The First Encounter
[=9]"The first time I saw her, she never saw me. She was emersed in her activities; browsing the grass and lower branches with a syrupy-warm demeanor. Her belly was round with fawn, and now and again she lifted her head to chatter sweetly to the sleeping infant. I moved on, uninterested, clodding along to the fading maternal tune of her voice.

The evening drawled on uneventfully, and while I rested wearily in the reeds, a noise startled my rumination. From the cattails poked a most curious older hind, adorned with vivid plume and the same tasteful cheeriness. She drank deeply and noticed me not. She was not very keen on her surroundings, this one, humming with pleasure and having her fluff of a tail fly madly behind her. This old hind was more birdlike than I had given her credit; even the forest floor was draped with a magnificent train of feathers, long and glittery green.

Something was terribly wrong today.

She knew it, too.
She did not seem too bothered by it in any case however, instead she went along with the flow of the day without question.
But it became harder as time ticked by.

The trees were closer together than usual.

Perhaps they were lonely, and had shuffled together for comfort.
So the forest was strange, but there was nothing strange about her sky; oh, her sky.
Hands.
They were fluffy and gray; they moved slowly across the sky and dragged thier long bodies behind them.
The forest was nothing more than a bedsheet to sleep beneath the covers tonight.
When her eyes returned to the ground, she was greeted with fog.
When did that get there?
And when did the trees become black?

She sighed and stared down, swaying, to her hooves.

They were not there, nor were her legs.
Oh well.
Who needed them?
The little doe carried on.
Around her, the trees began to bleat for her.
"Momma!" they cried; "Mommy?" they questioned, "Help me!" they wailed.
The huge black creatures sounded so infantile.
But hadn't they always?
She shunned them.
Wasn't she supposed to?
Didn't everyone else?

Suddenly there came a deer she recognized.

There was no terror in her face, but she could hear her heart wailing with the infant trees, now.
She bid it farewell, and left the noisy beating thing behind.
It wasn't important.
Not now.
That deer that she had recognized stopped his short pursuit of the doe, and bent to sniff delicatly at the heart she had bid adieu.
It wailed, and wailed, and cried, "Mother, please!"

The deer whom she thought she knew took up the wailing baby in his dark lips and carried it away.
Perhaps he would keep it safe, until she needed it again.

---

Someone is hallucinating ;3
Too much shrooms, love!
I hope ya'll liked this. It was not intended to be sad, but rather to make you wonder.

[=9]If you know my writings well, you may notice a slight change in style. I was inspired by "An Occurance at Owl Creek Bridge" and attempted my own interpretation of realistic literature. I hope you enjoy it, this is one my few slightly silly stories. I also played heavily with words in here, especially with alliteration.




The first hungry thunder bellow of the year. A vivid blue ear flicked in retaliation, and the stump of the other remained in woeful slumber. In a larger aspect, there was a gradual awakening of feather, characterized with periodic yawns and groans. She drug her long limble limbs beneath her form. In sharp contrast to the event of gaining conciousness, the sky howled at her to rise. She complied with a skittering, tinkering tangle of limb that quickly found her standing startled in the soil.

On her rise, the sky rejoiced. Snow-laden eyes observed this plainly; little figures of lighting cavorting across the night and tossing happy sparks in celebration. However, the moment they ceased thier romping, the black beast of cloud thundered commands that the celebration continued. It made her lethargic lapse of thought cease its waves for a moment to bring about a suggestion of uselessness. Perhaps the sky didn't need her after all. But one could not be down watching the lighting dance daintly in the late winter sky.

Something stirred beside her, but did not rise. The lump of careless flesh hauled itself over onto its side to peer curiously into her wide-eyed visage. He stared solemnly; an amber concocture of weariness and concern. She broke the silence by purposely letting her color drained eyes search into his soul. Darcy looked uncomfortable under her stare, but she blamed him not. Her eyes, as previously noted, had lost every tinge of color and blazed an angry white. Vision hindered not but mind rendered hollow.

