Foreword: This is a Zootopia AU. Mammals are intelligent, but primitive. Some species live like savages, while others are on the cusp of civilization. But what's the difference? A young rabbit is about to learn that it's not the food you eat, nor the tools you use.

Only choice can separate a mammal from a monster.

Chapter 1 – Unaware

A shuffling sound at the front of his burrow shook the fox from his slumber. Something had fallen into his den, making enough noise to wake him.

Green eyes blinked open. They were well-adjusted to the dark, dirt walls, easily scanning their surroundings for danger. They found the intruder immediately.

It was a bunny: bruised, bloody, and making small sniffing sounds.

The fox could hardly believe his luck. A prey animal – one of the tastiest and hardest to capture – had just stumbled directly into his hovel. He could hardly believe his bad luck. Of all the nights for his stomach to be stuffed full to bursting, it had to be this one.

Today had been the best day for hunting all year. Hunts like that only came around once, maybe twice in a lifetime. A bunny would have been the perfect way to round it all out, from fish to fowl to mammal. But he hadn't found any mammals at the time, so he stuck to fish and fowl.

Now, for maybe the first time in his life, he was regretting his choice to eat so much. It would be hours before he could eat even half of this bunny.

He could, he supposed, kill it now and eat it later.

But he might not be able to get to the meat before it spoiled, especially during a hot summer like this one. He didn't like the idea of a den full of flies and rotting meat. 'Keep the deaths away from the den,' his mother had always said. But now, that advice was working against him.

So, no killing. But what other options did he have?

The bunny was curled in a tight ball on the ground; it hadn't noticed him yet. It just stayed there, still sniffling. Still unaware. That was good.

But the bunny would probably notice him long before he became hungry again, which was bad.

How could he keep the bunny from leaving? He didn't have any heavy rocks he could use to keep it pinned to the ground. He didn't have anything he could use to block the entrance of his home. There was nothing big enough. In fact, there was nothing at all inside the burrow except the bunny and-

Wait... That's it! The fox thought triumphantly. He could sit in front of the doorway. Or better yet, he could pin down the rabbit himself. He could keep it from running, keep it from moving, and keep it with him until he was hungry again. It was the perfect plan!

Now, all he had to do was execute it.

Slowly, he uncurled his body. Carefully, he put all four paws beneath him, shifting from a sleeping position to a stalking one. Cautiously, he crawled forward on his claw pads, not making the slightest noise.

His eyes were trained on the bunny, watching for any sudden movements. If it bolted upright at any moment, he would dash forward. There would be no escapes on his watch. But other than the small shivers of its fur, the bunny didn't move.

Once again, he could hardly believe his luck, good and bad. This would have been the easiest hunt of his life, if only he could finish it right now. Instead, it might be worse than usual. Rather than waiting a while for prey to prance into position, he'll be waiting forever for his food to fully digest.

All it needs is patience, he thought, quietly creeping closer and closer. It'll be just like any hunt, only longer.

The rabbit still hadn't noticed him. It was still on its side, still sniffling, still unmoving

The fox grinned to itself as it stood a body length away, then froze just before pouncing.

He had no idea how he should pin the rabbit down. If he did it wrong, the rabbit might squeeze out from under him and run away. For that matter, if he startled the rabbit too much, it might bite or kick. Come to think of it, the rabbit probably would bite and kick him if he tried to pin it down.

Then again, it was already injured, so maybe it wouldn't have the energy.

So how do I do this? the fox asked himself. Do I push it onto its stomach and sit on its back?

He imagined what it would take to do that.

No, I'd have to uncurl it from that ball first. Too risky. So what do I do?

He thought about it some more, observing the rabbit and considering angles of attack. The rabbit was a little more than half his size. He should be able to wrap his body around it. Or his forepaws and hind paws, at least.

So I just... hug it? He thought to himself. For a moment, he thought back to his years as a pup. His own mother's hugs were very difficult to escape, even when he was the rabbit's size. He couldn't even manage to bite and scratch his captor, not that he wanted to.

The fox looked at the rabbit, imagining his approach. Eventually, with a very small nod to himself, the fox moved forward again. A hug it is.

Carefully, he dropped from all fours, placing his own side on the ground and mimicking the rabbit's position.

But before reaching his paws out, he paused again. He wondered how he should grab the rabbit. If he did it quickly, he might startle it into a kicking frenzy. If he did it slowly, it might get away.

He weighed his choices. On the one paw was pain and success. On the other was safety and failure.

A painful plan with good odds or a painless plan with bad odds?

Eventually, he made his choice. He could always track the rabbit by scent if it escaped. But if he was injured before then, he'd lose the hunt.

Slow and steady it is, he thought.

His mind made up, the fox trailed a forepaw and a back paw through the air, silently passing them over the rabbit – an action which his other two paws mirrored on the ground, stopping just short of touching fur.

The fox's heart was hammering in his chest. This is it.

Slowly, he lowered the paws in the air until they wrapped around the rabbit, just barely avoiding contact. Then, he pushed the paws on the ground forward, moving them under the rabbit's body. At the same time, he pressed his other two paws around its torso and leg.

The rabbit drew a quick breath, muscles tensing as it felt his fingers on its fur.

But to the fox's relief, it didn't lash out – even as he gently pulled the trembling ball of fluff and meat into his embrace. He pressed its back against his chest and locked all four paws around it, trapping it completely.

Then, he waited. His next move would depend on how the rabbit reacted.

For a moment, nothing happened.

All was still in the den of the fox.

Suddenly, to his shock, the rabbit did something completely unexpected: It relaxed.

It untensed its muscles. It even pressed further into his chest.

He, a fox, was being cuddled by a rabbit.

Then, he heard it. The quiet sniffling sounds from before. Only they weren't so quiet anymore. And it wasn't just sniffling – the rabbit's whole body was trembling, and it's voice was making small, sad noises that his ears only just now started to hear.

It's crying, he realized. I've captured a rabbit in my den, caught it completely unawares, and it's crying. And now that I think about it, this rabbit has been crying the whole time.

If he wasn't baffled before, he was now. Completely, utterly befuddled.

The fox has heard rabbits make other noises before: pained squeaks, fearful chirps, surprised teeth-clicks. But he's never heard a rabbit cry before.

He was at a loss for what to do about it.

Do I even want it to stop? He thought to himself. The longer it cries, the longer it'll take to realize what's going on.

If that happened, he was in for an uncomfortable night.

On the other hand, it looks pretty worn-down already. If it cries itself out, it might fall asleep afterwards.

Wait and wing it, or caress into comfort?

He nodded once. It looks like plan number two wins again.

Gently, he began to rock back and forth, settling into a slow rhythm of motion while one paw drifted upwards to rub its head.

At first, the rabbit only cried harder. Its body trembled heavily, its sniffles came faster, and its voice grew louder. But as he continued to rock, and as he moved his paw back and forth, the sniffles slowed, the trembling weakened, and the voice dimmed. Finally, all three stopped entirely

In his arms the rabbit slept peacefully, enjoying what might be its final slumber.

And around the rabbit slept a large fox, who hadn't even noticed himself drifting off into dreamworld.

He only had one final thought before sleep took him. This is a dumb bunny.