And the snow fell

Early winter, Year 756 of the New Age
Glenmore, Glenwood

The stags measured their strength; at first they just pranced a little, showing off their racks, mocking eachother trying to see weaknesses…and strengths. Their breaths created small puffs in the cold air as they pushed shoulders against eachother, then horns locked, and their necks was bulging with muscles as well as some fat for the upcoming cold season. There was already the scent of snow in the air. A doe watched from the undergrowth that still remained. Her dark colors made her blend in the shadows of the late afternoon. She wasn’t particularly interested it the activities, or at least she tried to tell herself that. The stag she had mated with years past never picked her again, like he suddenly had realized who she was and last year he had not even cared to greet her. By now she had given up, claiming her right to him, even if she was a doe and didn’t really have that kind of right. Like most, the stags kept away. No…she didn’t care.

There was royal blood in her…even if the herd thought of her as odd, tainted…because of what happened to her mother. It made her angry. She closed her eyes. Vague images came before her as she remembered a soft voice and a tender tongue giving her comfort. Her anger grew and she felt the need to lash out at something. A rather tall sapling, reaching to her knee became her victim. Her aunt, the doe that had raised her in her mothers place, had claimed her too violent for a doe…too eager to fight, to lash out, being trouble, to do something the others took as another sign for her to be of mixed blood. That was a thing that just made it worse in a way since she was aware of her worth. They didn’t understand… Sometimes she stood there, watching them, fantasying about things, dark things…They would see in time…she was just as good as the others….she wasn’t…tainted….

She let out a soft snort of amusement as she saw one of the stags slip and he barely managed to hold off the other. They grunted and pushed and shoved. The one that slipped had received a tear in his hide, thankfully for him, it was not that deep but probably enough to hurt his pride. Elita chuckled. It had looked funny, the surprised face and his attempt to keep himself up as well as pretending it didn’t hurt. What did stags know about pain anyway?

No tears had been shed…not before them…not before Óganach and not before the Great Oak. They called her cold, heartless. He wouldn’t come back, so why would she cry? So small and yet…he had been such a big part of her. Perfect little hooves, legs she knew would have been fast and strong. They didn’t understand.  She had tried her best to bury him, digging a pit that was deep enough and then covered him with dirt. All to seal him forever from a world he never got to see. She had told her good bye to him there; shed her tears until there was none left. They thought her odd, weird, tainted, cold. He hadn’t been tainted. Perfect…he had been more perfect than anyone…he would have made a great solider…a royal guard… Later, when the pain of returning to that place was bearable she had let an acorn drop at the grave.

Nobody cared…she didn’t care…they didn’t care... Perhaps it was for the best. She let out a barking laugh, what seemed to be at nothing as she made her way deeper into the forest. The wind made the remaining dry leafs rattle on the branches above her head, some lost their hold, twirling their last dance towards the earth.

And the snow fell.