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El-ahrairah was a rabbit out of time -- in multiple senses.
The Black Rabbit had not, in that desperate suicide mission, taken his life. El-ahrairah had been taken apart -- and that, in hindsight, made sense. After accidentally calling down enemies upon his people over and over through the years, he'd never been likely to simply win a competition against the Black Rabbit of Inle and fix everything.
But once he'd proven he was deadly serious about dying for his people -- not by some magic deal but in one of the worst ways imaginable -- the Black Rabbit had taken him seriously and ended the war. Still, as assured, there was no deal on El-ahrairah's terms. Rather than kill him, Inle-rah put him back together with moonlight itself.
But there was one way in which El-ahrairah and Rabscuttle did pay with their lives on that mission. The years they would have lived, surrounded by those who knew them, were lost to twilight's shadows. They spent the rest of their lives surrounded by younger generations who didn't recognize them.
El-ahrairah was still able, in those years, to look after his people. He did so with half his senses filtered through death's own light. Until one day, he lay down for the last time.
"And how are you, El-ahrairah?" came the dark voice.
"Prepared to return to your warren, Inle-rah."
There was a raspy chuckle. "Lord Frith will not leave his favorite to me. You'll be forming an Owsla of your own."
This was good, but El-ahrairah was still, oddly, a little sad. "Perhaps I'll still see you sometime."
"At the very least, with every twitch of your ears or whiskers. I'm always with you."