You cannot outrun the Wind. I've tried so many times now. It brings memories, reminds me of what I don't understand, what I've lost. I feel like a fallen leaf, detached form the tree in winter. It's cold and so very bare here on the ground. The Wind tosses me to and fro, sometimes landing in places I'd rather not be.

I miss him. I miss seeing him smile. I miss seeing them sitting together and most of all I miss when it was all of us sitting together. I saw where they put it, where they reverently placed his mask. I see an empty shell, as empty as my heart. How can you try to live after that first breath of air, then have it disappear? You're so used to it. Always being there. Sometimes its harder to breath but its still there. He's still there. Now I can't breath...He's gone where I cannot follow, though I've searched. In all his favorite places I've looked for signs of him, any recent footsteps or a precious single lock of his white hair.

I am met with nothing.

So I stare and hope. I hope he will return to me someday before I'm gone. I hope I will know what to do when he comes home.
I hope he knows that I love him.

You've been a friend to me

..Love me...

Wesker. Kaoori. Osias. Tally. Saosin. Ravyn. Ephire. Dhuddy. Nine. Bylah.


Just names. Just wandering names attached to moving bodies. Like bodies of water, they come and go, retreat and arrive. A rhythm that finds no end, a circle with no starting or end point. Like the sand beneath the swimming koi of the pond, names litter this Forest as if each breath can be wasted at meeting one another.

But it is those names, such meaningless innumerable names that find a small quiet place in my heart. With no intentions of letting others in, you all found a backdoor swinging wide open into my life. Others too, though I doubt they realized they've left their footprints at the door as well. I can only hope that you will come to know, that if you feel you've accomplished nothing here, had no meaning, brought happiness to no one here....... you've changed me, shaped me and helped me become the doe I am today.

In words so short and brief, I love you and will love you, no matter what happens to me in the end.

...If You Don't.

[=9][=grey]

White One...


The soft fur was stained in red, course rough hairs mingling with those of pure softness. Blue eyes stared once again at the weary face of her companion, his eyes seemingly more ragged as if plagued by nightmares as he slept. She moved a back legs tighter to herself, bringing his much smaller frame closer to hers, tucking him near her belly. Again the doe bent her head tot he task of picking dirt, pebbles and small debris from his bleach white coat, taking care of his frail frame.
The absence of one was taking its toll on her Nine, his heart fragile enough as it was. She had heard his cries, his calls that were going unanswered and her heart was breaking at such a sound. Bylah was not to be found, his scent dead almost and vacant from his sunspot. No longer did she search, but she felt the pain from seeing he was not their for Nine.
So she tried her best, resting with him, listening to him call. but she knew he was not looking for her. He was not wanting her answering call. He searched for another, and she could only do so much for the tin stag. She did not know what else to do. Dancing had lost its rhythm, games of jumping and laughing seemed almost mundane now. Hide and Seek really turned her into worry more, as it seemed she had to follow him around, making sure he was alright. Even random stags made her protective of him, ears back and heckles raised as they dared try to touch him while he was so weak with need. Did they not see he did not want to play at that moment!?
A raspy sigh drifted through her lips, falling into his soft fur as she buried her face into his neck. She too missed him oddly. He did not hold her as high as Nine, probably not even cared for her as he once did when she was younger. Bylah did not seem to understand the life around him, what was happening tot he Forest. She know how in tune they were to one another, how one affected the other.

I’ve fallen in love many a time. The Forest seems to be full of life, life of the male identity, yet I still am puzzled by their presence. Am I wrong to leave a doe and stag to sit by themselves, even when it is I who wishes to sit with him? They’ve come and gone, stayed and vanished before my eyes. I leave well, having enjoyed their time with me, but that thought lingers like the last ant into the mound after all the others. Am I his Doe now?
Our time together grows with each encounter, not with just one stag but at the very least three. Maybe another will join this odd pattern. I am treated with respect and love, cherished and protected, but when I see them again in the Forest, I see not me by them. Another doe ahs taken my place. Is It wrong that I do not ask out front why they sit with her and not me? I tell myself that she is instead a sister, a old friend who just wanting someone to sit with. Or perhaps just a random doe that was nice enough to sit by him as he sat alone before I could get to him. I keep telling myself…

....As If I Know You're Coming.


I burned under frost. Legs froze on contact with the ground, grass like steel blades against my fur as I sat. The sun screamed through the trees in patches as it burned each living green thing it touched. Yet I was not blessed with its heat as it poured down upon my shoulders.

Cold Shoulders.

How often I regret friends who gave them to me after learning of me. And I out of the kindest of my heart never ask why. When just yesterday we were inseparable, today seeing you look at my face brings bile to your lips. You never tell, but offer me the cold shoulder in exchange for what we shared. You never tell. I'll never ask.

How long will I be just another being? Moments of worth, of feelings come to me. I felt the need to be a watcher over wandering fawns. To be the constant appearance of one who should not be alone. I've felt affection, felt joy at running with others, dancing. But they never last, for the butterflies never stay at one flower when there are more. Can I say I'm wilting? Is a dandelion not as pretty as the violet or poppy? Or should it still be treated as a weed, a nuisance.

It has happened. It's happening. And it will continue till my lids forget to lift one morning. I'll have memories. I'll have flashes of legs and faces running past me, past one who seeks a familiar hide that would not mind my touch or silence. You stare, with a glazed look like when one glances at a tombstone. Am I dead already to you? Do you wish I would fill one of those graves, cast my bones on the ground as the sun bleaches them whiter than the Gods?

W hat little light there was that night in the Autumn air, reflected off of the pure pelt of a new arrival, a presence that had made himself known to Jettem over the course of a mere few days. Sleep did not come so easily to her as it did others. Even the feared Bylah of the Forest had been seen out of the corner of her eye with his head bowed against his rotting breast, the fire in his eyes dimmed to smoldering embers.
So she sat, waiting. His fur brushed against hers in his sleep, light mumblings coming from his lips as he dreamed on beneath her watchful stare. What few bugs and dirt she found in his pelt she pulled off him, a rare need inside herself taking shape with each time she did so.



Just watching him sleep brought a peace of mind, a light thought, a humble action to her personal being. Where she had felt nothing, she felt now, as when with Nor. A tiny pull at her lips hinted at a smile but it was gone before anyone could tell. How funny, that she had come to be the Guardian of Sleep lately. Nor, Nine, occasionally Bylah (though sometimes she even doubted he ever slept) and more often now the strange deer of the Forest. They came, they sat and fell into slumber at her feet, as if being near her brought you to your knees for the deep need of rest, suddenly you felt fatigued and needed someone to watch out for you as you are pulled into the peaceful world of darkness. And it seemed Jettem was perfect for the job.

... Even though I'm right HERE.

They search through the course fur, blind in the darkness as they trekked on for some source of warmth, seeking the fire burning hotly within his belly. His fur coarse to her touch, rubbing charcoal hairs between thumb and forefinger. They touched little but explored everything she came into contact with.
Blue eyes focused on her task, immersed in her actions. Pale bone ran jagged under her fingertips accompanied by the sharp legs of flies as they landed on her hands, tasting fresh flesh, new and different from what they were used to burrowing and laying down maggots in. The gentle scrape of her nails against caked blood sent crimson flakes flying, lost within his pelt as they fell further down, and speckling the grass below like dried snow.
Her other hand clasped on her dress, knuckles white from strain. Its partner calm and patient, enduring in the silence as it continued on, touching what it could beneath her sky blue gaze.