this is an au where my baby silverweed didnt die i love him so much and im salty hes gone he just wanted to be happy,,,

Spring.

The sun isn't overwhelmingly hot yet, nor is the grass dipped in frost. The world is at its most pleasant at this time. From Watership Down, Silverweed sits, arched and gleeful, watching the creatures down below coupling, rubbing against each other, nibbling coats, grooming young. The warmth seeps through the burrow, warming each run and sometimes Silverweed wishes he didn't have to wake up.

The pleasing atmosphere extends to the rabbits themselves. Hawkbit is much easier to talk to when its warm. He agrees to help with the digging and doesn't argue with Hazel or Clover quite as much. Dandelion manages to be more carefree, and now he can even get Bigwig to grin. Fiver relaxes more. Maybe It's because his paws aren't cold.

Watership Down has been blessed with kittens. The older ones chase each other around, pouncing and pushing each other down the hill. The younger ones still cling to their mothers, but he can see that the hum of the bees and the singing of the birds coaxes them towards the adventure of straying from your mother.

Silverweed is content with how spring is. The sunrise (which he always wakes early to watch) is washed with baby pinks, pale oranges, and occasionally a soft, cottony cloud highlighted lilac. The sun is smiling upon the Down.

Summer.

It's getting hotter. Silverweed misses watching the dew soaked flower buds awakening, stretching their petals and peeking into the gentle rays of sun. Now they hide, which reminds the young buck of the rabbits. They're hiding, too. There is only so much shade outside, and they can't go inside because that's much too hot.

Silverweed often visits the pond. Rabbits don't swim too often – not unless their life somehow depended on it - but Silverweed and Fiver splash and play at the water's edge. The rippling water laps at their paws. Primrose, who oversees the pond expeditions, normally joins them after some time. It's funny watching her run around, elated, like a kitten.

Days drag on, the sun gets under everyone's fur. Most of the empty runs are occupied at this time, as bucks and does try and keep cool of a night. Everyone complains, and yet Silverweed finds it intriguing. Even in the summer, the Warren of Snares had an icy cloud hanging above its head.

Fall.

The trees are dancing in the wind and the golden leaves are pulled off the branches they cling to. Pipkin has made a game of jumping on the piles of leaves, running across the ground and crunching the leaves under his paws. Silverweed starts to explore the forest at this time. It's like a new world, a world unknown and unexplored. The trees, he decides, look dreadfully sad.

The weather reminds him of spring, as once again the days are warm but the nights are cold. It's a nice balance. The rain begins to come as well. It's not terribly heavy rain, more like gentle tears. It's as if the sky itself were weeping for the rabbits, for every rabbit knew that winter followed fall, and that no one particularly liked winter.

Dusk is a most wondrous time. No longer does it hold blues and pinks, but now it's darker, more menacing. The red spreads across the horizon and has chased orange from the sky. The deep blue of night lingers longer of a morning, and hesitates to leave even when the sun urges it to go. The clouds stretch further across the sky, like long dripping ropes. Winter is fast approaching.

Winter.

It's wet and lonely. Hawkbit complains about the cold breezes that push through the warren. Silverweed finds his complaining amusing. No one comes to visit them.

Silverweed has moved to Fiver's burrow and sleeps beside him. Most rabbits are pairing up to sleep to keep each other warm. Between Fiver's coat and the dark burrow, the cold is bearable. It's almost too hot sometimes. Silverweed likes this time. He's so used to sleeping alone that sleeping next to someone is a nice change. He always misses it when he goes back to sleep in his own burrow.

The rivers and ponds have frozen. No one is allowed to stand on them. Some foolish rabbits tried once, howling in laughter when it held their weight, but were immediately scolded by Hazel. Silverweed agrees with them; winter is boring.

There are snowflakes rolling out from the clouds. Silverweed sticks his nose out and they melt on his warm fur. Fiver's whiskers twitch as he tries to hide his smile.

The days grow shorter, so the rabbits settle down and share stories. Some are funny, some are sad, and every one of the stories plays out in Silverweed's head as he falls asleep, lulled by Fiver's quiet snores.

im writing too much for this fandom