These are stories written by Sunflare the First, clumped here with their old titles and date written. The original posts have been deleted.

Youth Is Wasted On The Young aka Fan-Art-A-Thon: Doe!; October 5, 2009

Youth is wasted on the young.

Hmph. What is youth, anyways?

The sun’s rays shimmered through the forest canopy, sprinkling a path of warm light on the earth for the ancient deer. He followed the trail slowly, each step deliberate and thoughtful. For ages his favorite pastime was enjoying the warmth of the sun. Sometimes he stopped moving altogether, and younger deer passing by would stop their doings to gaze at him, shaking their heads in pity. Poor old fellow can’t even take a few steps without exhausting himself.

Occasionally a young buck, thinking his strong muscles and kindly nature would prove valuable to an elderly deer, would venture over and offer his services. “Would you like some help, Doe? You can just lean on my side and I’ll be happy to –“
It didn’t take but a stern gaze from the old stag to silence the buck –more like a fawn, really- and send him off with a snort and a flick of his long tail.


Impatience. Running down the grasses flat against the earth with their swift hoofs, for no other reason than to feel the power of doing so. Seeing one who doesn’t sprint or bound, and instantly assuming it is because he is too old and decrepit. Never bother to think of the possibility of being content to just stand and feel the sun and the breeze, instead of slicing through it with sturdy antlers and strong legs.



Eventually the little path of sun broke free of the forest, and the elder emerged into the full shine of the midday sun. The old stag turned his head until he spied his familiar spot, the stone bridge. As he walked, his hoofs picked up the rhythmic beat of a spring dance of several deer not far away. He enjoyed watching them, but the back of his mind still held slight disapproval.



Overindulgence. Digging up the ancient song with demanding hoofs for no reason than to greet a friend, or celebrate a change of weather, or to break up a disapproving skirmish, or just for lacking the social skills to do anything else with a stranger. It used to mean something, that song. But it has been played too many times to hold any significance. Not the way it used to be….


The old stone greeted his tired hoofs with pleasure, their retained warmth soaking up into his hoofs. He slid down, basking in nature’s gift of light, sound, scent, and wind. He closed his eyes, and quickly opened them again upon hearing the sounds of knocking antlers. Up on the hill, in front of the eyes of the stone gods, no less, two deer battled. The old deer couldn’t see their eyes, but their movements suggested this was more than a friendly spar. Angered spurred it, and he knew by the crowd gathering around them it was bloody.
He sighed and shook his head.


No control. Emotions run through their bodies as quickly and constantly as the many tears which pour from the Idol. Happiness, anger, hatred, sadness, love, all swirling together in turmoil. A few deer, too young to know how to cope with themselves, too inexperienced, too prideful to ask for help, yes, had taken their own lives. A sad affair, indeed.


The croak of a frog turned the deer away from the carnage. He watched as the small creature gave one last call before diving into the cool water, racing between the playful koi with his own friends. The darkness of his thoughts seemed to lift themselves from his mind and jump into the shimmering pool, sinking harmless into the lake’s depths.

The deer gazed around at the life of others around him; he knew all of them, and had watched them grow from fawnhood.


Even I was young once, though I cannot recall as much as I used to. I know I went through many of the same things these young ones did, and I survived. Yes, many of them will. It is as it should be.


A small fawn galloped over and unabashedly nuzzled him. The old deer chuckled and wrapped a wing around the fawn as it snuggled down beside him.


Let the young keep their youth.

The Late Hours; January 15, 2010

Well, I cannot say much for you current occupation, little one. All other Deer have sensibly gone to slumber by this ungodly hour, save you and I, it seems....
The air is chill, the pond dark and cold like misted glass, and as the fog rolls in, here you stay –in the den of graves, no less!

I don’t approve of fawns lingering in such a grave setting (pardon the pun), but if you’re so inclined to remain, I will stay with you. You don’t have to speak with me; we can just sit in the silence of enjoyed company, or you can continue with your own perplexing thoughts without mind of me.

I can’t say whether I will stimulate your curiosity and lighten your spirit, or if I end up despised because you wished to be solitary and I was rude enough to take it from you.

But I can promise you, little fawn, that if you find yourself tired and nodding off, you will sleep more comfortably with my warmth by your side and my body sheltering you from the wind and chill than if I were not here at all. And if the fog becomes so dense that you become unsure of whether you are the last spirit on the earth, my presence, despised or not, may at least set your fears at ease.

And if none of these concerns bother you or even cross your mind…well, perhaps you can indulge a silly doe and let me think perhaps I’m benefiting you in some way.

Because you certainly benefit me.

hmm yea, this was around 3am yesterday, and even though for some reason it does not show up well on my screenshots, it was pretty foggy for awhile.
At the time there wasn't anyone awake but this little guy, so Sunny parked next to him/her until he/she went to sleep.

....Then she went and joined a default deer party, of which I got no good screenies xD

Who are you, fawn? I have seen you around many times, but I can't remember your name D: You have the pictogram of a happy face about to swallow a golf ball xD

Bedtime Story aka FAA2: Draum; March 23, 2010

“Where do dreams come from?”

"They come from the many stars in the sky, who cannot dwell here with us. Like the sun and the moon, each star has its own light, and when it winks you know it’s sending you a special thought you can only receive when you sleep."

The fawn gazed up at the night sky with new awe. Then he brought his gaze down to the fireflies hovering silently over him, and he imagined them to be dancing stars.

“But why can’t I remember all of them?”

"Because of Draum."

"Who’s Draum?"

"A special deer, who loves dreams as much as you love pinecones. He is part star himself, and he always interested in what his brethren in the night sky send down to us.
You will not see much of him in the day, but he visits you in the twilight of sleep to see what you dream of. And, if he spies one of particular interest, he keeps it for his collection."

"How does he get it out of my head?"

"Draum has a single prong on the center of his head, and on it is tied a special dreaming charm. He dips this horn through your mind-" Here the doe makes a dramatic movement of the head, pointing downward towards the laying fawn "-and plucks it out. Then he tosses his head high, like so, and the dream goes flying until it lands on his tail, where he keeps his collection, which is as numerous as the stars in the sky."

An involuntary yawn makes itself known as the fawn, satisfied with new thoughts to accompany him to sleep, lays his head on the soft grass. As his mother sits beside him, he cannot help but ask one more.

"Does he take nightmares?"

“Yes, my flower,” she answers softly, licking his ear. “He plucks them up like any other. As he walks over you, his tail brushes over your head, and in drops a new, sweet dream for you to enjoy.”

That was all the assurance he needed to hear before drifting away. He rode the night wind up to the heavens and pranced with twinkling stars entangled in a misty, celestial tail.