There was a nasty shortage of rabbits. This would not have been too big a problem for the people of Westnorton were the rabbits not all the property of Sir Henery Sackbutt who was the most greedy, grasping and bad tempered Lord of the Manor in living memory. Stealing His Lordship's property was a hanging offence and it was lucky that there was no proof against any of the townspeople but, nonetheless, they were all sick of the accusing finger being pointed in their direction.
Even Bogdown, the arthritic, old burglar who ran gangs of thieving street urchins in the city of Eastnorton several miles away was weary, not only of being blamed for the great bunny vanishing act but also because there was extra security around the Lord's warren so he was miffed that he hadn't had any rabbits to sell on the black market for weeks. He was, therefore, putting feelers out for information and was sitting in the The Fletcher's Head Tavern buying Your Character a third jar of the strongest cider which had green grassy and ferny particles floating in it.
((I hope this is alright! I wasn't entirely sure how detailed we are allowed to be in this section?))
Serlene had never gained an appreciation for the taste of rabbit. Not in stews, not in pies, not jerkied or fried; regardless of the presentation, the creature always came across as gamey and unappetizing. But with a dwindling amount of animals in the surrounding woods and an outrageous tax on (legally) imported meats, rabbits were one of few resilient creatures still present in the area- so the tracker couldn't begrudge anyone who yearned for that stringy flesh.
The scarcity of the furry little nuisances was proving to be a slow building travesty, especially with the winter season rapidly approaching. As the temperature dropped, so did the Lord of the Manor's sanity it seemed. With each passing day, more and more people were accused of pilfering rabbits or conspiring to do so. Every tracker and trapper had been brought in for interrogation at least once, or in Serlene's case twice as she was less than cooperative during the first visit. But with no bunny blood on their hands, they were released under close scrutiny - their shops and homes ransacked and upturned. Many had left for the city, others had simply vanished..but Serlene had stayed behind. She wasn't entirely sure why, either.
"If I had any, you know I'd be good for 'em Bog, but I've got nothing," She sighed, clasping a gloved hand around the jar of cloudy cider, brushing a few strands of her unkempt curls from her face. "And I'm not about to risk my neck tracking closer to the Manor than I already have. They've singed me twice already" Her gloved hand flickered, the leather stretching over long fingers, and in doing so rose enough over her palm that the ridges of blistered burns could be seen, " Third time I think he'll just cut it off and use it to pick his teeth," She smirked irritably, leaning back against the wall before taking a long swig of cider. "Pompous arse..."