A soldier turned wanderer, roaming the wild places.
Rabbit is reserved and says little, preferring the company of birdsong and croaking toads to that of other men. His face has a preternatural blankness, as if he is staring through the world at some grander picture behind.
Rabbit walks with a long hickory staff, just a handspan taller than himself, its natural contours rubbed smooth by use and lustering darkly with a rubbing of oil. His worn leather pack holds a bit of food, a can of water, and a few turns of thin rope. The pockets of his roughspun garb contain a few oddments; a needle, some beeswax, and a sprig of purple thyme.
Rabbit is a deserter of a great war far to the south. He has come to this place road-weary and looking to find work, and perhaps a home.