(If no one joins me, I will just keep adding to this and make it a story of sorts, but it is open, anyone can meet and join. And that means anyone, at any number of players, at any time. )

Her first thought upon waking isn't actually a thought at all, really. It's a vision (or maybe a memory, she can't much tell the difference anymore) of a deep roan pelt, the scent of poppies. She knows immediately that this is what her mother must have smelled like; knows that the flash of color in the back of her eyes is the color of her mother's fur, of the painted mask the doe wore. Will I look like her, someday? she catches herself wondering, but quickly shakes the thought, and the vision, off. Dis-remembers it. Un-remembers it. Erases it without truly forgetting. That's the way it always is.

The afternoon is harsh on her eyes, the sun hot and bright. Era pushes up on her front legs first, stretches from the front to the back, cat-like. She cannot complain too much about the heat, it's better than being forced to brave a heavy snowfall alone. And at least there is the pond to wash away the sunlight.

"Thank you for another blessed morning." she says with reverence, turning to face the Statues before bending, one leg forward and one knee bent, worshiping the way she's taught herself to do every day since the day she dis-remembered her mother.

She prays to see tomorrow. She sings the praises of the almighty God. When she is finished, she turns to face the pond where she sees several deer basking in the warmth of the afternoon, naked and happy. She remembers hearing about some sort of social cleansing taking place today and realizes she has slept through the festivities.

It matters not, she thinks, resolute, and begins her journey toward The Great Oak, where she hopes the gray stag she met the day before will be. The walk is lonely but peaceful. She listens to the leaves crunching beneath her little hooves, takes a moment to stop and smell the hyacinths. This search, this need to find those deer who have touched her, comforted her in some way has become a pattern, a somewhat painful one at that. She never finds them. But today, she forces the despair away and instead hopes.

It isn't that she needs any of the others, really. It's only that, sometimes...just, sometimes...

Era comes to a stop when the silhouette of the Great Oak comes into view through the early mist and dappled shadows. Suddenly unsure, she cannot bring herself to take the last few steps into the vicinity. She knows the Oak is home to many of the inhabitants of the forest, but while she isn't shy in the least, she is at least aware of the dangers surrounding an intrusion of that sort.

Instead, she calls out with a strong but cautious bleet. Perhaps the gray pelted stranger from the evening before is there now. Perhaps he will hear her, recognize her call.