my mother told me "tama" meant "jewel," whatever that means. maybe how my lips squeeze together and barely touch as I pronounce the "w" or how the "l" sounds so much like an "r." my mother knew a lot about a foreign language, and she tried to teach me, keeping her face close to mine, as if she was smelling my cheek, and trying to look me in the eyes as she airily whispered to me when i looked at different things. who was my father? idk? my mother, perhaps. i'm tempted to say no one taught me to sneer, grunt, or spar, but if that were the case, i guess i wouldn't know how to right now. "tama" means the fortune to have had them; if not for them, i would not know. "tama" means my past, stored in the box of my mind or straw left to dry between a crooked pine's roots. "ttaammaa" i breathe, looking for the smell of forest fire in the air.

edit:
i'm resting my head next to my torso, where i smell that same snow-furred buck, like the ash from that forest fire. "father? mother? me?" except the curve of his back is different, and one moment he might be here, and the next gone. "where?" except no matter; i still smell the straw under the crooked pine's roots festering. i'm tempted to blink, to check whether i am asleep or awake, but if my eyes are already closed, maybe i will mistakenly open them. if what i see is the same, i could have been dreaming about reality or i was awake the whole time. "what do you make of it?" the snow-pelted buck asks. i hadn't noticed him approach. "make of what?" he's looking at the ground again. "this." he points to a strange track. finally i say, "it looks like a crow's." he smells it next.

~
these r 2 sep moments in time

I'm so sorry for just vanishing on everyone.

As some of you know, I was hit with Covid not long ago. I was in and out of the hospital.

During one of my stays, my laptop was broken. I do not have the money to get it fixed or replaced.

I am still recovering, and still suffering from dizzy spells. For now, all my characters are put on hold. Jhilsara is in her home world on her journey, assume Velyra is in her home by the blue bowl getting bigger with pregnancy, and Tib is at his family's home outside the forest. The only reason why Vel is still considered in forest is because she's stuck there by magic.

Hopefully I'll be able to return before Velyra is able to birth in the spring. If I can't then we might assume she lost the pregnancy and wait until I'm able to return, following the same plan we currently have.

I am so sorry to all of you who have shown interest in my girls and started developing relationships with them. I hope to try to keep contact with you all as much as I'm able. I hope everyone had a happy holiday season and here's hoping that 2021 is a lot better than 2020. Happy New Year to all!

-Velyra

The smell of deep and old darkness fills the air. It crackles and grinds, surfaces and dives back into the dark, the deep gold sheen of the bark spirals. This friction births warmth, and from that warmth grow antlers. From that warmth grow the deer.

A white, sharp shard cuts into the cream velvet, and as it touches the skin, dissolves. Then come more. It contracts the veins. The ground swallows the white, that's how it transforms itself rigid, cold: The cradle of the fawn. Everyone is born alone.

From the parting eyelids peek out thawed eyes. In the distance, trails of light prance in the dark with hushed noise. Aromatic scents fill the lungs. And silver threads, from which usually stars hang, lift the legs up to raise the tender body. Another inhale and the muscles bloom. Pebble hooves descend to the ground. The legs already know what to do - animated by the spark it was born of, it springs towards the other crown-bearers. The body stretches at the apex of the jump, warm velvet skin stretching across the bone and muscles.
The cold air encases the form. It will remember this shape, among all the others that came before.

The leaves had fallen off the trees leaving shadowy grey images in the light before dawn and in the light before dusk. The paths followed well worn, well known, and had served well for play and raising fawns. Gazing from the ancient tree with hollow a deer could see the meanderings of any deer or deer group. The last couple of weeks had been different. The daily pattern had changed. For long periods of time no deer would travel along the wood paths. So, the paths filled with rabbits, squirrels, and squawking crows.

Where had the deer gone? A trot by the lake showed they had gathered there to play. No predators exist physically in the forest. Sometimes vague feelings of unease happen. As if pressure builds in the skull to the point and explosion happens right behind the ear. Often a dip in the lake removes the unease but this time unease had hit the lakeshore.

The deer instinctively knew their ability to frolic disappears with the unease spirit. Underwater excursions and pit playing became a favorite. It is said those that can fly high with a flyby also could shake it off. Most of all a good chortle with a good deer friend can do it too. Grass rolling, leg kicking, butt wriggling, and snorting puts a reducer on the unease. The Deer knew all those antics had a purpose but who would have thought a roll in the grass would do so much good.

proper bio here one d a y