{ If you're not aware,
Thistle is a daughter Rowan had out of
some nasty cirumstances wayyyy back before she 'came here'.
Lol I was trying to write something sweet and this happened. Rawrg. }
---
The summer weeds had grown tall, up to the little awkward doe's tummy. She dipped her head and nipped hungrily at the sweet roots of the wildly grown plants.
"Momma!"
She raised her head, and swiveled her ears lazily. Her awkward little offspring was nowhere to be found, and so she returned to grazing with an ear out for a second cry for her. Surely Thistle would call her feathery mother twice if whatever she needed was of dear importance.
"Momma!"
As if on cue, her status was proclaimed loudly and childishly.This time she shot up so quickly she spied the little gray-and-blue fairy sinking back into the weeds. Oh, that, then? Another game of watch-Thistle-vanish-in-the-weeds. Rowan smiled and stooped down into the weeds. She was young and streamlined. At this point in her life, her neck feathers were short and puffy, and she bore no signs of a tail train of feathers. Her colors were still pale and she was small and graceful. Despite her age, at which time she should be shyly flirting with the young stags but running off in giggle-fits, she already had a fatherless little bit of herself stalking her in the grass. She had proved to be a most valuable mother, since her own childish instinct was not as far buried and she played for hours with Thistle happily in the shrubs.
She lowered herself into something like a stooping crawl, and proceeded to move predator-like through her twisted green obstacles. But like the little downy hen-baby she was, Thistle burst in a flutter from the brush and overtook her mother in a great wave of kisses and giggles. Rowan giggled madly along with her, and her mask (she had now used her own little hints of forest magic to change it to it's pretty little human appearance) fell and was lost in the grass in the chase that proceeded. Her long legs weren't enough to catch her little chick, who fluttered and danced away in an instant like the little titmice.
Her mother commanded her come to, and the little bird trotted bashfully up. Rowan held her close and whispered the language of mothers into her ears. Though she couldn't have known, it would be this very eve when the Twin Gods welcomed Thistle into their Haven. For now, the two little flittering creatures played until the twinkling stars came to call the little fawn to sleep in thier arms...
Awww! That's so sweet!
Thank you! :3
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