Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

Q: Today, many academics feel stuck between a rock and a hard place. They're under huge pressure to write and publish but an ever-growing mountain of teaching and admin is stopping them doing just that. Our research finds that whilst nobody is immune to these pressures, some academics cope better than others and that's because over the years, they've developed personal "systems" to help them write.
We recently carried out in-depth interviews with 23 scholars across the UK, Europe and the US. We deliberately chose a diverse group so as to not make any assumptions based on age, seniority, or research background. Academic experience ranged from six months to 27 years and subject fields ranged from social sciences, economics, business, and arts.
We did this as part of our user research to inform the development of Prolifiko a digital coaching tool for writers. Whilst every academic had developed a writing productivity system personal to them, we found there were six common "habits" that the most prolific (and generally least stressed) academics tended to use.
1. They "time-block" their writing in advance
Scheduling booking in time to write in advance was the single most common habit of our writers. It didn't appear to matter what type of time-blocking method a scholar chose to use or how lengthy a writing session was. Some blocked out long periods of time on sabbatical, whilst others preferred to block out short, regular times throughout the day or across a week.
What seemed to matter far more was the act of planning, as this mentally prepared the individual for writing and so made the process easier and less stressful.
"When I need to write I block out time. I'm lucky in that I can work from home I block out a couple of straight days to do the writing and I plan it in beforehand. I couldn't really write in any other way than blocking out that time." Question: Who blocks their writing in advance?

A: Academics
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Q: One spring it stopped raining in early March and didn't start again.
There was one very well-off bunny in the village who had a large burrow and lots of food saved up. He wasn't worried about the drought at all. The other bunnies, though, looked at the purple-red nettles withering in the fields and the mayweed that hadn't even flowered and wondered if they were going to have enough food to get them through the next winter.
The very well-off bunny was named Albertus, but everybody called him Big Al--at least they called him that when they were sure he couldn't hear them. Big Al was in fact a very large bunny with long, white, silky fur. He had lots of land that his parents had left to him, and he never let any of the other bunnies gather food there. The story was that Big Al had sat on the one bunny who tried to make off with some of his carrots until the small bunny begged for mercy. After Big Al let him up, the small bunny moved to another village.
One morning a dozen or more bunnies sat around the village square, licking the dew off the dried and wrinkled clover to quench their thirsts, and talking about the drought. There was still a bit of a cool breeze from Possum Creek, a mile or so away. Sophie Bunny, who was large and sleek, with a black circle around one eye, was there with her husband Lenny and their youngest, Ralph, who still lived at home with them.
"I don't mind telling you," Lenny said, "I'm getting a little scared by all this." Lenny was a small, tan bunny with buck teeth and big cheeks like a chipmunk.
"No need to be afraid," said the short, overweight Reverend Billy Bunny, the village's spiritual leader. "The Easter Bunny will provide." He sat, as he usually did, by the thick green hawthorn bush in the middle of the square--although the bush was neither as thick nor as green as it had once been. Question: Who wasn't worried about the drought?

A: Albertus
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Q: It was a nice summer evening. A cool breeze blowing. Birds singing. Leaves rustling. The waters of the pool shining, shimmering in the sunlight. I was sitting on the steps of the pool, my legs submerged in water.Those blue depths were irrestisible. I inched a bit further in. Water to my waist a little more. closer to the blue..just a little morewater to my chest yes, keep goinga bit morewater to my neck.almost there.the blue gaze of those depths held me in aweoh my..so beaut-

Going up a sort of endless escalator. I can't see very well what's in front of me. It's all very dark. I can sense someone behind me, but I dare not look back. For some reason I cannot see my feet. In fact, I cannot see any of me at all. It feels very strange and well,creepy! I want to whistle, to kinda comfort myself, but it feels like I've lost the ability to speak. My mind just doesn't know how to carry out this desire to speak. It feels unnatural..
That someone behind me pokes me in my(invisible) back. Its'(his/her?) touch is strangely warm, then icy. I still don't look back.yes, that's the key, don't look back. It's a test. Just don't look back and you'll-

Snap! Back into the pool, panting. Everything is blurry. There are people gathered around the pool, screaming. A hand extends toward me. I reach for it.

Well, I'd love to tell you what happened after that, but the thing is, I don't even know myself. For just at that precise moment, my wretched alarm decided to beep-beep. And I never got to see the ending!

Wait, did you mean "went to the other side" in reality? Don't be ridiculous! Question: from the text, can you tell who was in the pool?

A:
yes
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