Post by Sohtoh on Dec 21, 2009 20:33:36 GMT -5
Starring:
Merrow Albino Whitetail Female
Roscoe Whitetail Male
Setting:
Maple Glade
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The past few days have been anything but good for the Prince. Let down after let down had led him to believe that there had to have been some form of a curse upon him, and he had been eager to show his disappointment, projecting his anger and depression upon those who were convenient at the time. Having realized his mistake after the words of two does in his herd had been taken to heart, Roscoe still feels that pang of sadness and that sting of anger, but the overwhelming wave of guilt has weighed heavily on his sturdy shoulders as well. The male had come a decent ways, traveling from the evergreen forest to the south back to his glade, that was well into it's metamorphasis, the canopy that he had secretly missed returning with each day. Perhaps that is why he seemed somehow 'better' this morning. The dawn had broke not but an hour or so ago, and the sun was still working on shining it's light through the heavier regions of the forest. The glade was in between. Had it been later in the summer, the sun would've been nearly shielded out by the large maple leaves.. but not yet. In fact, he rather looked forward to that time, though he loathed the warmer months otherwise. The antlerless buck made his way through the dewey grasses of the glade, his hooves carrying him gracefully through the green surroundings. Large ears flicked in each and every direction, though he did not look nervous, as he was not nervous. Merely cautious and alert, as any whitetail should have been. Red eyes scanned the area for abnormalities, and as of yet, he'd found none. His goal this day was to seek out the mother of his first, and deformed, piebald fawn. His reaction to such a deformity was anything but respectable, and he felt that a sincere apology was in order. It was just /finding/ the maternal doe that would prove to be a challenge.
Hunger is what has brought her down from the sky for which she so closely wanders beneath, the existence of roots and other nourishment proving difficult to find, even amongst the loose scree and rocky outcrops. It suggests that the area had seen many harsh winters and thus, had been unable to recover so quickly up in the high elevation. Merrow had long stood on the edge of the mountain back, disappointed to find that that her travels have brought her to such a inhospitable place, shuddering against the cold wind that buffeted against her small stature. Long she stood looking down over the thriving valley below, scanning over it with a deep wistfulness. Wisdom warned her against the pressing notion: that she should descend early; as opposed for her usual wait for winter. In the end and after much deliberation, the doe chose to take a risk and leave behind the heights of the mountains, elated to find richer greens, to which she had contently fed. She should have have turned back, but something else began to tug at the doe. Fascination. Everything was so..green..and..vibrant. It was as if coming out of a world of black and grey and stepping into a fantastic dream. This awe had carried Merrow though the woods long after the sun broke the horizon, her blue eyes dancing from one newness to the next. And then she has happened upon the glade, stepping forth from the woodland edge to stare strangely upon the vastness of the tree, it's solid limbs and the abundance of verdant foliage, admiring the way the sun streams through the fluttering leaves. "Beautiful..." the words whisper past her lips, her slender legs reaching forth beneath her to guide her in another floating step toward the tree, a smile fixed across her slender muzzle. Though so enthralled is the little doe, that in that moment, Roscoe's nearby movement doesn't quite catch her attention. At least, not immediately.
With many things clouding his thoughts as usual, the buck attempts to mentally sort out and organize said thoughts into establishable goals. Succeeding in doing so after a few moments, his alertness had been compromised slightly. His gaze had lowered to the ground, and had then risen up to peer between the budding trees and the sky. The beautiful remants of sunrise were above him, and it brought the first grin in days to his lips. Lost in childlike wonder for a few seconds, the stag lowered his sights once again, and they feel upon something /strange./ From what he could tell, it was a purely white doe. A deer, like him.. but white. White as the snow that had melted weeks ago, no coloration to her at all, from what he could tell. It caused the assertive, regal buck to stop dead in his tracks and simply stare.. but not for long. Clearing his throat at the intruder, who was just as malformed as his son if she was a Whitetail like they, from what he could tell, he hoped to startle her. A serious look made up his expression, his hooves planted into the ground beneath him. "Good morning.." he drew out, not really wishing her a good morning, just wanting to capture her attention.
