Your hooves have carried you through the forest, a whisper in your ears.
The voice tugs at your soul and you float along after it and into the hollowed chamber.
A deep droning reverberates in your chest, lazy crescendos pulsing in rhythm like some behemoth heart.
You find your mind wandering, fantastical notions, ponderings, and soul searching seem so much easier inside the inviting womb of the Oak.
If you think of nothing at all and simply concede to doze you might be lucky enough to hear the voice of Old Oak herself.
Perhaps, if you are a good listener, she’ll share with you a story…
Face Value
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Hello my darlings, finally drying after all that rain I see. The sun feels just lovely on my leaves, makes them shimmer so nicely too, if I do say so myself. You agree! Oh how sweet of you to say, you’re looking quite spiffy yourself, and I’m not just saying that to be polite. Hm...hehe, oh, just remembering a brass little fawn I once knew.
His name was Plu and was old enough to run with the bigger fawns, jump about the playground, and to find his own food. He was not old enough however, to know that sometimes the truth is not what people wish to hear. One day, while splashing around the pond Plu saw another deer standing in the water.
“Come play with me!” Invited Plu, but when the deer turned to greet him he gasped in fright. The deer’s face was not smooth and round like his, but a long, boney snarl with sightless eyes and sharp, red spines. “Nevermind!” Cried Plu. “I do not wish to play with you, please, leave me alone!”
The skull-face tilted his fleshless head in confusion.
“Why do you say that? I would be happy to play with you.” His voice was raspy and sad.
Plu peeked out from behind the pond reeds in which he had hidden.
“No, I am quite certain you wish to eat me. Which you shouldn’t! I haven’t had a bath yet today and I am sure I would taste foul!”
The skull-faced deer could not understand it; his face was just the way he liked it. Surely the fawn could see he was a deep, sensitive soul beneath a cruel, misshapen exterior!
“I have yet to try and eat you...I assure you, I only eat grass...the occasional mushroom, never fawns!”
“Then why are your teeth long and sharp?”
“I enjoy looking like this, it is how I like being.”
“But it is scary...” Plu stuck his head out from amid the reeds, gathering his courage. “How do you expect to make friends when you walk around looking like that!”
The skull-faced deer hadn’t really thought about it that way before...now that he thought about it though, he did spend many of his days alone. Could his appearance really have that much to do with it?
“You should try and get to know me, little fawn and then you will see I am quite pleasant to be around!” He growled in frustration; everyone knew it was very rude to judge someone else by appearances!
Plu stuck his tongue out at the growling stag, annoyed at the stag’s inability to see reason.
“Look Mr. SkullStag, you look scary. You might like it, but I don’t and I don’t have to!” Stamping his hoof in the shallows, Plu puffed out his chest. “You can’t expect people to ignore a face that looks like yours, it’s rude!”
Well, needless to say Plu and the stag’s arguments were both right and wrong. Hearing this, I bend down my branches and had a little word with the two of them. Somebody had to be the voice of reason after all!
“Look here you two,” I said. “You are both being rude. Stag, you can’t expect everyone to know you as well as you know yourself; if someone is afraid of you it is not their fault!” Plu stuck his tongue out again, grinning mischievously. That is, until I waved a twig under his nose. “And you Plu, I am disappointed, your mother taught you better! You do not like it when the other fawns are mean to you because of your fur, or your size.” Plu hung his head, shaking it sadly. “It hurts your feelings doesn’t it, yes I know it does. Do you think you might have hurt our friends feelings when you refused to play with him?”
“...yeah...I guess I would be sad if someone wouldn’t play with me because I was small.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you two splash about a bit, the sun is quite warm don’t you think?” With a bit of coaxing, the two were rolling around in the shallows in no time at all. Content with my work, I dusted my branches and enjoyed the sun once more.
'The Tiniest of All'
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Well my tiny little darlings, come to ask for a story once more? I do love telling stories, and you little things are always such patient listeners, even when I drift off or ram..what? Oh well yes I guess I could hurry to the actual story...goodness, in a rush today are we? I forget how much quicker life moves for you little things. Hm. That reminds me of a story...