[=9] I wanted to write about Rowan and coffee. And this happened. Dunno XD;

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They say the greatest things come from the smallest of ideas. Something so small, like a misguided idea, can burst forth and bloom out all over an entire country in days. What they don't tell you, is about those unable to focus thier minds, and compress the flitting images of thier minds into useful processes. Such was the case of a small woman staring off on a park bench. It was late winter, so late in fact that soon spring would roll in over the winter squares of the calander.

The woman was caught in the present, like a trap. A silent vortex absent of noise and light. As she grew out of her tiny, limble teenage body, her eyes grew increasingly white. Whatever writhing, tossing pain she dealt with under her covers was abusing her weary heart. The heart required so much attention in fact, that it sucked the very color from her eyes, the only color she wore anymore.

Suddenly, something caught her nonexistant attention. Rowan reached and groped about the bench for her source of comfort; but before her palm located the warm coffee, it was met by a cold wet nose. "Ford," she giggled at the unexpected visit from the previously playing dog, "That's cold."

"Ford~!"

Certainly the voice belonged to a child. Rowan had picked up Aeis on her way to the park for a little fun. She had figured the little orphaned child and her dog would like some fun activity in the park. Rowan had met Aeis at the park a few weeks ago. She knew very little of the spunky red-haired child, but the twice-forgotten mother had a soft spot for children. The trio came here for the rare sunshine, along with a fourth tagalong who was currently lumbering along the sidewalk.

"Here you go." he half-smiled, handing Aeis a warm cup of cocoa. "It's hot."

Rowan's milky eyes paled in comparison to his bright amber eyes. Though recently weary, she always found something in there lurking.

[=9]Golden hooves. The color of value, purpose...so dainty and worthy compared to the vast portion of soggy soil on which they trod. Yet again, the little doe (if one could use such terms on a creature of more bird than deer) found herself wandering alone. It was habitual now for her, to revert to something like the nomad she once was. Perhaps she was turning into her mother, who, in the setting suns of her life, looked upon Rowan with such foreign eyes. A lost old creature, bound by chains that which only she imagined.

Rowan had come from a family of nomads; aimless wanderers. Though she was not an old doe, she was not the young hapless hind she once was. She found her mind wandering more frequently, her lips moving in speech only to herself, and her legs not settling in the dust for hours on end. It was if she had lost something. It was known information that her little child had been stillborn; she frequently heard of it again and again in stinging whispers and pitiful stares. She was not looking for it directly, perhaps not even at all. Even the feathered little creature herself knew not why she wandered. Whatever she had lost, she seemed apt to wander with no purpose in hopes of recovering it.

What she found the eve after the rainstorm was not what she was looking for. Strangely, she had been holding a pleasant conversation with herself when she came across it. Oh, how it plagued her nightmares as a youngling. Even after her death, his strench would be bound to her skin. And she knew it. She was used property; damaged. As if on instinct, her virtually nonexistant left ear flicked at his arrival. This loss of ear was one of his many gifts to her.

The beastly stag hauled the nightshade behind him. He devoured the sunrays around the doe, and comanded the sun take her leave. Some things even the great mother of Earth must not witness.

[=9]{ OMG WHY CAN'T I WRITE HAPPY STUFF LOL }

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It was still snowing. The great sky-dove shed her downy gifts all over the forest, and for several days she flew lazily over and blanketed the forest below. She breathed a deep sigh across the land, and the snow-covered trees twitched, the forest cringed, and a certain doe hidden beneath the snow shuddered. Such a lovely dream she'd been having, and she felt oddly warm inside.

But it was soon after, a few mere seconds, that she found herself unable to recall the magic of the world behind her eyelids. Sleeping in the snow was not smart, however Rowan's waterproof feathering had grown thicker in the cold and, though she shivered in the wind, was generally just fine. He maskless face, however, ached with cold. It burned and stung in agonizing lines on her feathery visage.

