The wind broke through the trees with a rush that caused their paper bark to flutter in the wind. The reddened doe cast her eyes sky-high to watch them sway before she felt disoriented and had to close them, allowing her head to slump low as she trudged on by. The doe made sure to be quiet as she moved, not disturbing anything but the grasses that brushed her fur with their comb-like tops. If only those combs could get rid of the gnarls that made it in to her fur. Those, though, the birds would happily pick out when she found a spot to rest.
Poplar's nostrils flared as she kept moving, scenting the air. The scents were as numerous as the shades of tan on the tree trunks, but she named them in her head anyway. None were threatening except maybe North's, but Pop still couldn't register why their animosity existed. The doe flicked her ears to send the thought away.
The grasses were beginning to dry, so the doe had to dunk her head beneath the taller reeds to reach the tender shoots they protected. It was so similar to how Umay had attacked Poplar to get Niko mad. Again, the doe flicked her ears to rid herself of the thought. No matter how many times she moved her ears, tail - shook her pelt, body, legs... the thoughts would plague her like flies or ticks or wolves.
The doe raised her head from the grass, having eaten enough fill to find comfort in her once-growling belly. Her dainty hooves splayed once again as she waded through the tall grass. The magnificent feeling of the tan combs rubbing over her chest, belly, and legs allowed for a blissful moment of security for the doe, for she knew that she was safe where she could hide. Here, she could hide, listen to beautiful birdsong and bask in sunlight without fear. They would never know that she was here. This forest was her sanctuary.
Finally feeling the beginnings of tiredness, the doe ambled upon a spot worth sitting on. A bed of springy yellow moss and grass made a good resting place, overlooking the part of the forest that she could not enter without fear. At least she could dream and remember it from this place.
The birds worked away at her fur, clearing away any knots and tangles for their own benefit. They flew them off to nests, placing them with other deer-fur tangles. If only this forest were like a bird's nest, then maybe all the tangles could get along to create something more important: a bed of life. Poplar snorted at the idea, her whistling-wheeze carrying before being scrambled by the wind.
Her head again lowered, resting on the ground. Tiredness from stressful thinking swept over her in a great blanket, allowing sleep to venture in to possibility. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and the doe's back and sides began to rise and fall rhythmically.
