Taking Walks In The Pines [a continuing story.]

A sight worth resting to.

Green-tinted eyes peered about, the light catching their lenses. Heavy steps carried the hefty beast through the cool glades. No matter the season, the sunlight's widespread rays felt warm against the gentle caress of the pine-scented air. Like a swinging pendulum, the cold and heat were almost rhythmic as the beast moved through the lights, into the shade, and back again. Breaks in the canopy illuminated mossy patches of ground and particles of forest magic that floated on the air like pollen. Of course, this place would not need pollen as everything remained as it was from day to day and season to season. Snow never bit into the plants or settled on the earth, leaves never fell from the tall trees, water never froze over (even if one could walk on it!) and light hardly ceased its reign in the skies unless the Twin Gods wanted to give a treat to their kingdom.

This was truly the Gods' playground, their kingdom, even though the inhabitants also wore crowns. Moss' own gently moved through an errant branch, leaving a blue smoke trail behind. The velvet on his tines registered the cold feeling that passing through trees left on the sensitive skin. He, their bearer, paid no heed to the feeling. There was no danger for the being to feel here, so long as his name glowed steadily above his head. The tiny sun spread warmth through the fur down his neck and pulsed with the beat of his heart. All constant inhabitants of the forest held similar tiny lights, only different symbols of their names adorned them. 'Pictograms' shone brightly for the life of their owner as the soul that was untouchable yet bare for all to see.

Moss' picto bobbed as he ambled on. His hooves crushed grasses and lichens as he moved, diffusing green smells into the clean air. Every once in awhile he would stop to peer one way or another. During these times the wind would ruffle his fur and the water held by the plants he was stepping on would collect at his hooves. As suddenly as he stopped the world would start passing by again, leaving the micropuddles behind and moving to new places. There was always something to see here, what with the growing population of the forest. And for the Forest's luck, there was plenty of food to feed the new lives that appeared here every day. For Moss' dismay, though, there were more fawns to trip over underfoot. Fewer competent adults seemed to be visible in the world as well, for he saw more senseless fights and territorial beasts here every time he awoke. Sure, the being had not been here long but he had been here long enough to witness such a dismaying change.

He snorted as thoughts grew sad, blowing them away on the wind and thinking of happier things, like the way his teeth sliced delicately through the mushroom in front of his face. These, although not hallucinogenic, were still delectable little bits to satiate the growing hunger in his stomach. The mushrooms that grew on the sides of trees contained mask spells, but still were good for general eating. They were also probably the reason Moss had gained a little more weight than he should have. Mushrooms and barley were his favorite foods, and always readily available. They were also the reason for his walking: Moss was getting rather fat and had resolved to take a daily walk in the forest to maintain his ability to do so. He didn't mind the heft, but minded that it might impede his ability to romp around if it got any... heftier.

Ascending the hill to the Gods was a little more tiring than normal, but he still always made it to the top in good time for a daily prayer. These beings were very real, and he wanted to stay in their good graces. This daily prayer was a definite way to do so, and many inhabitants took to migrating here daily for a short one. The stag always stayed until the blue smoke clouded his vision, but not until he turned white. Sneezing was not one of the favorite things on his list. Post-prayer, he trotted down to the pond for a drink and a bath under the idol. The being liked the way the water trickled through the tiny cracks in the statue's exterior, feeding lichens and all manners of plant life that grew on its sides.

As the plants soaked in the icy water so did the stag. It cleansed both fur and mind of negativities, causing a comforted smile to spread over the stag's face. His large frame was thoroughly cleaned with the tears of the idol, as the sins of the world were cleansed. Even the chill of the liquid ate at the heats in his body, carrying away anger's fires from where they burned deep inside and out of view. The being dragged himself up the embankment, into the sun. A spray from a hearty shake initiated a little rainbow, but as soon as that was over the little colorful light hopped from the stag's water to the little billowing mist rising from where the tears hit the stream. He bid both adieu before meandering off.

Moss mustered the will to leave the First Forest's splendor and tread the golden hills of The Birch. Here, the sun beat in almost every location as if it were trying to warm even the smallest of shadows. Though not unbearably so, it was rather bright in this part of the forest and did not lend much good to Moss' black pelt spots. This, though, was the best place for drying his sopping fur.

"I could feel it, the sun penetrating the layers of fur that I truly needed to shed. It warmed my skin and made it bumpy with a tingling feeling. Today the sun was gentle even here. The light drove the chill from my painfully cold skin, bringing me closer to that nirvana feeling that seemed just out of reach. I think it will always be so, and I really do not want to reach it. When you reach nirvana you die, or so I was told a long time and a separate life ago. Right then I was content with my minor happiness.

Among the golden trunks and beneath their ever-reaching boughs I decided to make a home for the afternoon. The soil near a skinny sapling was the perfect warmth. To think I almost walked past it as if it weren't there! I tried, believe me, but the warmth of that particular spot seemed to seep right through my hooves and beckon me to have a rest. I would not be ungrateful.

The way I lay was very ungainly, falling to my side with legs outstretched to spread myself over the bit of heaven. The scents of blueberries were heady on the air, mingling with green grasses and wheat baking in the sun. The smell was not unlike... my memory eludes me as to what it was that he would make but it was warm and fluffy and soaked up so much water if you didn't get hand-fed. That is it, the word reminded me... it's bread. The world around me smelled like a plate of fresh fruit, greens, and bread. Oh dear... I may think of food too often."

Slumber soon overtakes the stag. It pulls at his soul to separate from his body, and the two come apart with ease. Soon his vision is black... then flooded with pictures. Like a bird, he circles in the canopy, a part of the forest yet still an entity separate as his body lays below. Soon the view changes, and Moss finds himself overlooking a group of playful fawns. He can hear their laughs and giggles, watch them frolic with one another. This vision is short-lived, and another appears soon. He can see the pond and its inhabitants. On and on while the beast sleeps others play and he watches; hears snippets of conversations that he cannot utter. Moss sees the forest from above, enjoying the feeling of family that his sleep creates. No longer does the beast have to look outside his home for a dream... as it is all right here for him to watch. The Gods were to thank, as they allowed this of any sleeping deer should they want it or not.

They allow me to dream. The feeling of light smoke... the ability to check on those who do not lay by my side... Yet I am not able to speak of what I know. This, this is my perfect secret.

A perfect secret like that only grew. Moss was going through a transformation. His body knew it and his mind knew it. There were days when he would feel it all buzzing through him: magic, knowledge, golden sparks that signaled something big. His tail, some days, would be flagging in joy. The lamb-soft ears upon his head would twist and turn like frantic satellites, catching sounds that were clearer than before. Even those captivating eyes grew more cheerful.

The hart's form stopped gaining weight. Oddly, it had stopped changing at all. His fur did, though, begin to attract that golden dust that floated all over the forest. If he had slept for long, it accumulated like snow. The tears of the Idol could not even wash it off, for they had begun to move through him instead of over him. It felt wonderful, but didn't lend to cleaning very well.

Moss grew to understand that he was slowly becoming a part of this place, as if he had always been here.

_{Will continue, so please check back for more.}