It can't really be nostalgic: I was long out of my fawnhood before I saw candles like these, the size of trees with tops unseen, their ghostly light piercing through a white fog... But there's always something a little nostalgic about being fawns with my best friend, even if it's just a disguise. This time of year is, after all, all about disguises. So we wear our normal spells with the shape of a fawn underneath, our masks sliding off to reveal our laughing faces...

So we had to take it to the next level. Or, at least we tried to get a miniature spell to go with our fawn forms. It took a while, but we eventually reached that point. Then we rested for a while. Does a change in the body lead to a change in the heart? Is my soul lighter for being smaller -- does the past slowly erase itself? I thought about that as I sat beside him, watching him sleep as bright dreams darted behind his eyelids, and his blue brow furrowed and relaxed beneath his mask, struck grey in the moonlight...
And then he woke up and we went running! Well, a little running and a little testing our size compared to stones and logs, vanishing into the trees that were transformed tonight into mushrooms, disguised as we were. Then we dashed to the ruins and tried to play air-sitting games with the big candles, but... It didn't work out. Being so small made aiming hard, but it was very fun to challenge myself. Then we ran through the forest back to our point of origin:

The Big Zombie Deer, asleep on the rocks. To him, we would have been the size of dolls. It was at once hilarious and frightening... so we went and danced with other mini-fawns in a line, across from the normal-sized deer. We danced to backwards musicm long into ther night, until at last I bid Scape farewell and went to sleep.

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Today I saw that Saosin was gathered with a group, and felt I ought to go greet him for the first time in a while -- he led us slowly to the river, where I drank and frolicked with Crybaby. I've heard a lot about him, and he seems to be a very nice stag, and in this sometimes over-serious time, kept himself a good humor. We ended up sitting together in the flowers to watch Saosin and Gustiro spar. Relative to the beautiful, artful spars I've seen from Saosin in the past, this was... a long and brutal fight, without restraint. I'm never sure what to make of The Rut. I still have no clue. What does it feel like? A longing of the body, a burning in the heart? Does it feel like the love that flutters? Is the sparring of stags jealousy, or is it like its own strange form of attraction? Knowing is what makes life; and here I am, watching something...of which I only have outside knowledge. It was an interesting show, though. Saosin and Virgil have different ways of fighting.
...I wish deer were more like butterflies. It would be, I think, a different world... If courtship came in fluttering dance.
In the end, he defended his gathering, and we all rested in place.
Eventually, though, I spotted my old friend Sluggs and a few deer, making merry by the pond. I hopped over to play with him for a while, trying to find a balance in all of these relationships. We ended up forming a lovely danceline/party in the air, where my aim at least for once was fine enough that we could all dance together. It wasn't the most perfect of all dancelines: we sort of bundled on top of one another in a heap. I miss being in a heap: I played like this with Scape and a friend of his the other night: beyond the simple, deep joy of seeing Scape, was all the simple fun, like I had as a fawn. Sluggs showed us his upsidedown giant-raven skills...

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Sometimes there is no one here at all, and I sit in the darkness of the fog. The land has changed; it's foggy and cold, black where I touch it... and luminously grey in all other distances. I write fragments of poems to pass the time, and doodle familliar pictograms in the dust.
It's interesting; even if I don't see someone often, the fact that I could, if luck favors me, gives me a strength of heart; they feel close. Now, I worry about the people I cannot see, about Scape and Dag and Nevilly, so close and so far away.

I slept and had a dream.
And in this vision, I was walking in yet another foreign world, not the forest, but a garden. Sweet roses grew all along the garden's walls, trying to escape and fly over the fence, out into the world I know far better. And there I came upon a painting that showed looming dangers; there was violence, a red stag with grand antlers, but inside very small and frightened, with eyes too withered to see; and there was Greed of the heart, a skinny doe who tried to hold all close and let all seep away. And there was Lust -- not the deer, Lust, but the dream, Lust -- who looked to me so alien I could not know her nature. I thought she had a gleam in her eye I misliked.
I turned my head and saw my host there. My host was a beautiful creature, not wholly deer; far more delicate of limb and soft of eye, with long lashes and a sweet smile. She had with her her handmaidens, Despair and Joy, who walked in her shadow, and could do good or evil. But she herself was benevolence itself; she herself was only Love.
"Come and walk with me, sweet disciple," she said. I have never refused her, and so took to walk the garden beside her. We walked down the path and saw all manner of pretty flowers. Until at last we came upon a white rose, lovelier to me than all flowers in the garden. It was a joyous rose, but it trembled shyly in the wind, and the stem turned towards me before darting away.

I apologize for my absence, friends; The gods are trying to open the doors... to a different place in the forest, a different version of the forest. I've been there, and have, at least, something to say of it; perhaps more.



