He doesn't have a name, but he is a polite and social young fellow. His hobbies include dancing and wandering the forest, and occasionally sitting in the Playground or the Old Oak when he gets tired.
He sat beside his sleeping son, gazing down at the soft, golden pelt that neither he nor the fawn's mother possessed. Guilt churned his stomach, a swarm of flies, buzzing and nipping at him, persistent. Amicus thought of his family, both families, the double-life he'd decided to lead, the lie. How many times had he invented stories to tell his wife and son, stories about his travels and adventures, when in reality he was wandering the earth with another doe, and another son?
The golden fawn stirred and nuzzled into his father's fur, content, oblivious, and Amicus felt his heart wrench. He loved Rutilus. He loved Enya. He loved Apollo, and he loved Lyra. There would come a day where he would have to choose between them, but how?
So it is fitting for today.