Many times had Merrow cast a wanton gaze down into valleys where the rich shades of summer were evident, pretending in her mind that she was walking among the far distant lilies in a field or feeling the warm breath of a whispering wind. But such was always a dream, shattered inevitably by the harsh bite of cold wind off the peaks of mountains that Merrow had long ago learned to call home, eking out a existence until winter might reach the lands below and shroud them in white, just so that she might blend in. Thus, such is the doe's wonderment now as she dares stands among all that is green and alive, though herself, existing like a flaw upon the land and entirely out of place. Sky blue eyes roam from the trunk of the old tree, where it's roots break into the earth, then up and up into the leafy boughs. Her white tail gives a few quick flutters of excitement behind her haunches, suggesting her private elation as she continues to let her gaze and sheer wonderment dance over the rustling, swaying tree branches. And then..a voice. The pink contrast of her inner ears ride forward sharply, standing erect as Merrow's head pivots only a fraction and her eyes fall level to stare across at the face staring back. There is surprise, but only in the subtle up shooting of her brows, provoked not by his sudden appearance, but rather, that she should be looking upon another whitetail at all. She smiles gently, a soft expression that encompasses her whole lovely visage to reach and glint warmly within her contrasting, cold blue eyes. "No. It is a beautiful morning." she corrects, her voice floating melodically out upon the early morning breeze, the fluctuation of her words gently changing in the way a willow sways in the wind.
Some might be enchanted by the doe's coloration. If not enthralled by her pure white pelt, then surely they would be entranced by her calming voice. If all else failed, at least one would be swept away by those charming words, even if in this instance she was correcting him. Unfortunately for the new female, Roscoe is neither enchanted, nor entranced, nor swept away. In fact, a look that seemed to be made up of varying degrees of disapproval loomed over his features, those large ears tucking back just a hair, his muscles becoming tense with knowing that he would have to coldly shun this intruder from the safety of the herd, /for/ the safety of the herd. In fact, no word of this strange, ghost-like female would ever reach any of the fellow Whitetails, nor the Elk or the single Blacktail within the ranks. Thinking on the various species that made up the body of the Umber, Roscoe couldn't help feel but a bit hypocritical. None of this showed outwardly however, as it was merely inward turmoil as he judged the poor girl before he'd even learned her name. Taking a step forward, the Lead Buck had an air of aggressiveness about him suddenly, his brows lowering and his eyes aflame. Approaching her rather quickly; too quickly for one to be interested in friendly conversation, the Prince held his head high and stared down at Merrow as he looked her over at a closer range. How.. odd. That was the perfect word for her, from what he'd known so far.. which, was next to nothing. The fact that she was hauntingly beautiful in her own right, and that she had a calming voice. Aside from the color, she rather reminded him of his mother.. all the more reason to consider her.. odd. Ignoring further words about the weather, the male continued to stare down at her, as if trying to scare her off without rudely pushing her away. "I do hope that you haven't come to this area in order to seek a herd.. if you are without one, that is." There. Civil enough, yes? He hadn't outrightly denied her any safety just yet, merely advised against it, so as to save her from embarassment, rejection, and downright betrayal by her own species.
