March 17, 2009
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Chenaniah awoke slowly.
Rain was falling heavily from the sky, and the large stag was soaked to the bone, laying in the muddied soil. It took a while for him to register where he was.
Chenan hadn’t been in the forest for a while. A long while. He had retreated deep into the land of dreams, attempting to regress back to his years as a happy, naïve fawn. It had been hard, for the dreams had all been fuzzy and chaotic. Months ago he had been given clear, realistic dreams. Dreams supposedly from the gods. He believed they had been leading up to a particular memory, but as of yet, the gods had not concluded his dream chronicle.
But he knew it would come. It would come.
As for now, the stag had to return to reality. He had to figure out the forest once again.
Chenaniah stood, wobbling, on his legs. He was soaked. He was miserable. It hadn’t poured this hard in a long time. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much shelter in the Birch Forest. There was the playground, but it was common ground for other deer. And Chenan just couldn’t deal with seeing deer today.
So what was there to do? The birds had all taken shelter in the trees, so there weren’t any to hop about by his hooves. They were up there, happily warbling the same old song. He glanced up, and was met by a raindrop in the eye. He jerked and squinted, then shook off all the water gathering in his fur.
Ugh. Nothing was worse than the smell of wet deer.
