Garden song

His paws tread softly as he stalked a deer fawn that looked like it was actually normal. He’d seen the doe slipping away, and she’d looked healthy, too. No oozing, glowing tears or mucus, no crystals or fungus sprouting from her hide or eyes or ears.

Would this saga of a plague ever end? His eyes glanced up fleetingly to the sky, the clearest thing in the land that had become even more shrouded than the Moor—hell, the Moor was almost impassable these nights. It had never been a very fog-free place and now stepping into the land he’d been birthed in was like walking through a snow-bank.

The fawn bolted with a bleat, and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. Too soon to land a clean, humane kill. Straightening, he watched the young deer flee, then glanced around to see what had spooked it.

When he clapped eyes on her, he stilled, studying her closely. The woman walked with a familiarity of someone coming home after a very long time gone, and… perhaps as though she hadn’t known she’d ever be back. To look upon her though, he almost thought it was his mother.

Close…

Deep down, he knew her. She’d been described to him so often—he’d described her so often in retelling of the stories. But, uh… he was wide awake.

“... Epiphron?” The question was in his tone, and the caution in his posture, though he stood firm and tall.

Maybe she was just a particularly blasé loner who looked exactly like his grandmother?

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think