Prelude

                  Why am I the way I am, you ask. How did it come to be? My fawnhood was fraught with misery and terror beyond what the eye could see. Yet I found light in the spring and the sun.

Chapter One

Brother

      "He is too weak to survive. Focus your strength on the strong one." That is what my aunt said about us. My older brother was nothing like me. I, with my thick dappled coat and gleaming eyes;  Him, Dragg, with dull faded fur and no light. My mother could've taken care of the both of us. What did my aunt know?  Apparently enough to persuade my mother to neglect poor Dragg.

     I remember the day she really, truly gave up on him. We were in the meadow. The sun was setting, and the locusts were chirping their lullaby as I galloped in the dry grass. My mother's name was Tyrna- she was a flighty doe who was incredibly knowledgable. My aunt was older. She claimed that the flash that she saw in the forest was simply a dove. It was Man. With his gun. The flash of lightning with Man thrusting his weapon. Just in time to save us, my aunt called out- my brother was stiff with fear. As my mother cried, hounds came bounding from the undergrowth. His eyes were glazed, lean legs failing to faithfully support his weight.

   I had to charge into him, knocking him to his senses. I sprung ahead. I regret that move, that terrible leap. I could have stayed back with him. My poor friend tripped over those spindley legs of his as a shot rang out. Man's weapon grazed his rump. He managed to stumble on, only to be knocked over by another crack of thunder. This time Man got him. His shoulder flooded a river into our thicket. That is when Mother took it out on him. "You weak child! No fawn of mine is weak enough to be shot! I've raised fine young deer, doe and buck, and not one failed to run swiftly away until you!"

   The way she cried out "you" broke me.

   "Leave my thicket! Your brother is strong and proud- he is a true Prince! Dragg-" she whispered the name- "Go. Prove yourself a buck." And with that my mother tore away, sobbing through the brush. Dragg started at me with blank eyes. "Why does she blame me for being blind?" My brother looked into my eyes with certainty. It was as though he could see me. I simply sighed.

   In the following dawns I checked in on my brother. I brought him the ripest berries. Mother never knew of my deeds. I continued this well into our fawn-hood, until one day I took him for a walk. He was growing quite plump for the fellow that he was, and I figured some sun would do him good. I wanted my brother to face his fears. I took him to the meadow.

  He sensed it, smelled it, felt the wind on his face as we approached. "We're... we're there." It was then that I was sure I was in the wrong. Birds started fluttering, spewing out of grasses. I wondered what was the matter. We soon found out. Dragg could scent it. The hounds were loose. "Go! Go go!" That's all he said. "Run! Don't worry about me!" I stood directly in front of him. "Come on! We can make it back-"

"Those hound tear through the brambles like they're cobwebs. I can't climb to safety! I can't see, I can't... go!" I turned my head around to see the hounds gaining on us. There were five of them, all foaming at the mouth. I knew. I knew.

   I knew I could climb into the forest to safety.

 I knew I should stay. Sometimes flight overbears fight. This was one of those times. I never looked back.

Chapter Two

Growing Pains

  When I had returned to the thicket, I found my mother and aunt. They looked at me expectantly. I felt like charging at them, raking at them with imaginary antlers. I walked away. "---", my mother started. My aunt shook her muzzle. With nose down I walked away. I couldn't bear to speak to them. My mother and aunt were shot in the following weeks. I feel it is my fault. My mother had no love anymore.

  I believed that I could take care of myself. I stopped worrying about others- I could not take care of another. I'd had experience with that and Dragg.

Dragg.

  So, I focused my energy on the herd. The day that the hounds attacked was always in my subconcience. I still felt the ground shake, heard the snapping jaws, could scent the fumes of the canine's breath.

   It was fall when the herd was in danger. I saw Man- actually, I could feel him before I heard him. Man had friends. All of them were after the herd. My herd.

   I bolted into the meadow, past the same spot where my brother had stood trembling. I stamped the ground with my hooves and bellowed out. Immediatly they all heeded my warning. All of them fled. A small doe, lovely, about my age was frozen to the spot as her mother called after her. I ran straight to her. I yelled in her face, snapping her back to reality. I met her eyes. Deep brown. I could not focus on that now. We ran together, into safety.

  Man failed to catch a single deer that day.

   I walked her back to the herd- or what I could find of it. All of them had scattered. I only found another young doe, and she seemed to recognize mine. "Sheha!" Her blue eyes scanned my doe for scratches, "Are you hurt?"

"Mena, I'm fine. Really. He-"

"Sheha!"

"Ena."

The young does made a fuss while I stood there, awkwardly. "How?" seemed to be the most frequent word to fall out of their mouths. Finally my doe said, "It was all him." She looked at me and smiled. I felt my head throbbing. I walked away.

I heard them still speaking. "Who is he?" My  doe's eyes were following me. I could feel her. I smiled to myself.

The throbbing continued long after our encounter.

I continued to rub the bark off of trees, eating it at my leisure. My antlers were coming, and soon I ate more bark than a sane deer. I wanted the forest to be clean. Soon that bark that I rubbed would be all I had.

 Chapter Three

 Blizzard

  My first snow- how could I describe it? Cold. Desolate. Cold. I relied on my own self for warmth half the time- the other half I stayed in a hollow log which I had run across. I had no body heat to share. That was until Gruss. Gruss, like me, was a fine young stag. His mother had fallen victim to one of Man's tricks, yet he was well able to care for himself. He had a strong build and leaf green eyes that reminded me of summer. I couldn't look at them. There was something ominous. However, I gratefully accepted him into my den.

 Soon the trunks of trees were stripped. We followed a trail of continually less-stripped trees until we crossed a small herd- thank goodness. Three does and four young bucks, each one stunning in his own way. One already had multiple antler tines coming in. One had the strongest legs I've ever seen. Another had a snow-white tail- perfect for allerting to danger, though, in this weather, that was the least of our worries. The first? Food. The does in our group hardly fed themselves- all of the bark and occasionally berry we found was fed to us: I, Gruss, Sahoe, Trudge, Mouri, and Elit.

  I worried over the does. They each fell throughout the course of the season. It was as if a blizzard of death had descended. To my surprise, and minute reluctance, though there was certainly some pressure, the yong bucks all looked up to me. Once I started digging up the best roots they mimicked me. I was their teacher. I felt like a Prince, and they, my subjects. My friends.

   A day came when I had to prove my worth to all of them. Prove that I was worthy of being their Great Prince. There was a bear. It came up on us in the night. I felt the ground quivering; I could smell an acrid stench, but I could not place a face to it. Then it struck. The fight was brutal. I did not know that claws could be so sharp, sharper than any antler. Bears were legend in these parts- very few and far between. This one was black as hate. It came after us, but we were too quick. I led the little herd down the slickest paths, telling them when to turn and where to place their hooves. It was only my vast exploration and memory of the forest that kept us all alive.

  I still wander the path to this day; It was where I taught Bambi the art of observing.

Chapter Four

And the Spring

                    Winter left our hearts barren. My little herd of vagabonds dispersed, occasionally coming together to practice fighting with our antlers- or what little was there. After one of our practices we sprinted along the meadow together. The meadow where so much was lost. Now I felt free. We parted ways as the day grew hot. I made my way deeper into the forest, following the little trickle of a creek. Dodging brambles I fought my through the undergrowth, and what I found was beautiful.

                Her head dipped elegantly to the creek, lashes sheilding her delicate eyes from the sun-rays. This little glade sent speckles onto her fur, reminding me of where I had seen her before.

           The doe that I saved. What was her name?