((This has been another visit to Seed's Poetry Corner))

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Today I woke up and tried to meet with someone the trees were whispering to me about...it didn't work out. Maybe another time. I wandered a while until I noticed Aleit dancing with a sweet little fawn, Floresta. I greeted them and moved to join them in their little dance, the fawn's movement shaking little bits of pollen off of the poppies she wore. She made a muse enough for me for a quick poem. Then we all sat and basked in the warm sunlight for a while. Then Aleit heard, in the way that deer often do, of the death of a dear friend of his, Motzart. I never knew him, but loss is always sad. I wish I could have stayed longer and given Aleit warmer comfort.


When I work, I heard Walter dancing with 21 and many others. That hadn't happened in a long time. What, a year? more?
I don't know what to feel about him sometimes. By "him," I of course mean Walter. By "sometimes" I mean "constantly." I've almost entirely written him off before tonight. Sometimes I think there must be two parts to him: a monster and a stag. The stag isn't a perfect stag; he's easily riled and he's jealous and overprotective. He's grim and he's cranky and he's strange. But he can laugh, and dance with friends. He can be warm, and walk slowly in the rain, trusting on the guidance of his friends. The demon is nothing like that, so unlike it I almost cannot reconcile the two as being the same person. I'm not sure I fully understand it, or if he does. I've seen too much of the demon, too little of the stag. And what he's done is horrible. I cannot bear to think of the pain he's caused, and that my dear friend is behind it.
...But tonight he and 21 and Aleit and Quad and Zerg and Oisin and so many deer, many of whom haven't know the better side of him, all danced together. It was a very fun time. It seems like he, at least for the moment, wants to put the darkest of his darkness behind him. I want to believe that, anyway.

But... He's hurt people, very badly.

I have decided I need to do two things: meet more deer/players, and do something nice for the community. I figured the best course of action would be to combine the two activities. So here's what I'm going to do.

My main deer Seed will be writing gift haiku for deer he meets in the forest. For those who don't know poetry very well, a haiku is a japanese form of poetry featuring 3 very short lines. In English, the pattern is usually 5 syllables, 7 syllables, and 5 syllables again. Sometimes (and Seed may be doing this as well), haikus are combined to create a larger poem where all the stanzas are made of individual haikus. The haiku Seed will write about a deer may be about any (or several) thing about a deer: their appearance, their personality, backstory, what he and that deer do together when they play...ect.

Now, you notice I mention slots in the title? Well, this is phase 2 of my plan for maximum goodness. If you want to arrange a "play date" of sorts between Seed and one of your deer so Seed can write a poem about it (and maybe they'll hit it off/become closer friends), you can ask to do so, provided I say in the top that slots are open. If they're not, just wait a while: it usually means I have too much on my plate and need some time to sort out what I already have. Anyway, I'll mainly just need the info of which deer you'd like him to hang out with/gain inspiration from, and for the two of us to work out a time/general time-area.

To aid in this, I do have an MSN anyone is welcome to contact:

I am having them. Between bad picto-spreads (where about half of them remain my deer's picto) and lag, playing is tough right now. I'll maybe use this little break (I'm hoping it'll only be a littel break) to do some stuff with my deer. Maybe actually do the art for Hyacinth and Witchy like I've been putting off...Ooh, and there's a witch-narrated forest fable I've been pondering, too.
...I'll still be trying to get online, though, so hooves could be crossed, I think.

OK, maybe not the whole week. I actually have no idea.

I'm having my wisdom teeth removed, basically, so I may not be good for getting on for a while.

I've never actually had any sort of operation, and I've never had painkillers, so I really don't know what to expect.

(Images forthcoming. Page to be expanded as need be. IN PROGRESS )

Oh, a story? Well, it’s not my usual manner of work, but I suppose I could think of something. Let me ponder the matter further, I’m sure I can recall something…

Ah, yes. This is a story about my dear friend, the Old Oak, and how she came to be. Now, this story, I swear upon my soul, is true. All the stories about her are true – how this is so, I cannot say, except that all stories about her are true. The Forest is, I think, a place where truth is many-faced. This is also a story about gods, and the birth of the forest, and about love. It’s not a good story if, on some level or another, it’s not about love.



Once upon a time, years and years ago, before there were years to count the time, or days – when all in the forest was a single expanse of color. We see that time, or that space, in our dreams sometimes; I know I do, at least, but I can’t speak for your dreams. It is blue and black and fades at the edges. It has no trees, no movement, no grass, no life. Back then, there were three gods – two gods, a red and a gold, who were really one god, and a green goddess. And they were all very dear friends. For them, the void was a great playground, because they had one another to lighten their loads. They had each other to play with, and all the raw stuff of the world, which they formed up like ephemeral castles of sand.

And then one day, the red god turned to her fellows and said, “we have such great fun in this world, but I believe we could have more fun.”

And the other two asked “How? How could we have more fun than we have now?