Cool Drink Of Water

Year 758 of the New Age, Early Spring

Silverthorne, Outskirts of Silverwood

Skarth's brown eyes considered the spiraling horns that rested upon the ground thoughtfully. It was not the first time that he had lost his horns (it was, in fact, his eighth year of life) yet it never ceased to catch him off guard. His mother had often told him, as a young fawn, that she would save his horns for him so that he might see their slow, yet regal, growth but, forgetful as she later became, she discarded them as rubbish.

The stag shook his head to try and get used to the light, empty feeling.  Each year he had always felt quite naked without his horns but, with the events of last summer fresh in his mind, anxiety now burned deep within his chest.  Skarth felt vulnerable.

Stepping away from the horns, he paced over to a small pool of water that had collected in the natural basin of a stone. Peering down into its shallow depths, the red stag tilted his face first to the right, then to the left. The deep wounds that he had received in the fight with the Blackwood had by now healed completely.  Only shallow, yet prominent, scars across his face, neck, and shoulder remained.

His thoughts drifted, remembering how he and Rue had rushed home to the Silverthorne border.  Rue had dutifully collected herbs as she saw them, an effort to save Skarth’s eye.  Rue, bless her strong heart, had done what she could to help her friend but the poultice they were able to fashion was of little help.  His vision had suffered and, thanks to the Blackwood’s sharp tines, he was now half-blind in his silvered left eye.

The rustling of birds in the branches above him caused Skarth to snap out of his thoughts; he realized he had been frowning. Wrinkling his nose with a snort, the Silverthorne checked the straps on his herb pouches a final time and moved on.

He wandered without direction, except generally heading toward the plains of Silver Vale. With the first fawns hitting the ground running, there were sure to be a few bruises or scraped knees he could attend to.  As he weaved through the forest, Skarth began to hum quietly to himself, allowing sparks to flash from his hooves every few feet or so to practice.

It did not take the red stag long to breach the forest to Silver Vale.  He paused at the treeline, resting for a moment in the shade they offered.  Before him fawns tumbled to and fro across the vast meadow.  Skarth smiled, gently reminded about the times when he too had been a young buck and how he had danced among the tall, lush grasses. It had been a long time since he had entertained such childish fancies.  Skarth recognized it as a sign of his waning youth.

His nose itched.

Bending down, the roan rubbed his muzzle along the inside of his right leg, fighting the odd itching sensation until it was satiated.  He grunted in contentment as he raised his head.  There was, after all, little else that felt quite a refreshing as scratching an itch.  

No sooner had he lifted his hornless head than a flash of white reflected the sunlight and caught Skarth’s attention.  The stag squinted against the light, attempting to see what glowed so brightly against the green meadow.  Finally coming into focus, it was apparent that the object was a Fawnling.  Not to mention, one that he was familiar with. The red stag brightened immediately.  He had not seen Vanessea since their encounter last fall.  Nevertheless, he remembered her, clear as the day.

He hung near the trees and watched as the doe meandered across the meadow, clearly choosing which spot to settle and graze upon.  Skarth took a step forward, then paused.  The last thing he wanted to be was a nuisance.  His ears flicked backward as Vanessea’s grazing pushed her further from him; Skarth's tail flicked indecisively. Call now, or let her be, he thought with a snort, smoke curling out of his nostrils. The smoke startled him; even when he was angry, he rarely conjured fire without being aware of it. Skarth shook his head, puzzled. However, the anomaly of the smoke, and its apparent connection to his indecision, urged him forward.

"Vanessea!" he called, keeping his voice as level as one could when shouting across a distance. Skarth broke into a brisk trot and dashed after her, his herb bags flopping awkwardly against his sides.  

The doe’s head lifted and soon Skarth found himself staring into her dark, elegant eyes as she regarded him.  Thankfully, her startled expression faded as it morphed into recognition.  He slowed as she turned toward him, a coy smile on her lips as she spoke.  “Why hello there, stranger.  I have not had the pleasure of seeing you in some time.”  Skarth dipped his head politely as he came to a stop beside her, snorting softly as he did so.  “The pleasure is mine.  It is good to see you.”

“Tell me Skarth, what have you been up to?”  Skarth’s heart warmed when she addressed him by name. Skarth considered himself a forgettable soul so being remembered was always a treat.  As she questioned what he had been up to since their last encounter, the memory of Blackwood came to mind but he merely shrugged.  He didn’t want her to worry.