There was once a little deer, the tiniest of all the deer in the forest. When the herds would run races through the trees, his short legs ensured he was always last. When the stags tussled in the flower patches, his short antlers were easily pushed aside. At first this bothered him but he soon grew tired of the races and the sparing. He accepted that he would always be the smallest of all the deer, and eventually he got used to the idea. “Just as there is a stag that is biggest, strongest and fastest so too I guess there must be one who is smallest, weakest, and slowest. From this day onward, let all deer know it is ME who is the smallest of them all!” So the tiny stag took pride in his diminutiveness...until one day he was the smallest no longer.
In the sweetness of the blueberry patch a doe had just given birth to a healthy new fawn. His fur still damp and his glossy black eyes newly opened, he was the smallest thing the former tiniest deer had ever seen.
“But he is so small...”
“Yes he is.” The doe mother said. “Even tinier than you.”
Now the previously tiniest deer did not take kindly to this...what would he be if not the weakest, smallest, or slowest?! He explained, very politely of course to the doe;
“You must take it back. You see, I am the tiniest of the deer. It is what I do.”
The doe blinked, but did not laugh for she could see he was quite serious.
“Have you ever thought of being something other than the smallest, weakest, slowest deer in the forest? Surely it would be more rewarding to be better.”
“Oh I tried that. It didn’t work, besides it is much easier this way.”
“Well you have me there, it does take a lot of work being big and fast, even more work to be strong.”
“You see, I would much rather be the tiniest. It is what I am known for, you see...until your fawn came along.”
“Well I am sorry sir, but I can do nothing about my fawn. He is tiny, weak, and slow because he is young. You however, are much older than him...you have no excuse for being so small.”
Now he had never thought about it like that before, of course he would rather be fast than slow, and rather be strong than weak...but it all seemed like so much work. Seeing how troubled he was, the mother smiled and in a sweet voice said; “I have an idea. Why don’t you and my fawn grow bigger, stronger, and faster together? I would like very much if he could have a friend to look out for him when I am not here.” The small stag thought this over and seeing no other option he agreed.
The days grew into months and the small deer watched the fawn take his first steps. He showed him how to get to the tastiest mushrooms. He even helped drive off other mean deer who tried to bully the fawn. After that particular incident, as they both sat nursing bruises victorious the fawn looked up at the stag and said;
“I hope that I am as big, fast, and strong as you one day.”
The stag realized that there would always be people smaller than himself. He had done himself no good by clinging to the false glory of being the weakest; he was much happier growing strong so he could protect his friends.
“I was once just as small as you, and one day when you are as big as me, there will be someone smaller than you who will need your help too.”
“Really? You think so?!” He smiled at the fawn’s energy and nodded.
'The First Name'
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You’ve seen the ‘nameless’ then I expect? Of course you have, silly me, but you’ll be shocked to hear that once, all the deer in this forest were nameless ones. Oh yes, quite true I assure you! It wasn’t until one rather persnickety deer discovered something rather odd...
On a walk through the forest, he talked with the trees, and the flowers...oh yes, how silly of me, of course you wouldn’t know they could do that, how would you? Back in the good old days, that’s what I like to call them you see, because they were quite wonderful, before all this nonsense about...oh yes, the story.
This particular stag discovered that flowers all had names. There was Lily, and Blueberry, and Dandelion. There were the trees of Willow, Birch, and of course, Oaks like myself. However, when it came to deer, there was only ‘deer’. Now the stag puzzled over this for quite some time and in the end he discovered that he did not particularly like being called just ‘deer’.
“Why is it that flowers and trees should have names, but not us deer?”
Well, can you imagine his brass, but he stormed right off to The Twins, and he asked them that very question! I wouldn’t have put up with such back-sass I should tell you, but The Twins are Gods and I guess patience is a virtue. After hearing his question, they raised an eyebrow at him and simply said;
“Stag, why should we call you anything else? Deer you are, and deer we call you.”
