The October cold can truly bite through my world. I feel as though there is a gap in the skies that leaks the warmth of our forest out, and allows in the spirits and the cold.

I am hiding beneathe the ferns. For what else can I do? I hide within them, I hide beneathe them, but always, always I feel the pierce of the cold upon my hooves. My nose freezes from frostbite. My hooves are chilled, and my flesh is being cut by them from whence they jut out. My ears barely twitch, so to not hurt anymore.

I know that the movement will make me warmer. But I do not care. I lie still. For it stings to move, just as it stings to have the air around me move. I feel my hairs stand on end. But am the lucky one. My pelt is thick and warm. But still. I feel the pain. Tinging at the base of my antlers and my hooves, freezing me still within the confusèd ferns who still dwell in this frostbitten time.

"The clock has stopped just for me..." Just to hear me cling to the ferns like a small babe fawn.

Just like a fawn.