Cold, dead or sleeping. Winter held its grip tightly and surely. A deer stood still, gazing out across the grounds for danger; but here there would be none. Here was safety, no wolves roamed here. Yet. For now golden eyes moved from tree to tree, looking for any sign of life; but none was to be had. Rowan was alone, no birds, not foxes or even other deer’s. The world was large though, but Rowan never strayed far from the lake and small stream. Eyes a spot on the tree he lowered his head and raked it with his antlers; roughly scraping the bark of a tree that would heal in a day. Yet he did not know this, he did not recall this was a second place; and his chosen and he were sleeping. He did not even know his chosen.
He was wild, strong and sure of his standing in this place. Alone, but it was his. With a gust of fogged breath he barked and listened to it echo off the snow. When no answer came he lowered his antlered head and started to push the snow in search for grass buds. He missed the sun, missed the green grass and trees. Mostly, he missed the life that came with the thaw of snow.
He was wild, strong and sure of his standing in this place. Alone, but it was his. With a gust of fogged breath he barked and listened to it echo off the snow. When no answer came he lowered his antlered head and started to push the snow in search for grass buds. He missed the sun, missed the green grass and trees. Mostly, he missed the life that came with the thaw of snow.