Now the stag hadn’t really thought about it like that, and felt rather foolish, rightly so I say…but the Twins were amused and in their infinite creativity, they saw that a lesson could be learned.
“See here, deer. If you can think of a better name, we will honor it and never again call you just ‘deer’.”
The stag exited as he was at the prospect of earning his God’s honor, rushed off to his thinking spot to ponder a name for himself.
It would happen that while he sat in thought, another deer happened by and seeing the stag in such concentration, asked about what he was so deeply puzzled. So, the stag explained to his companion all that had transpired between himself and The Twins.
“That is a puzzle…I will sit and help you!”
The two deer were soon joined by another, and another, and soon there was a great gathering of deer. There was not a single soul in the forest who had not heard of the Twin’s promise to the deer.
“Well, what name have you made for yourself?”
“Yes, tell us please!”
Finally, the stag stood and in a loud moo proclaimed himself ‘Bob’.
Expectantly, the response from the other deer was a mixed bag of tree-nuts! Some laughed, some bellowed in anger, and some simply shook their head in embarrassment. However, all agreed that ‘Bob’ was a poor name indeed.
At that moment, The Twins themselves ran up through the trees and silence fell over the herd. Bob stepped forward and bowed his head;
“As you told me, I have come up with a name.”
“So we have heard, Bob, but it would seem the others are not so pleased with your new name. Are you sure you would be called Bob?” He thought for a good long while, but at last he held his head up high and said;
“My name is my own, and I very much long to be called by it, as silly as others might think it!” Hiding a chuckle, the Twins nodded and so from that day on Bob was Bob. At once there was a great muttering among the other deer, but The Twins looked out among them, eyes hard. With gentle tugs, from the deer’s chests they plucked out their souls. Gently they fixed the soul of each deer between his antlers, and in stern voices quelled their fear.
“Bob has shown great courage, and in sharing his name he has show you all his true self. He has laid it bare and you have scorned him for it, mocked him and held yourselves above him.” The herd hung their heads in shame, knowing the words of The Twins were true. “So, we have taken out your souls and hung them where any may see them. Now you will all be bare, as hard as you labour to hide it, your very essence will be seen.”
And so, my avid little listener, that is how the first name was given in the forest, and also how each deer now carried his soul where all may read it. Now I’m not really sure about this whole ‘Bob’ business myself…funny thing though, I think I know another story about Bob…now was that the one about…oh no..it was…oh darn…
'A Merry Babble'
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Welcome back darlings, good to see you out and about even in this weather. The rain doesn’t bother me any, but you barkless little things must get positively drenched! Yes, yes, do come inside, just be sure to dust the mud off your hooves, mind! You know you’re always welcome to sit inside my shell, I don’t mind, a little company once and a while is quite delightful. Of course, there is good company and then there is bad company…which reminds me of one little fawn I once knew, who wanted so badly to have some friends.
Samuel was an odd little thing, even by deer standards. Where other fawns were loud and playful, he was quiet and collected. Sadly the other fawns his age did not understand the pleasures of simply watching flowers bloom, or the birds fluttering in the trees, they would much rather gallop or romp. While the other fawns played, weak legs growing strong and antlers peeking through tawny fur, poor little Samuel stayed small and stunted.
It wasn’t soon before the others begun calling him ‘Slow Samuel’, which as rude as it sounds, I will assure you was quite true. Never told him that obviously…oh but the poor dear had a heart of gold, always coming and sitting in my shade, rain or shine. We had many lovely conversations, Samuel and I. He would sit, just like you are now, and he’d tell me all about what he’d found that day.
You see, Samuel knew the forest like nobody else. He was a bright lad and since he never rushed anything, he saw many things others would miss. He’d tell me all the juicy frog gossip, or what birds were nesting where, but one day Samuel told me something that caught my attention.
“..and then Miss Oak, I went down to the pond for a little drink and you’ll never guess what I heard!” I remember how his little ears twitched with excitement, so adorable. “There, along the pond-edge I could hear singing! It was like nothing I had ever heard, so happy and cheerful sounding.”
