John Marsden

They didn't understand that rabbits were really a disease, something that spread through the landscape, searching out everything green and good and leaving it dead and barren behind them.

The rabbits didn't understand that they had taken the land. All they knew was that it was their land now.

The rabbits didn't understand that they were invaders. They didn't know that the land had never been owned by anyone, that it belonged to no one and everyone.

The rabbits didn't understand that the grasses and trees and shrubs were all part of a delicate balance, a beautiful tapestry that had been woven over thousands of years.

The rabbits didn't understand that their hunger was destroying the delicate balance of the land, that their voracious appetites were leaving nothing for the other creatures to eat.

The rabbits didn't understand that their presence was driving the native animals to extinction, that they were taking over habitats that had been home to countless generations of creatures.

The rabbits didn't understand the sadness in the eyes of the native animals, the grief and loss they felt as their homes were destroyed and their families torn apart.

The rabbits didn't understand the anger of the native animals, the rage that burned within them as they watched their world being taken away from them.

The rabbits didn't understand the power of the land, the ancient magic that flowed through every blade of grass and every leaf on the trees.

The rabbits didn't understand that their arrival was a disruption, a disturbance in the natural order of things.

The rabbits didn't understand the sorrow in the hearts of the native animals, the deep sense of mourning for a world that was slowly slipping away.

The rabbits didn't understand that their actions had consequences, that their presence in the land was altering it forever.