A gust of spring wind sweeps in across the ground, stirring and scattering the remaining vestiges of winter's long-dead leaves to reveal the growth of tiny grass sprouts beneath; the gale rustling through the thatching of grasses and fluttering the fur across Merrow's neck and shoulder, white hair which retains a surprising density in regards to the warming temperatures. Of course, the small ungulate invest only a small amount of interest in the scents are carried upon the breeze, her moist pink nose flaring momentarily to draw in the myriad of odors, none of which are enough to alarm her to danger. Though there is danger indeed, lurking right before her and in a manner much less obvious than scent. It quickly becomes all too apparent to Merrow of the nature for which the mature stag before her will be receiving her presence, polite or not. His aggressive advance is frightening and it is now that Roscoe is rewarded with the wide eyed and startled reaction he had previously hoped for. Merrow has long grown used to other's shunning reactions to her, though outward aggression still manages to shake her resolve. Outwardly, it is minor. A single back-step. But inwardly, Merrow can feel her heart beating somewhere high in her chest, accompanied by the tightening of her throat. Though seemingly with a accord all their own, her blue eyes are unflattering and the little white doe stares back unblinking. Large ears give a strange twitch as his words echo in the depths, comprehending from them more than just the initial meaning. Valor. Thank you for your valor, Eyota. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear. Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, for all the good it does, Merrow struggles to regain a strength to her composure. If he were a slavering predator, she wouldn't be having this problem. "I am neither with or without a herd.." she explains, meeting his judgmental gaze with a stare of her own discrimination, though hardly to the extent of his judgment of her. No, her scrutiny is rather one of deliberation and recognition, that he is perhaps more than just a vagrant. Seeking to confirm this, she continues, still speaking in that manner of a gentle, calming melody "But I have come here in search of other Ahawi, those like you and.." Merrow, for a moment, was inclined to say 'I', but in a breath reiterates, "your kind." Drawing in a breath, her slender legs shift beneath her frail looking body, large ears laying back in a submissive gesture.
Trying to be intimidating was something that Roscoe had much practice on, for when he was angered with the few does of the herd, he would attempt to at least appear like he would harm them. However, beneath that rough exterior laid a heart full of kindness, in all honesty. It was just breaking through that hardened shell that'd grasped hold of the edges of Roscoe's personality that was the trouble. Had he known her history of rejection, he would've at least considered things a bit more. Had he known more about her, he wouldn't have judged her the way that he did. And yet, a part of him didn't want to know her at all. Knowing full well that she, like his son, was a liability to the safety of the herd, the Prince wanted to emotional strings attached to this passing doe. Not even her name, though conversational rituals had betrayed that. Rounded ears perked forward, reassuring the doe that he was not seeking to hurt her, physically. "Might I ask for your name, miss?" he asked, his tone taking on a warmer side, betraying every ounce of his common sense and logic. Knowing that she was.. different, as she was.. it made him feel bad for her in a sense. This was the same feeling that had overwhelmed him to the brink of anger when his son entered the world with his speckled, bi-colored coat, and he had masked that pity far too well. "A creature such as yourself does not go unnoticed.. and I have never seen you before. Anywhere.. and I have travelled far beyond this area. Where have you been hiding?" A chuckle had been added on as an undertone to this question, as if he wanted to ask, 'Where have you been successfully hiding, and surviving?' He did not, though, and his chuckle came to a swift end. Logic kicking in, his expression turned sour once again, and he seemed to look upon her as if she was something /lower/ than a deer. Agh, his feelings were so divided. To pity, or to discriminate? Choosing the latter at the mention of an 'Ahawi,' the Prince took a step back and shook his de-crowned head. "I do believe that you are searching in the wrong area. None of my kind would associate with something like you." Brows lowering again, he took in a deep breath, his chest puffing out and making him appear larger and more frightening than he already had the capability to be. Discrimination was so much easier than pity, and it was a quicker way to rid oneself and one's territory of something that was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder. "This glade belongs to me. When I return this afternoon, I do not want to see any trace of your presence here, do you understand? The forest is filled to the brim with wolves and dogs alike. If they find you.. rest assured that they will given your unnatural pelt.. I don't want them to find any of /my/ kind." Sounding like a right antagonist, Roscoe's lips curved downward into a frown. Color aside, she was still a deer, and a doe at that. Usually, he went out of his way to make does feel welcome.. but he could not have to "different" deer in his herd. "You should have stayed where you were, since you survived up there. I'm not sure if I'd grant you the same luck down here." Blinking slowly, the buck turned himself around, and began to walk in a differing direction, not really wanting to see the hurt that was sure to play on her face afterward. It was a beautiful day.. and he'd already ruined his own.