Since I doubt you’ve taken the time or care as Samuel did on his walks, I’ll share with you a secret; before The Twins made deer, they made everything else you see in our forest. They made the trees, took special care with me they did, and they also made the waters of the pond. Now the pond is clear and calm, but the place where the waters of the river dance with the waters of the pond, well…that was what is who Samuel heard.
“Now listen here, Samuel.” I said, bending down my branches in all seriousness. “While water may babble and sound cheerful and gay, their dance is not one for deer.” I could see Samuel was saddened, but I knew he was a smart lad, bright enough at any rate to understand my meaning. In hindsight, I suppose I should have been more blunt, but I do so love that little bit of mystery, keeps things interesting…oh yes, where was I.
Days went by and Samuel continued to visit me, you see we’d always chat in the afternoon, after he’d gone on his walk. One day, Samuel was late, and not the simple ‘I took the long path through the Birch Forest’ late but worrying late…I had that bad feeling deep down in my heartwood, so I stretched out my roots and listened for any sign of Samuel. As I had suspected, there we was, standing on the river bank, much to close to the edge for my tastes. The water babbled and cooed at him, saying how hot he looked, up there in the sun.
“How much cooler and nice it would be, down here with us.”
“Dance with us, we’ll show you the steps!”
“Oh yes, it’s not hard at all!”
“You see, it all starts with a leap…”
As you can imagine, I was rather distraught, I shook my branches and creaked my roots, but Samuel was so engrossed with the pretty currents and spray that he didn’t hear me calling. Just as Samuel took his leap into the pond, The Twins appeared through the trees! They dipped one hoof each into the calm waters of the pond, and suddenly Samuel’s flailing ceased! From the edge of the pond, a small green frog floundered in the shallows.
“Samuel.” The Twins spoke in their singsong tones. “Did not The Oak warn you of dancing with the waves?” Samuel the frog gave a deflating croak and flopped towards their hooves. “You should do better to remember her words in the future….now, lets get you home to your mother.” Scooping down, they plucked Samuel’s little green body up into their antlers and set off through the trees.
From that day on, Samuel always stayed away from the dancing water. Oh yes, Samuel grew up healthy and strong, though he had the odd habit of croaking, and was always fond of hopping when he thought nobody was watching…I suppose The Twins have worked out the kinks in that magic by now, at least, I should hope so.
'The Too Proud Stag'
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My, what a wonderful day! The sun is shining through my leaves, deer are frolicking in the pond… and that troublesome family of starlings has finally learned to poop somewhere other than my branches! Be thankful, dear, that you deer don’t have to worry about birds and their small bladders. Hm? What was that? You didn’t come here to hear about poop? Well of course not! How silly, honestly…luckily, I have a story for you today that might be more to your liking.
It was a few years ago, must have been because the willows at the pond were still saplings. Despite being younger, the pond was still the hub of activity within the forest. A cool drink and a nap in the shade, oh yes, times were simpler then. Still, the more things change the more they stay the same. For instance, on that day so long ago, I remember watching something rather odd at the edge of the pond.
As one rather large and decorated stag bent down to have a drink, he squinted his eyes shut tight, almost as if it pained him. Now I thought to myself, any decent tree would investigate! So I wiggled my roots up through the mud and gave the stag a tap on the flank...what? Of course I can do that! Goodness, I’m not some sappy little yearling, I’m the oldest tree in the forest, and I expect a little more respect in the future. Yeah, you just plant your rump and listen to the story.
Now where was I…oh yes, well the stag and I had a nice little chat;
“Good day, good stag.”
“Oh, hello Lady Oak, come down for a drink at the pond?”
“I did indeed, does wonders for the bark. Not to seem, well, nosey, but as I was sipping away I saw you taking a drink yourself and was wondering what pains you?”
“Pains me? Nothing pains me good Lady Oak, though I thank you for your concern.”
