HOME | DD

Description

Laloria
Year 757 of the New Age, Early Winter
Blackwood, Widow's Hollow
The snow blanketed the ground in its cold embrace, masking the treacherous footing beneath its white, powdery splendor. For the most part, its white surface was untouched,save for two small sets of cloven footprints through the snow. Few dared to come here, not even the birds. Only the low, mournful hoot of a lone owl broke the eerie silence.
The echo of the solemn cry caused her to pause and her large eyes, icy as the snow her little hooves cut through, searched for him. He remained hidden and cried out twice more in his sad song, whispering more to her than just his loneliness. “He is dying, Mother,” she said, her voice incredibly soft and tender.
The fawn’s dam, her ghostly coat nearly invisible in the snow, turned. Her own ears pricked, listening intently for the owl to once more break the buzzing silence. Again the owl sang but, as before, Syl could hear nothing but the question all owls seemed to ask. Whooo? “Perhaps he is just lonely,” she offered, though she knew the answer would not satisfy her daughter.
Laloria closed her eyes and shook her head, her already long tail waving gently across the snow. “He is sad because he is going to die alone,” she whispered. A silence settled over the two for a time, ushered in by a young mother unsure of how to comfort a daughter. The breeze, icy cold and light, toyed with their manes and sent the silky strands dancing across their necks before the owl’s cry echoed through the hollow, longer and softer than he had cried before. A faraway look settled in the fawn’s eyes, now open, and she dropped her head slightly. “He is with Úir, now.”
Syl’s ears flicked back, her eyes clouding with concern and a certain sadness for her daughter. Plagued by nightmares in her sleep and burdened with the songs of the dying when she woke… The grey doe shivered, although not from the frigid winter air.
Laloria’s head lifted when she heard her mother’s light footfalls punching through the powdery snow. The pain of loss had pooled in her wide, blue eyes. Syl dropped her head, brushing her nose gently across Laloria’s cheek. “Then he is in a better place, my child,” she stated. Turning toward the direction she had been heading, the mother doe brushed her tail across her daughter’s back. “Come, Laloria. We must gather what we can of the Widow’s Peak before it dies.”
The doe fawn nodded, knowing the need of the bush’s potent poison to protect themselves in the coming winter months, and slowly lifted her legs out of the snow. “Yes, Mother,” she replied, her little voice nothing more than a whisper.

Sleep TightThe world was only just beginning to make sense to her, revealing slowly its hidden treasures and defects as her mind and body grew. Even now, with the warm season fading into her first autumn, she watched the larch trees mysteriously change color and begin to let their thin leaves fly. She wondered why they fell but she did not question their actions, resigning herself to the small joy of chasing after the golden needles as they made their slow descent to the forest floor.
Her giggles broke the sleepy silence of the forest and, as if to light her path, the evergreens that surrounded her larch tree swayed, ushering her on to the next gilded soldier. Even the fading sunlight had no say in their splendor; the larch trees were a beacon, shining brighter and brighter as they urged her to play beneath their resplendent boughs. Again the creamy fawn could not contain her joy and, small hooves kicking up a bed of the fallen needles, she laughed, joyous and free.
The dr Previous| Next: (Coming soon.)

Description

Laloria
Year 757 of the New Age, Early Winter
Blackwood, Widow's Hollow
The snow blanketed the ground in its cold embrace, masking the treacherous footing beneath its white, powdery splendor. For the most part, its white surface was untouched,save for two small sets of cloven footprints through the snow. Few dared to come here, not even the birds. Only the low, mournful hoot of a lone owl broke the eerie silence.
The echo of the solemn cry caused her to pause and her large eyes, icy as the snow her little hooves cut through, searched for him. He remained hidden and cried out twice more in his sad song, whispering more to her than just his loneliness. “He is dying, Mother,” she said, her voice incredibly soft and tender.
The fawn’s dam, her ghostly coat nearly invisible in the snow, turned. Her own ears pricked, listening intently for the owl to once more break the buzzing silence. Again the owl sang but, as before, Syl could hear nothing but the question all owls seemed to ask. Whooo? “Perhaps he is just lonely,” she offered, though she knew the answer would not satisfy her daughter.
Laloria closed her eyes and shook her head, her already long tail waving gently across the snow. “He is sad because he is going to die alone,” she whispered. A silence settled over the two for a time, ushered in by a young mother unsure of how to comfort a daughter. The breeze, icy cold and light, toyed with their manes and sent the silky strands dancing across their necks before the owl’s cry echoed through the hollow, longer and softer than he had cried before. A faraway look settled in the fawn’s eyes, now open, and she dropped her head slightly. “He is with Úir, now.”
Syl’s ears flicked back, her eyes clouding with concern and a certain sadness for her daughter. Plagued by nightmares in her sleep and burdened with the songs of the dying when she woke… The grey doe shivered, although not from the frigid winter air.
Laloria’s head lifted when she heard her mother’s light footfalls punching through the powdery snow. The pain of loss had pooled in her wide, blue eyes. Syl dropped her head, brushing her nose gently across Laloria’s cheek. “Then he is in a better place, my child,” she stated. Turning toward the direction she had been heading, the mother doe brushed her tail across her daughter’s back. “Come, Laloria. We must gather what we can of the Widow’s Peak before it dies.”
The doe fawn nodded, knowing the need of the bush’s potent poison to protect themselves in the coming winter months, and slowly lifted her legs out of the snow. “Yes, Mother,” she replied, her little voice nothing more than a whisper.

Sleep TightThe world was only just beginning to make sense to her, revealing slowly its hidden treasures and defects as her mind and body grew. Even now, with the warm season fading into her first autumn, she watched the larch trees mysteriously change color and begin to let their thin leaves fly. She wondered why they fell but she did not question their actions, resigning herself to the small joy of chasing after the golden needles as they made their slow descent to the forest floor.
Her giggles broke the sleepy silence of the forest and, as if to light her path, the evergreens that surrounded her larch tree swayed, ushering her on to the next gilded soldier. Even the fading sunlight had no say in their splendor; the larch trees were a beacon, shining brighter and brighter as they urged her to play beneath their resplendent boughs. Again the creamy fawn could not contain her joy and, small hooves kicking up a bed of the fallen needles, she laughed, joyous and free.
The dr Previous| Next: (Coming soon.)