Yet another sigh of wind carved lines into her feathers. It carried away some snow with it, which twirled and danced happily. Rowan stumbled to her feet, chasing the winter blast and taunting it. This is not the place for happy dances! She returned quietly and curled back around one of the last blue flowers protectivly.

Here she was surrounded by a circle of rocks, none higher than a few inches yet arranged pursosefully. Here lie her soul, buried deep and curled together in eternal slumber. Suddenly, the cold drove her up and away to the pond. She must see her face! How it stung bitterly.

What the little old doe saw in her peerings into the frozen water displeased her so much that she muttered a cry of astonishment. There, in perfect little lines, were lines of crytallized water down her cheeks. Mentally, Rowan snarled at herself, and then found her legs running in no particular direction. Not smart. She collided with a tree with a soft thump, and rolled over to vanish in a snowdrift.

[=9]{ If you're not aware,
Thistle is a daughter Rowan had out of
some nasty cirumstances wayyyy back before she 'came here'.
Lol I was trying to write something sweet and this happened. Rawrg. }

---

The summer weeds had grown tall, up to the little awkward doe's tummy. She dipped her head and nipped hungrily at the sweet roots of the wildly grown plants.

"Momma!"

She raised her head, and swiveled her ears lazily. Her awkward little offspring was nowhere to be found, and so she returned to grazing with an ear out for a second cry for her. Surely Thistle would call her feathery mother twice if whatever she needed was of dear importance.

"Momma!"

As if on cue, her status was proclaimed loudly and childishly.This time she shot up so quickly she spied the little gray-and-blue fairy sinking back into the weeds. Oh, that, then? Another game of watch-Thistle-vanish-in-the-weeds. Rowan smiled and stooped down into the weeds. She was young and streamlined. At this point in her life, her neck feathers were short and puffy, and she bore no signs of a tail train of feathers. Her colors were still pale and she was small and graceful. Despite her age, at which time she should be shyly flirting with the young stags but running off in giggle-fits, she already had a fatherless little bit of herself stalking her in the grass. She had proved to be a most valuable mother, since her own childish instinct was not as far buried and she played for hours with Thistle happily in the shrubs.

She lowered herself into something like a stooping crawl, and proceeded to move predator-like through her twisted green obstacles. But like the little downy hen-baby she was, Thistle burst in a flutter from the brush and overtook her mother in a great wave of kisses and giggles.

[=#7dbf85][=9]
Happy Valentines Day, from the most exciteable of does! There are a certain few I'd like to pick out of the crowd to wish a personal little message to. To begin;
- Rutilus! Despite your wavering tastes, you have always been by my side when I needed you the most. I probably have not been the greatest friend, but with such erratic behavior habits, I do try! This is so cheesy, but Rai has said I have to give the deer I list a few things I love about them. Well, I love the roses on your antlers. They smell nice and they look nice, and I remember the time I gave you some myself and you wore them until they wilted. I love your accent. Who wouldn't? (laughs) And last but not least, I love your attitude. Despite your hardships, you stayed here and you held strong. Happy Valentines Day.
- Gabriel! Oh, my dear hopeless brother. ;3 I do love you, I swear -- don't throw that at me! (shuffles) You crazy nut, you're my only family. I love your happiness, despite your angry nature, I know you would never hurt Pica. And I respect the fact that you're a better man than that. You're not here a lot, but when I am at my lowest low, you show up and watch over me like a sentinel. It wasn't all that long ago that you sought me out and saved my life. Thank you, Brother.
- Fledermaus. Your quiet nature is always a little strange for me, seeing how loud and crazed I can be. But none the less, you have your own persistance and you can find ways to make me happy with your soft-spoken words. You're a real friend. I love your persistance, in the most quiet and stalking ways. I love your nature in general, never loud and rude, always nice and soft. Thank you.
- Darcy. Ah, what to say. No matter what you think, I really did have to feel something for you to bear your fawn. She was gorgeous and I am ever thankful for her.