Now I know when I’m being fibbed to, so I said my farewells and folded my root back into the ground, intent to leave it at that. As my luck would have it, the very next visitor to my shade was a lovely doe, who happened to know the stag rather well. She told me, that when they were young, they had come together to hear one of my stories. I had told them a story I’d heard a long looong time ago, when I was just a sapling, if you can imagine! I told them the story of the deer who fell in love with his own reflection. Wha? Oh, for goodness sake, stop interrupting me…I’ll tell you that story another time, perhaps. Though really, the name tells you everything you need to know. Gah, now I’ve gone and lost my focus!
Well, being the bright tree I am, I put two and two together, but my goodness was I shocked. How foolish and self-absorbed would you have to be, to believe you could fall charmed by your own reflection!? Obviously, this stag and I needed to have a little chat.
“Look here, I never meant to scare you with my stories, but you’ve no need to fear your own reflection.” Now I pride myself on my tact, but this stag’s antlered head was so far up his…em..yes well, he was so ‘full of himself’, that he had the nerve to say I was jealous. Me! The oldest and fairest tree in the forest, envious of a little prancing dandy…well, I gave him a piece of my mind, but he just stuck up his nose and trotted off.
I do not think of myself as a one prone to revenge, but this stag, well he needed to be taught a lesson! Once the sun had gone down, and the stars had come out, I bent my branches down to the pond. The frogs there are quite charming little creatures, but toads, well they’re an entirely different breed. One toad in particular, Boss Toad, as he was called by his amphibious cohorts, was the fattest, warty, splotchy toad there ever was. In exchange for some of the sweetest acorns I’d collected, he agreed to help me with my little trick.
The very next morning, as he did every morning, the proud stag came down to the water for a drink. I was waiting there for him;
“Oh good sir stag! Something horrible has happened!”
“Do not think I have forgiven you, Oak, I know this is just one of your tricks.”
“No, no, never would I trick you! Not the grandest and more impressive stag of the forest…never you!”
“Well…I am rather grand.”
“Er..yes, amazingly…but I came to warn you! Something has gone amiss, and all the deer of the forest have found their reflections have run off, never to show their faces again!”
“Truly!? But this is wonderful! I can finally drink without looking foolish, oh thank you Lady Oak!”
With that, the proud stag trotted off into the shallows.
No sooner had he bent down his long neck, than Boss Toad peeked his warty face out of the reeds and let out a hearty croak. The proud stag blinked owlishly, his mouth dropping open. Stepping first to the left, then to the right, he was horrified as his toady reflection mimicked his ever action and expression. Letting out a bleat of horror, the proud stag stumbled backwards, loosing his balance on the wet bank he flopped over into the mud. Raising his face slowly from the water, his antlers strewn with reeds and his fur splattered with mud, he looked suitably comical indeed!
The pond frogs rolled about on their lily pads, clutching their sides in laughter. Boss Toad, thrilled with his own performance, bowed deeply to the cheering amphibian… until of course he was hit, square on his brow by a drop of mud from the stag’s antlers. The laughter of the frog’s redoubled, many of them falling off their logs and into the pond. Well you can imagine, the scene soon disintegrated into a good ol’ fashioned mud fight. Soon even the once proud stag was laughing and kicking up mud, having discovered that once you learn to laugh at your own expense, everything else in the world seems a little more entertaining.
’The Flower Crown’
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Oh my darlings, back again for another story? You always ask so nicely, a very polite little deer you are. Let me see, what stories do I know for gracious little dears…hmm.
Times I can remember when this forest, now so light and joyful, was darker, colder. Not a cold of shivering frost, but one that purses lips and turns eyes blind. Ohh yes, be thankful you were born in happy times. The maples have a saying; Happy times breed happy hearts. Always so poignant those maples…still, sometimes it takes sad times to build the happiest hearts of all.
