A doe twitched in her sleep, a sense of forboding crawling over her. Nightmares didn't haunt her, but, for some reason, she felt the sneaking feeling of dread. Her heart pulsed under a beautiful light-brown coat, delicate ears flicking nervously.
An owl hooted in the darkness of the night, and the doe woke with a start. She felt confused at her own sneaking sense of dread. She gazed lovingly down at her son, thankful for his comforting presence.
But her son was not present. The doe gave out a call of alarm, scrambling onto her dainty hooves. Her eyes grew round with fear.
"Chital? Chital, where are you?!" the frantic doe cried, her herd rousing around her. Her mate, the leader of the herd, stood worriedly nearby, looking at the distraught doe.
"Gome, what's wrong?" he asked, calmly approaching the doe as she frantically searched under the bushes around their sleeping place. The other nursing does eyes were wide as they nestled their waking young ones close to them, nervously flicking their tails, while the stags paced around the sleeping place, pawing the ground and shaking their mighty antlers to warn off unseen invaders.
"Pivald, Chital is missing!" Gome exclaimed, choking up as she raced around, her heart thudding. She ignored the dark-brown stag leader as he tried to calm her by nuzzling her shoulder. Gome could sense that Pivald was also very nervous for their son, his false signs of comfort ment nothing.
"We'll find him, Gome, he couldn't have gotten far. I'll send out a search party at dawn," he cooed, trying to lead his distraught mate back to her hollow in the ground. Gome choked back a sob and collapsed into her sleeping hollow, nervousness shaking her to the core. What danger had befallen her son? Was it to late?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chital took short, gasping breaths as he tried to calm himself. His dad would find him.

The code I use for Cremello's blog broke for some reason, so I can't use if for my new stag.

Does anyone know where I can get a free code to use?

I looked around and saw some of your guy's(?) poems and writing, so I thought id post my own? Thoughts?

Kelpie with skin cold as the dead,
Kelpie who fills our hearts with dread.

Little black horse who proffers a ride,
Trots along loch-shore, chases the tide.

Pony who tempts weary passerby,
Would be rider, doomed to die...

Foolish traveler mounts the beast,
Dreadful beast whom awaits a feast.

At touch rider adheres to beast....
Dreadful beast who has his feast...

Panicked rider lets out a wail,
tugs and pulls to no avail.

Kelpie gallops to loch, swimming down to its bed...
Rider now drowned, rider now dead.

Now the devil-horse enjoys his prey,
Awaiting the fool of another day...


Tada! If your wondering, Kelpies are Scottish water spirits who do what is said in the poem. Nasty things...Just a quick poem i scribbled down, and i need constructive critisism!

The tawny colored youth jumped from in between the trees, his light hooves not making a sound other than the quietest crunch of the amber leaves that littered the forest floor. His eyes shone excitedly, like glittering obsidian. His ears flapped in the wind as he sped along, chasing a bright blue butterfly in the silence of night.
The fawn didn't realize he left the safety and protection of the older deer of his herd, and he leaped along happily. He didn't notice the change in his surroundings, or the hardened ground turning to marshland. He didn't realize the scent of other deer had faded entirely into watery, muddy scents arising from the waterside.
If it hadn't been for the butterfly spindling upwards into the spire-like treetops, the young fawn would've fallen into the stream right in front of him, its banks steeply falling into the dark, forbidding waters below. The youth didn't realize how close he had come to falling into the deep waters, for he was to busy observing the blue butterfly as it spiraled into the moon.
"Come back, I only want to play!" the little fawn called, rearing up on his spindly hind legs, thinking his voice would travel farther. But the butterfly spindled away, out of the poor fawn's reach.
Disappointed, the young male let his front hooves drop to the marshy ground, making a splashing sound under his hooves.
It was then. he realized, he had wandered far from home.
The fawn froze in place, looking down at the churning river waters. His long ears were straight up in fear, his eyes stretched wide. His little tail flicked around nervously as he backed away from the water, stumbling into an oak tree and falling on his light-brown rump. He looked around wildly, searching for any signs of his herd. But, alas, the mud was unchurned, other than the nervous and frantic fawn's own from moments before.
"Mom! Dad!" he called, looking around wildly.

They once have called him general,
war’s written in his bones.
When he showed up,
the peace just broke,
like bird wings under stones.

This here may be his story though,
no stag dares to remember.
The cruelness, which followed him,
sapped thousand lives to ember.

It was, when autumn reached the trees,
that brothers started fight.
Quarrels, nothing serious
‘til HE gave hate a ride.

The scars were like his favorite coat,
a bull among the stags.
His strength attracted feisty ones,
like him to raise their flags.

War has found the forest now
and stained all meadows red.
The general as figurehead
relentless soldiers led.

His fur itself seemed turned to blood,
an epitaph for Proud.
For ideals, life and nameless troops
whose last breath was a shout.

The final battle soonish came,
the leaders faced each other.
Their antlers dashed, while comrades died,
one after another.

No foe survived the generals rage,
so couldn’t this one too.
But when he triumphantly cried,
a silent wind just blew.

He never got an answer
from the rotting battle field,
the war is past, bad dream by now,
all wounds oblivion healed.

No one still knows the generals fate,
which cached him up back then.
But if you rub a crying stone
you may turn red like him.


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Well, my second poem in english...surely no masterpiece, but doing it was fun. Every constructive criticism is fine, and...I know, the war-theme doesn't really fit in the forest but since there are so many mysterious things in there...why not creating some legends about it?
The more, the better!

Siberas picto grew up, yay!
So, for her set, I've decided on
nightfall pelt, magpie feathers, and the hand mask,
she's near the twin idols, default everything of course.

and that^ picto,

help is loved & appreciated c:
thank you all who helped~

~

I love to change into different colors! It makes you totally different! And you can take it off when ever you want! If you don't want to have the color(s), you can take it off!

Years past, and Akea grew up to adulthood. She bent her head down to drink from the already un-freezing pond. Winter had been long, and now it was spring. Her parents have grown old, and it was now time to find herself her own den. Kota had grown too, and was with her drinking from the pond. Starlight was there too, but she was away from them, and was glareing at Akea. " So, where should we look for dens?" Akea asked, looking at them. " I have no clue." Kota said, lifting his head from the pond. Starlight stood up and walked to them " Well, whatever we find, mine will be bigger and better then your's." She snorted, looking at Akea. Akea shruged, and said " So? I jsut need a den to stay in before the storm set's in." Starlight snorted again, and ran off, searching for a den. Kota stared after her, then said to Akea "Want to search for a den together?" Akea looked at him, sitting down. " Sure."


Kota and Akea ran through the forest, the trees wipping past them. A tree stood before them, a den formed below it. "Well, here we are." He said, steping closer to Akea. " Yes, now where is you'r den?" She asked, looking at him. He shruged, and nuzzled her. " I'll find one." With that, he ran off. Akea sighed, and ducked into her own den. It was clean, and rocks formed the den's ground. Akea gathered grass and moss, and made it into a deer bed. She layed down and watched the storm set in, rain pattered on the den's roof. She sighed, and wondered about the spring time plane, where bucks would choose their mate. Who will choose her?

Good day - feel free to ask me the page address in VKontakte and Facebook, add them to friends. All happy
But in English do not speak too well - native language - Russian