I washed my hands and doused them with a little of the milk supplement I had used to feed the hare when she was a newborn, so that, if I now left any traces on her leveret, it might at least be a familiar scent. I pulled the curtain aside carefully and picked up the leveret to examine its hind legs. It made quiet puffing noises of anxiety—a touching series of soft, warning grunts—but did not seem to be in pain. I tried gently folding its legs underneath its body as I placed it back down on the carpet.
