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Description
Late winter, Year 756 of the New Age
Glenmore, Glenwood

She couldn’t help it. The envy. The sadness. The sorrow. Then...the anger…

Unfair.

She watched the other does bellies grow, how they slowly started to show signs to bare the fruit of whatever stag that won them in the rut. How some even got tender nuzzles by those said stags even now.

Not her though. Oh no, she was...the tainted...the shunned... Elita pinned her ears, ignored some of the older doe’s indiscrete whispers as she walked away from the great oak. She had right to be there, she was of the herd...just like them...despite what the rumours said. She was of Glenmore, the blood of Áillte surged through her just as much any of them.

In her mouth she had an acorn that she had scraped up from underneath the snow. It was still attached to a little bit of twig; probably it had fallen from when the autumn winds had blown through the mighty oaks branches. The snow fell, a mixture of big and small flakes; some coming down two and two, others in larger groups…and then some came on their own.

Would he have liked to play with them? Feeling them with his lips, picking one up and then dropping them on a pile or would he kicked at one to see how far it would go? She didn’t know why she did this, every year around this time. She brought one acorn from the great oak to his resting place, scraped away as much snow as she could then dug a little hole and then breathed on it. The nut cracked open. Most didn’t make it, it was too early in the season but a few had but they were small still and could hardly be called a tree yet. Shrubs at best. A nose nuzzled a bare little twig of one.

“Hush, little one, I'm here, don’t worry…spring will come, you’ll see, it wont be long now…spring will always come, along with the sun and the spring showers…then you will grow tall and…strong…you will show them wont you, little one?”

Tears burned her eyes, but she bit them back. They didn’t help her. She shook some of the snow off her so she wouldn’t get too wet as it melted by her body heat. A last nuzzle of good bye and a promise she would come back to visit soon.

They said she didn’t morn, that she was strange, odd, and that she wasn’t like the others, normal. Perhaps it was them that were strange, not her. That it was them who didn’t understand.

Just before she left the place she turned, her warm breath creating a cloud of smoke. Not a sound was heard. Most had started to make their way back to their shelters…all but some guards…that surely wished they could do the same. It would get dark soon. One last look. The snow had already started to cover the ground again where she had cleared it, covering the little sprout.

Life would come back in spring. New fawns would be born. They would grow up, leave their mothers sides. Most would live…some would die...just like her son.

(523 words)

ELITAs JOURNAL

Ref: 3 image from Google (doebody, doehead and fawn)

Description
Late winter, Year 756 of the New Age
Glenmore, Glenwood

She couldn’t help it. The envy. The sadness. The sorrow. Then...the anger…

Unfair.

She watched the other does bellies grow, how they slowly started to show signs to bare the fruit of whatever stag that won them in the rut. How some even got tender nuzzles by those said stags even now.

Not her though. Oh no, she was...the tainted...the shunned... Elita pinned her ears, ignored some of the older doe’s indiscrete whispers as she walked away from the great oak. She had right to be there, she was of the herd...just like them...despite what the rumours said. She was of Glenmore, the blood of Áillte surged through her just as much any of them.

In her mouth she had an acorn that she had scraped up from underneath the snow. It was still attached to a little bit of twig; probably it had fallen from when the autumn winds had blown through the mighty oaks branches. The snow fell, a mixture of big and small flakes; some coming down two and two, others in larger groups…and then some came on their own.

Would he have liked to play with them? Feeling them with his lips, picking one up and then dropping them on a pile or would he kicked at one to see how far it would go? She didn’t know why she did this, every year around this time. She brought one acorn from the great oak to his resting place, scraped away as much snow as she could then dug a little hole and then breathed on it. The nut cracked open. Most didn’t make it, it was too early in the season but a few had but they were small still and could hardly be called a tree yet. Shrubs at best. A nose nuzzled a bare little twig of one.

“Hush, little one, I'm here, don’t worry…spring will come, you’ll see, it wont be long now…spring will always come, along with the sun and the spring showers…then you will grow tall and…strong…you will show them wont you, little one?”

Tears burned her eyes, but she bit them back. They didn’t help her. She shook some of the snow off her so she wouldn’t get too wet as it melted by her body heat. A last nuzzle of good bye and a promise she would come back to visit soon.

They said she didn’t morn, that she was strange, odd, and that she wasn’t like the others, normal. Perhaps it was them that were strange, not her. That it was them who didn’t understand.

Just before she left the place she turned, her warm breath creating a cloud of smoke. Not a sound was heard. Most had started to make their way back to their shelters…all but some guards…that surely wished they could do the same. It would get dark soon. One last look. The snow had already started to cover the ground again where she had cleared it, covering the little sprout.

Life would come back in spring. New fawns would be born. They would grow up, leave their mothers sides. Most would live…some would die...just like her son.

(523 words)

ELITAs JOURNAL

Ref: 3 image from Google (doebody, doehead and fawn)