The doe was cold. Cold, wet and hurt.

Blood dribbled slowly from a wound above her eye. The slick life flowed from a peppering of cuts on her legs and in to the waters of the river, which fed in to the pond. Jupiter had fallen in while trying to find shelter, tumbling down the embankment. Being almost completely blind to the world due to rain, she could not have seen the crevasse until it was too late. Maybe it would be too late, if nobody could find her.


Pain wracked her form. The doe shivered, crying silently and wincing each time she tried to move. Her awkward position put stress on her spine: one forehoof stretched out and caught between two pieces of the stone, a hind-hoof tangled in the reeds, her back against the earth, and her head just above water. The contortions also put strain on her shivering muscles, causing painful cramping. But her position was not as great a worry as the threat of Hypothermia that loomed as closely as a water predator.

The water lapped at the blood, taking it away and rendering the doe weaker and weaker. Pain marred her beautiful features, creating a grotesque mask of blood-smeared agony. And she was too weak to pull herself free.

I hate rain. An errant thought crossed the doe's mind as she stared at the sky above the river's banks, wishing for help.