#* . ⊹ 𝑫𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑭𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑲𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺 › tod

[autumnfrolic]

‎‏‏⸻‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎𝐅𝐎𝐑‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎; ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎@fledercanons. | tod + copper.

Sharp sunlight scattered across a seemingly endless expanse of open country,  the vast valleys and undulating hills becoming a golden tapestry sparingly bespeckled by stick-built homes and farms ;  the vague cloud of the forest and mountains looming in the distance.  Dawn light spun like silk across the treetops,  morning mist flowing toward the western end of the earth with the midnight dew sparkling as it still clung from the night before,  covering everything in glittering pearls.  Though despite the spectacular pageantry of nature,  there was one too restless to even properly notice it for all its beauty.

Shivering like the autumn grass as the wind blows through it,  a young doe stood back in despair,  her pale eyes yearning as she peered through a sheer pane of glass.  Her name was Dart,  and she stood upon a rustic wooden floor with an awkward,  staggered stance,  nervous hooves emitting clicking ticks in quick succession as they vibrated against the planks,  the lost fawn trembling pitifully.  Landing in unfamiliar settings after getting herself foolishly caught in a Hunter's snare,  Dart had been taken into the abode of Widow Tweed for rest and recouperation.  Tod,  a young red fox,  had offered to help her during her time of need,  though admittedly Dart felt regretful of her decision to accept his assistance.  Attempting to place one's desperate trust in Man after He has killed many without mercy is near futile,  if not impossible.  She recalled how easily the old Woman held her against her chest as she struggled,  squirming fearfully this way and that.  Everything about humans seemed to be wholly dreadful to the young deer,  for no comfort could be found for her in the burning of wood stoves or noisy old televisions. . .

Wearily,  she thought about the forest,  where even now her family and friends roamed with their freedom.  Maybe they were frolicking in the meadow,  perhaps they dearly searched for her,  or did they think she was dead. . . ?  So many questions raced through her anxious mind without a single answer in sight.  Even in the midst of her terror,  she could not help but begrudgingly admire the miracles Man could muster.  They could create water at will,  and they could make roaring fires with simply a matchstick.  It bewildered and fascinated Dart in a terrifying,  morbid way.  Tod had reassured her that Widow Tweed was not like most other Humans,  and while Dart was inclined to believe him,  the gnawing fear of doubt still ate ravenously at her belly.  The old Woman had washed her,  cleaned her,  and wrapped a thickly woven spider web around her foreleg to cover and compress the damaged limb.  Had it not been for Tod and Widow Tweed's intervention,  the foolishly fearful fawn could have wittled her flesh down to the bone.  Perhaps it was possible that not every Man was cruel,  and as the case may be,  the fawn understood gravely that if this Human had wanted her dead,  she would be.  Yet she was not dead.  Breath still coursed through her lungs,  and pain still throbbed through her skin.  How could Man be both merciful,  and yet so cruel. . . ?

After the cold of the morning had burned off through the warmth of the day,  Widow Tweed gave a cursory examination of Dart's bandages.  While the wound had not fully healed,  the fawn needed to keep the strength in her legs with physical movement and nourishment of outside plant life.  Sternly,  she gave Tod the task of keeping an eye out for the fawn as she slowly opened the door to her backyard.  Imploring the young fox with a waggling finger to act responsibly,  she allowed the two animals to exit the household and emerge back into the bright world outside for a short time.  Dart felt a rush of relief bursting through her as the cool air brushed across her skin,  carrying the comforting smells of nature along the breeze.  It was the first time in days that her tail and ears wiggled in such joy !

‎‏‏⸻‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎; ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎@autumnfrolic.