The little fawn began to notice the decay around the early evening when he woke. He studied a cloud of flies quite intently as they buzzed and flew over his mother. He didn’t bother to stop them, they were simply too fascinating to resist. Besides, it’s wasn’t like his mother didn’t mind their company.
After a few hours of staring at the dense black cloud of tiny scavengers, the small fawn heard the raspy call of a crow only inches behind him. He screamed in surprise and looped around face to face with not one, but two crows perched on separate branches. One had white wing tips, an oddity among the species, but the other had an even stranger likeness, a white beak.
“Assa! By, this little fyeul is hangin’ around the hause with this ol’ dead hinny, eh Debit?” The white-beaked one said. He was speaking in such an old form of language that the fawn didn’t even to begin to comprehend it. He merely took it as disorganized jibberish. The crow with the white-tipped wings pecked his companion and chided, “Ah, haddaway Credit! Be nice to the young hinny. He don’t look much canny by the looks of him.”
Perhaps we should detour away from our story to briefly talk of these two. Debit and Credit were born in a nest not far from the old oak. They were the last surviving nest mates and unlike other crows who simply went their solitary ways. When they flew off they decided to become companions and travel about together. Their story is rather dull, yes? So with that let’s continue with our orphan fawn.
“Ah, bluidy el’ Debit, Les joost geet on, ya?” the brash Credit sighed. “Hoo ‘bout w’ take the hinny with us?” Debit asked his brother, a sudden gleam in his eye. “The poor little bastard… it’s almost neet. Let’s take him, Credit.” Debit flew down from his branch and perched himself on one of the fawn’s little nubs of antler. Credit said nothing more but swooped down to follow and grabbed the fawn’s ear with his talon’s tightly.
The end was coming. The old doe knew this. She finally came to realize with a sickening fear that her child would never really ‘grow up’. No matter how old he was, his mind would be the same. Sure she knew this deep down, but she had continued to latch onto the idea that someone would always be there for her child. Of course that was merely wishful thinking. She was now accepting fate. She knew now that when she died, her fawn would die alongside her.
She had to teach him. She didn’t care if it was fruitless. She didn’t care if he would not understand. She had to at least try and teach him the ways of the forest.
The lessons didn’t last long. The fawn would only scamper along on unsteady legs and gaze at his mother with adoring eyes, eyes that showed no sense of comprehension.
The old doe, after many days and hours of lessons, finally lost hope. Her joints were hurting more than what they already did, and her breathing more labored. “It’s almost here…” she would constantly, almost obsessively think. As all living things do, she concentrated only on the pain, and the sweet embrace of death that laid itself before her.
One morning, the fawn awoke and looked at his mother’s face. Her eyes were open and glazed over, and the fawn thought this quite peculiar, but paid no considerable mind to it. Perhaps it was too early for them to wake. Slowly, he lowered his head down and nestled it against the stiffening body of his mother, oblivious of the likely fate that awaited him.
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Yeah, a day after. Updates for have always been pretty irregular. So don't expect a timetable. I just write when it comes.
“Boy, come here.” The old doe called to her fawn. The little calf had been staring at the grass for quite some time now. He watched the blades solemnly rock back and forth with open mouthed curiosity. At his mother’s call he slowly moved his head up and walked towards her, occasionally missing a step. His face wore a dull smile, his eyes vacant.
The old doe had known since his birth that he would be different. His mind was not necessarily blank, but it carried a certain amount of emptiness that any one deer could note. She had been warned not to carry anymore children at her age. However, despite her divine properties, she was still an animal. An animal that, like any other, had to carry on the genetic code, no matter what the cost.
The calf was now lying next to her, nuzzling against her shaggy pelt for warmth. Unlike many fawns, he was born with whitish pelt tinted with pale brown. The cream coloured deer looked at his mother with longing, trusting eyes.
“Who will care for him when I’m gone?” his mother thought with a sudden jolt of fear. She was getting to be quite elderly now. Casting spells had become more than tiring; it had become life-threatening. She knew her time was coming to a close. The fawn had already started to sprout little nubs for antlers, yet he continued to act as a newborn would. He was now staring up at the sky, watching two bluebirds circle overhead.
“Perhaps I’ll live long enough. I hope I do.” And with that fleeting thought the old doe went to sleep.
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Yes, I know, I've only just started yesterday. Oh well. I felt like writing. I'm not very good at it, but I felt like it. I hope doing this will help me to improve.