Instead, he smiled again. “Nothing more than the usual, I’m afraid.  Herbs, of course… and fire magic,” he added shyly, now slowly becoming more comfortable with admitting his new passion.  The roan's tail twitched nervously, wondering what she was thinking as a small smile graced her face.  “And you? I trust you've done nothing but interesting things since our last encounter.”  The grey doe certainly looked well; her coat shimmered as the bright spring light hit against it and, despite being a thin Fawnling, she looked healthy.  He noted that no fawn was glued to her side but, with the laughing fawns not too far off, he could have been wrong.

“Well, I am not sure that one would find my exploits interesting but I too have been spending some time learning and practicing fire magic.  I have been to the Winter Flame, studying under the tutelage of our wizened elders -- to learn about the history and power of our fire magic.  Although, I am afraid that my studies have not left time for any adventures that would make for interesting tales.”  Skarth couldn’t help but be pleased.  The pursuit of knowledge was one of his passions and the doe’s own lust for history and knowledge of their culture made his heart soar.  His eyes glittered as she spoke, imagining the content of doe’s lessons from the elders.  She continued.  “However, I do believe that you may have forgotten to mention some excitement of your own?”

Skarth’s heart leapt as he felt Vanny’s intuitive eyes regarding him, a warmth burning deep within him despite the anxiety that he now felt.  “Please forgive my forwardness, I cannot help but notice you appear to bear the marks of an old injury, one that does not resemble practice with fire magic.”  Skarth's ears swiveled forward, then out to the sides bashfully, as the white doe gently pointed out that she was not unaware of his newly acquired scars.  Her eyes softened before she continued.  “Skarth, may I ask what happened?”  

He hadn’t shared the story with anyone else in their herd, not really.  He had received quite a few questioning looks when he reappeared from the forest with his new scars but most respected his privacy and didn’t push him.  But, with the swan-white doe asked him so politely about his scars, he found that he wanted to tell her.  The whole thing.  But he wouldn’t; Skarth did not want to worry her.  He inhaled slowly, his dark nose twitching a few times as he thought of the most delicate way to describe his fight with the Blackwood.

“Well,” he began slowly, tilting his head to the side as he did so, “I met a young doe and her bird friend last summer. She was exploring Silverthorne and I showed her its beauty and taught her a little of herb lore.” Skarth shook his head as a fly tried to land upon his muzzle, distracting him momentarily.  When the stag finally got rid of it, he continued.  “Pardon me.  Anyway, she ended up getting lost on her journey out of the forest and wound up in Blackwood territory. I followed her trail only to find that a Blackwood stag had found her first.” The red stag's brows furrowed at the memory but he caught himself and brightened his face with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I'm not one for scuffles but I did what I had to do. We chased the brute off but I wasn't able to collect enough healing herbs in time to prevent scarring.”

Skarth moved, angling his body toward her so that she could better see the scars. “See? Nothing major.  Just a novice error on my part for not keeping extra herbs with me.”  He chuckled and shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.  “Besides that, I really am sorry to tell you that my outings have been unimpressive.  Just a bit of healing here and there, mostly.”  Skarth bobbed his head, realizing that he was probably talking too much.  He couldn’t help it; he got chatty when he was nervous and Vanessea’s intense gaze was affecting him.

However, he wanted to steer their conversation, and Vanessea’s thoughts, away from his fight in the forest.  “But enough of that! Fighting is brutish and barbaric, though it does at times have its benefits.  I'd much rather hear of what you learned from the elders!  I only have studied with the herbal elders, I'm afraid!”  A soft blush graced her features, surprising him.  “I would love to share with you what I have learned from my studies.”  She didn't press him with more questions, a rare quality and one that made him all the more fond of the alabaster doe.  But, now that he had told her, Skarth felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.  He was glad that she knew.

“I was about to walk over to the creek for a drink of cool water before I continued grazing.  You are welcome to join me and I would be delighted to teach you about the fire and its power, as it was taught to me.”  Her dark eyes found his and, this time, he was the one fighting the odd blushing sensation -- Vanny had angled her body slightly, back towards the stream, making room for him to join her.  She had invited him to join her and, admittedly, the stag didn't know quite how to react. Skarth was unused to being invited to things, let alone invited by an attractive doe. “Join you?” he stated flatly, his ears swiveling nervously.  The last thing he wanted to look like was a fool, especially not in front of Vanessea.  Skarth’s heart skipped a beat.

The stag suddenly realized that his response might have come off as a bit rude. Scrambling to make a recovery, he awkwardly accepted her invitation. “Oh, erh, yes, I'd, uh, love to!” he stammered, looking down at his hooves somewhat shyly.  “Erh, yes, uhm, lead the way,” he continued clumsily.