusive and brightly coloured creature he had ever heard any tale of. But it was not to be. He hadn't filled his lungs properly when it darted south towards the bank, and Sven urged Nimrod to follow. But the horses heart wasn't in it. By the time they reached the southern wall of the bank along the small parkway now dotted with foliage and enhanced by two benches it was clear they'd have to give up pursuit. One brilliantly yellow anything should stand out even better than the horse itself among the cobbled stones and brick walls. But nowhere did it make itself plain. Sven sagged further into the neck and nudged the horse into a slow cant that would allow it to cool down while he looked wither and thither for a streak of yellow. Finally, after nearly three full circles of the bank itself Sven had to admit defeat. His left hand ran itself through the hair under the burlap hood as he thought how impotent his attempts to talk to the creature had been. Not one piece of useful information regarding it had he obtained. He, the Sage, had not even managed one really intelligible utterance. "Not even a peep," he muttered.