It was the sleeping time, when us trees shed our leaves and settle deep into our roots. I’ve always felt bad for the smaller creatures, like you, no roots to hold you fast in place. It must be scary, to be so free. Oh never you mind, I fear such talk makes me seem so morose! Oh? You don’t think so…oh you are a kind little dear to say such things. Now where was I…
The fog rolled in, as it did ever year, and with it came the howls. Silent paws and snapping jaws, oh yes, be thankful we are in happier days. It was during those months of silent panic that I would look after the fawns and does, they would rest in my trunk you see. The stags would sharpen their antlers, steel themselves against fear to stand guard over their families…mind you, they wore real antlers back then, none of this trumpet nonsense!
Lived in fear, those poor deer did, ears always twitching and eyes rolling. Fawns were kept underfoot, no playing or running for them. Still, every year there were some who wandered out into the fog banks…Forgive me, this tale is truly a happy one…it’s just that you need to understand dear, those were dark days, sad days.
With their fathers standing guard, fawns were left to the care of does, sheltering in the long grass. As they waited, they made garlands of flowers and grass to wear about their brow. Keeping busy kept them from being afraid you see, they did not fully understand, but like all children they could feel a tension in the air.
One fawn, Cyris, who was older than the others had lost his sister to the wolves the year before. He knew the dangers of the fog, but felt like an outsider among the other children. He watched them weave their garlands, safe in their naive innocence.
“Do you not wish to make a wreath as well, Cyris?” One of the doe caretakers stood before him and smiled. “It would give your mind something to do, besides fret.” Cyris nodded solemnly and half heatedly set about plucking strands of grass.
How could playing with grass and flowers make me feel any better?! Cyris thought angrily to himself. It’s not as if a garland could ever bring her back… Feeling tears welling at the edges of his eyes, Cyris curled down deeper into the grass. The unfinished garland lay at his feet, forget-me-nots and sweet grass, simple and delicate. Reminded of his sister once more, he sniffled and tucked his feet in around his face.
“If you want, I can show you how.” Slowly Cyris uncurled and looking up, saw a young fawn standing before him. Sniffling and quickly rubbing away his tears, he sat up as the doe plopped down into the grass across from him. “If you want, I can show you how to make garlands. That’s why you’re sad right, ‘cause yours isn’t very good?”
Forcing a smile, Cyris nodded and watched the fawn pick up where he had left off, dexterous hooves pushing grass and stems around one another. “See, if you hold it wif your mowth…” Tugging with her teeth, the fawn knotted the end of the garlands to itself, a seamless circle of blue and yellow. “Now you try!” Her smile was so genuine, Cyris found himself thinking once again of his sister. How she had smiled and laughed, how she had been so carefree…Cyris wanted more than anything, to hear her laugh again.
Smiling back, Cyris gently scooped the garland onto his brow, the soft scent of sweet grass hugging his nose. “Now you try.”
“Ok, but you have to help me.”
“Sure!”
Of course, Cyris knew that however pretty or well crafted, a garland could never bring back his sister. She was gone, but from that day Cyris begun to understand something very important. He was still alive, and he remembered how happy it had made him to see his sister laugh. As he grew, Cyris continued to make garlands with the other fawns, showing them how to weave the strands together so they didn’t show, and how to pick flowers without bruising the petals. It made him happy to see fawns smile and to hear them laugh. It was almost like having his sister again.
Cyris grew up into a fine young stag, strong and kind. Every fall he would scrape the felt from his antlers, hone the points keen but then he would settle down into the flower patch to teach the fawns. The other stags did not understand.
“Cyris just sits and plays, does he not understand it is his duty to guard?”
“Maybe he is afraid. He lost his sister you know, when he was young.”
“What of it? We have all lost someone, but we stay strong, ready to defend our families.”
Finally, Cyris’s father, a well respected stag who had weathered many seasons, came forward in defense of his son.
“You are all quick to label my son a coward, but you do not know him like I do.”
That night, Cyris’s father took the other stags to the river bank. There, to their surprise they saw Cyris, thrashing and kicking his legs as he lept back and forth across the bank. All along the waters edge the trees were stripped of their bark, gorged by the strikes of his antlers. “Now that you know my son is no coward, neither is he a fool.”
“Perhaps, but trees and wolves are very different.”
“Let me ask you a question then,” Cyris’s father look into their eyes. “Why do you fight the wolves?”
