Weak winter sunlight filtered down through a dense canopy of twisted branches. The ground beneath was not often graced with its touch, which is precisely why the doe resting in the rare light had chosen the place. That and the shallow cave nearby, which she lived in.
The doe resting in the light was old, perhaps ancient, and ragged with the ravages of time. Her hair and fur were the best kept, but they still seemed unclean or unhealthy, somehow. Her hooves and scales were cracked and worn, her ears and tail-fur tattered. The pale warmth of the winter sun warmed her old bones, a welcome balm on an otherwise stiff, cold morning.
In this lounging, she was only accompanied by her night-dark crow, which roosted in the branches above her; and her violently bright purple and green snake, which was wrapped around her neck. This time of rest was a private time, a sign of weakness that the aged doe did not want exposed to anyone. It's a pity, then, that she was destined to have company that day. 
hags like this were purported to weave. But once she'd heard the doe was offering a rare bird to those with something to trade, she had to come here. It would make a fitting gift for her Bright. Ideal, even. But eventually, the spaces between the trees closed almost completely, and she started having to search for breaks in the brush... if she was going to find this Maple Milk, and deal with her.