Huge and expressive, clear blue eyes insist on affixing themselves to the impressive -and somewhat ominous- person of the whitetail stag, venturing across every curve, line, and delineation of his noble visage; tucking each detail away into the complexity of her calculating mind before moving on to sweep her gaze smoothly across his powerful form in order to do the same. Each notation that is made becomes a morsel of thought for which will later be regurgitated to be reflected, assessed, and surmised. 'There is much to be discovered in the way a creature appears, for nothing is ever as it truly seems'. Merrow easily remembers the words of the Sani who had come to care a great deal for her, and in turn, she for him. These days, Merrow finds herself missing the lull of his voice and the gentle reprimanding way he would call her name. Those days seem long ago and Merrow, for a moment, allows a emotion to move across her face that has no business being there at all. It is provoked by the forthcoming words from Roscoe that entail obvious discrimination and out-casting, causing her mouth to turn down in a dull frown as a well guarded, indignant contempt seethes just beneath a stoic visage. How much she has given up to come among them and tell them what they already seem to know. That she is different and in that, dangerous. To what purpose should she even continue? Redemption. The word echoes dimly in her mind and soothes away the moment of disgust, Merrow pulling in a even breath as she adjust her gaze back to the muscular buck, who strikes a impressive sight, even without his crown. Though even with Roscoe's softening demeanor, the feeble white doe retains a certain emotion detatchment, hardly hoping that his moment of affable politeness will hold out. However, Merrow herself continues to stand before the buck in all her difference and insignificance, but strangely, seeming all the more important for it. "My name is Merrow of High Rock. I journeyed with the shooting of a new spring growth, then upon the sway of summer trees. I paused a lifetime to watch the river's flow, but the time passed in a moment and on I went with the scattering autumn leaves." Such is manner for which the white doe answers his questions, "And you are correct, they 'should' not associate with ones like me. But..you should know why." A small shake of her head is given now and Merrow allows a moment of amusement to flicker behind her eyes as she watches the buck turn away, "Do you always make it a habit to feign interest in others?" She takes a step after him, dismissing his warning for her to be gone from /his/ glade. "As for /my/ survival, do no be so proud as to think you alone might dictate what becomes of me. I have survived this long without knowing of your existence, stag.." she allows a chuckle to slip, striding gracefully at his heels, "-I'm quite sure I shall continue on doing so until Time comes for me."
Hmmph. Well, compared to her snarky come back, Roscoe probably would have preferred that she be upset with him, and beg for mercy like he had admittedly expected her to do. For her to act so opposingly to his pre-determined outcome upset him to some extent, and the fleeing buck paused himself, and turned back in order to repremand her some more. To his suprise one again, she was directly behind him. Taunting him, almost. The one half of his logic wanted to treat her as if she were some disease that he was to shake off, with her following him like that. Though he'd only run into /one/ wolf /one/ time throughout his year here, with his luck at the moment, he was almost sure that this Merrow would attract some form of attention, be it predator or just sheer annoyance. Tossing his head a bit, he glared towards her, and rolled his eyes. Silence overwhelmed the two of them for a few brief moments, Roscoe not usually being the talkative type. Stoic.. that was how Aspen described him, weeks ago. An observer who chose not to seek close relationships, and who chose silence over gossiping. Obviously then, having this ghostly doe follow him around was the last thing that he would've wanted, especially considerint that he had planned on making amends with a special doe in his eyes, Tix. The mother of his first son, and the one who had taken such verbal abuse on what should've been a joyous day. Just thinking about his 'family' made his head lower a bit, his eyes meeting the lush, green grass as he remembered to continue on walking away. This doe would tire of him eventually, he figured. After all, what fun was talking to someone who would not talk back? His response to her question and her confidence-infused-remark about her survival was the simple eyeroll, which she may or may not have seen. Regardless, the male flicked his tail against his hindquarters, and continued gracefully up and down the sweeping hills of the area. The silent treatment was his specialty.
