The Flower Diaries; Chapter one.

This will be an odd mix of story and journal for Rosine please, press play.

It was warm when the small blue deer awoke, The sun was soft, though the air was damp the rose-buck...Fawn, thought nothing of it, merely picking through the tall grasses of the birchwood forest on delicate, thin limbs.

Large ears, like rose petals in the wind, turned, beautiful, a moving garden, hooves dark, almost ebony, but no the sun coaxes the blue from them.

When he was certain all was safe, his head dipped, grazing on the soft leaves that grew upon the papery birch trees, stripping them gently.

A cracking of twigs.

He was gone, racing, terrified across the landscape, frightened, but beautiful, lean legs pumping, sending him galloping over the ground until he could dive into the blueberries, his coloration perfect.

When all was quiet again he picked his way from the fruit bushes.

He made his way silently back to the comfort of the long grass.

"Hello?"

He leaped into the cover of the grass, looking at the brown stag.

It was silent, watching him, the fawn, watching the fawn.

It turned, as if about to leave, side exposed.

The blue rose shrunk down more.

Patience, such patience, time ticked by slowly.

The blue fawn rose, picking his way closer, pausing to cower or sniff warily.

closer

closer he came, leaning out, standing upon the tips of his delicate hooves to sniff.

lay down, lay down.

He slowly let his limbs fold beneath him, sitting beside the brown stag, looking at him warily, his coat, the scar upon his muzzle.

Flee Flee! the scent of another!

She smelled of fawn.

stay away stay away.

closer, closer upon hooves of unpolished sapphire.

Their warmth, his ears folding against his head, the scent of roses.

A crack of thunder.

And overtaking fear.

Flee