My written musings... | The Endless Forest

...grow more distant these days. I am unsure as to why. Well, no matter. I am writing now, and that is all that matters at this moment.
Though I find this stone structure interesting and not, for it reminds me of my old life, nothing intrigues me more than the Great Oak. Its forever resonating hum, that sounds both of sorrow and happiness mixed, seems unending. To some it is eerie. To others a gentle lullaby. I am unsure as to which opinion I fall under. But I will admit, that no matter what one finds the tune like, there is beauty to its song.
I awoke within the cave formed by its great roots, candles atop my crown once again. I have grown a liking to them. They serve as a good substitute for antlers. I still wonder if I will ever grow to be a noble stag with an impressive antler rack.
Stepping from the Oak's shadow, a gleam of white caught my eye. Ah, yes. Those statues. The twin statues that serve as a place of worship to the Gods of this forest. Though why deer would need to pray I do not know. But then, I must remember, this forest is not filled with normal deer. Most have human faces after all, and all but the unnamed ones may cast magic.
While studying the craftmanship of these great stones, I was approached by quite an odd deer. Not only were they no larger than my slight fawn form, but from their eyes, flowed tears. Not just any tears.
But tears of blood.
Blood flowing forth from empty sockets where their windows to the soul should be.
How strange.
I had no time to think on it further before they were on their way again, not the least bit impeded by lack of eyes. The aid of magic? Perhaps.
There are still so many wonders of this forest I have yet to discover.
I soon found myself in the company of a few young ones. I must admit, I am never sure how to act amongst fawns. My mind is not that of a child. It has not been for many years. And even then it was forced to grow up too fast. The day that...
...
I will not mention that now. It does not matter anymore.
All that is need known, was my childhood was cut short. And with it my ability to speak.
I am sure you have figured out I cannot talk. I am mute you see. It makes for added difficulties in communication, for very few were able to read or write where I come from. Cousin was one of the few.
...
I shall end this before my thoughts stray to more depressing matters.
I do not know when I shall next write, but I will try not to delay as much in the future.

I remain, silent but heard,

Bastilion