[This is being Reposted, due to account name change~]

The Birth of the Old Oak

A strong wind howled on a vast open land. There was little here - the ground was hard and cracked from long exposure to the Sun, and upon it were charred twigs and debris. Several rootlets rose up from underneath the surface, begging for the rain to come. The sky above was blanketed by thick clouds, but they gave no moisture, and only blotted the land into darkness.

It was a terrible place. Life here would be nothing short of miraculous.

Laying on the hard surface was a doe. The wind made her brown fur whip violently, which began to collect little bits of the dust from the land. The doe finally opened her eyes after a long sleep, and sitting up, she had no recollection of how she got here.

"Rut...ilus?", she called. No answer. "Rutilus? Where are...where am I?", she questioned.

Taliene barely remembered what had happened before. There was that tree of the Twin Gods...and a fawn...and...

She was dizzy, and the land was anything but hospitable. She could not hear much of anything other than the howling from the air. However, a faint sound caught her attention.

I know that voice!, she thought. She looked around the barrens, and spotted a distinct glowing in the distance. Gathering her strength, she stood and walked toward it.

The voice became louder with each step. In fact, rather than one voice, it became two. Were they arguing...no...they were trying to make a decision...

Taliene could soon see them with her own eyes. She was glad to see a couple of familiar faces...these two in particular.

Before her were Michael and Auriea, two glowing figures who seemed to be protected by the harsh winds. Taliene noticed that they seemed to be younger than she remembered.

Mild Maturity Warning!...I guess! XD Somewhere...SO YOU ARE WARNED.

Chapter Numero Uno
Chapter Numero Dos:

~________-----------Ch. 2----------________~

[=#EECBAD]
Ok, so maybe ‘dying’ was a bit dramatic. The whole thing happened in mere seconds, though for the young stag struggling to breathe with concerns of pretty girls and humiliation in his head it seemed a lifetime, and plenty of time for a drowning. More laughter - male laughter, and vaguely familiar. The girl calls out again sternly, though Darcy can barely pick out her words. Suddenly the weight from his head was lifted, and jerking upwards the young stag choked the water from his lungs before gasping for breath. A sharp, painful blow to his side sent him sprawling back to the ground, though thankfully it forced the rest of the water out, clearing his air passage. His body heaved as it tried to recover from the traumas, his vision blurred and spinning as he attempted to wrap his mind around the situation.

“What’s the meaning of this, Serin!”
Zharie’s voice drew his consciousness into focus as he sat upright again, swaying uneasily. He focused his gaze on her silvery form in desperation to focus on anything. She stood not too far off, squared up and larger then he remembered her as she glared past him - no doubt at his attacker. Serin. He made no attempt to get a glimpse of the young, striped stag that stood defiantly over him. He’d gotten plenty of good glimpses in the past.
“Hey don’t be mad at me! The little dork was spying on you again, he deserves it!”

The shadow above him shifted and suddenly a hoof landed heavily upon his neck, threatening to pin him down again.

[=9]{ OMG WHY CAN'T I WRITE HAPPY STUFF LOL }

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It was still snowing. The great sky-dove shed her downy gifts all over the forest, and for several days she flew lazily over and blanketed the forest below. She breathed a deep sigh across the land, and the snow-covered trees twitched, the forest cringed, and a certain doe hidden beneath the snow shuddered. Such a lovely dream she'd been having, and she felt oddly warm inside.

But it was soon after, a few mere seconds, that she found herself unable to recall the magic of the world behind her eyelids. Sleeping in the snow was not smart, however Rowan's waterproof feathering had grown thicker in the cold and, though she shivered in the wind, was generally just fine. He maskless face, however, ached with cold. It burned and stung in agonizing lines on her feathery visage.

Yet another sigh of wind carved lines into her feathers. It carried away some snow with it, which twirled and danced happily. Rowan stumbled to her feet, chasing the winter blast and taunting it. This is not the place for happy dances! She returned quietly and curled back around one of the last blue flowers protectivly.

Here she was surrounded by a circle of rocks, none higher than a few inches yet arranged pursosefully. Here lie her soul, buried deep and curled together in eternal slumber. Suddenly, the cold drove her up and away to the pond. She must see her face! How it stung bitterly.

What the little old doe saw in her peerings into the frozen water displeased her so much that she muttered a cry of astonishment. There, in perfect little lines, were lines of crytallized water down her cheeks. Mentally, Rowan snarled at herself, and then found her legs running in no particular direction. Not smart. She collided with a tree with a soft thump, and rolled over to vanish in a snowdrift.