“To defend our families!”
“So you stand guard all night, rest during the day. You abandon your families in favor of your enemies. Cyris is strong because he has not forgotten the simple joy of happiness. You have grown cold and hard, however brave you may be.”
The stags dispersed, unsettled by their elders words. That night, they stood guard by their families, stern ghosts of the men they’d once been. The next morning when they met, they aired their grievances;
“When I approached, my mate recoiled. She did not recognize me.”
“My daughter cried when I held her.”
“They remember my name, but have forgotten my face.”
Away in the flower patch, Cyris and his father sat side by side, as he explained the events of the night before. Smiling bitterly, Cyris called the fawns to him and as they sat in a circle, he picked flowers for each of them.
“Listen closely, children. Today we make special garlands.” As he spoke, he gathered together his grasses, weaving them together in small circles. “These garlands, they are magical, and if you make them with thoughts of love…” The fawns hung on his every word, watching as he wove sweet grass and forget-me-nots into the garland before him. “They will have the power to bring back someone you have lost.”
As the children rushed about the flower path, gathering their favorite flowers, Cyris sat with his father. His face worried, his father leaned close and spoke into his ear.
“You know that..that your sister is gone. No ring of flowers can bring her back.” Smiling, Cyris nuzzled his father’s neck.
“I know father, but that is alright. She is gone, not lost.” Carefully he picked up the garland and placed it lovingly on his father’s brow. Tears welled in his father’s eyes as he understood.
“In my grief, I abandoned you…I am sorry, so sorry.” Holding his father tightly, Cyris inhaled the scent of sweet grass and smiled. “It’s ok dad, you’re here now.”
As evening descended and the fawns came back to my trunk to sleep, they saw their fathers standing guard as always. Each fawn took from their head a garland and placed it carefully on their father’s antlers. Warm nuzzles and sweet good-nights were exchanged, and the fawns slept content in the knowledge that their fathers had come home.
One of the happiest night I can remember. Oh yes, such days those were, hard days, mean days, but happy times too. Never forget that there are always happy times, my little dears, always a little bit of happiness in the world.
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Well darlings, I hate to say it but you seem to have extinguished my stock of stories for the moment...
Maybe, if you give me some time they'll come back to me, and then I can share some new ones with you next time you drop by.
Bawww! The Flower Crown made
-- Dannii <3
I was getting choked up
Terabetha. I cannot
...I know that seems really exaggerated, but it's not. Heh, sorry for putting you on the spot a bit.
I could not say it any
Yorres, Lightbringer
Baawww you guyyyys...now I
Lieka (I forget how to do the special 'e' D:) I can hardly complain when that spot comes with such glowing praise! I'm thrilled that my stories can reintroduce people to a little bit of the magic that they've lost from The Forest.
Thanks again, you're all such a constant and positive audience. :')
Awww... That's a cute little
---
Click My Creatures Please!
Thanks Seed.
{Bumping with new story}
Hm. I'm not sure it's a sad
Still, a decent effort.
Yeah, it's not really a
I guess you could say the end of the story hasn't been written yet...*corny*
Yeah, that makes sense.
Bumping, it's been far too
I really liked this one
Thanks Mattieu. Equal parts
likelikelike!
Awww :c I don't want to steal
Haha go right ahead
I look forward to seeing the tales you compile!
?.
These are quite charming! I
Thank you both, I'm glad
010, I believe I've hung out with your deer a few times as Teradeer, it was a pleasure. c:
Awwwwwsooooommeee! Another
Baw thank you Seed, you're
Bumping with 'Face Value'.
Love that newest one! I would
Very nice to see how you implemented such a present discussion. I'll look forward to reading the rest too!
Another gem, Tera!
oops. Double post.
I love these stories so much.
Thanks guys, I'm glad you've
Trackaism! because... I want
The intro has done wonderful things to my tired self.
!
8D
!
!
I liked the last one very
Great stories. ♥
Heehee, I've read the first
Thanks you guys, I'm glad the
I enjoyed reading these very