Gliding gracefully across the ground in what is best described as casual pursuit of the antler-less buck, it is in a like manner of ease in which Merrow halts herself in the face of his glaring eyes as Roscoe turns to cast his disapproving gaze upon her. Stoic frowning visage is meet with a irritating contrast of mirthfully glinting blue eyes and a soft smile. Her pale brows lift themselves expectantly, as if politely waiting for the words that never make it from his mouth. Though there exist no disapproval as he proceeds to discard her with silence and a roll of his eyes, which causes that smile upon her lips to privately broaden into a self-satisfied smirk. Undesirably, the silence does little to unnerve the strange doe or stir even a ounce of frustration within her. In fact, Merrow seems content to trail along behind the buck, who himself is allowed to fade into the backdrop of her mind as the small undulate entertains herself with the sights of the forest in spring, the wondrous smells, and cacophony of song birds and buzzing insects. The occasional, fawnish giggle even escapes the female on a few occasions, to which immediately embarrasses her, causing her head to slink below the height of her shoulders and the pink of her ears flushing brighter before folding back against her head as a coy smile manifest itself. Silence. Merrow is hardly a stranger to the sound of it, thus, it is not so odd for her to move along without the need for useless banter that so many others are often inclined to do. There is only one thing that does arise, but Merrow does well to pass it off. Fatigue. It begins as a breathless panting of her sides, demanding much from her muscles and causing them to begin to ache with the effort of keeping up. Several times Merrow finds herself stopping, though so as to not draw attention to the real reason, the white doe is careful to incline her head to sniff at plant growth or turn her gaze to feign interest in her surroundings, as if to study the beauty around her. Though in all reality, Merrow can hardly appreciate her adventure now, hearing the dull wooshing of her heartbeat in her head and feeling the muscle tremble that threatens to overtake her elegant figure. Her blue eyes turn up ahead to the buck she has thus far, persistently followed, clearing her throat softly to speak in a voice that might not betray her breathlessness, "Are you always so talkative?" she inquires sarcasticly, a lop-sided grin appearing upon her slender muzzle in good humor, even as she quietly pants for breath. Just a moments respite, that is all she needs.
Having travelled such far distances across many different terrains not only from the far north in the 'Cold Lands' to here, but from the forest to the mountain as well, the buck is far more than used to the long walks that he puts himself through every day. As such, the fit male's breathing is far less labored than the doe's. In fact, his breathing is very, very calm. Some fragment of it is instinctual, knowing that a hard breathing deer was a loud deer. Those large ears flick back at the faint sounds of her heavier breathing, and the Prince lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes closing in irritation. 'Are you always so talkative?' The words roll around in his mind a few times before he actually answers it, and he has to hide a tiny grin. Not that it was funny.. it wasn't. Nothing was funny about the situation. Their safety was compromised with her being there, and the safety of his herd as well. He should've just ran her off as his primative instincts told him to do, but that wouldn't bode well for his already suffering reputation as being some sort of tyrannical monster. "No." He said simply, and slowed his pace in order to help Merrow slow her breathing. It was bad enough that she was as white as the melted snow, the extra noise didn't help. His hooves ceased to carry him farther at one point, and he turned to face the doe once more. "I don't know why you insist on following me.. I believe I've made it clear that I don't want you around." There was no threat in this, merely a rude awakening to the stranger. A look of annoyance played across his features, letting out a faint scoff before he turned around, making his way through the glade at a quicker pace than before.
Fitness, or the lack off, has little to do with Merrow's current condition. In fact, if not for the ailment that afflicts her, the small doe would likely be able to out distance the buck any day on account of the mountainous terrain and inhospitable weather she is accustomed to. That is, if she were any given deer, save for who she is. Though in her own way, Merrow is a strong as any. The fact that she goes on existing is proof that the strange doe possess some kind of redeeming quality. Luck, if anything. The change of pace, for all that it last, is appreciated. Something that is discernible in the gentle smile that the female offers up on his behalf, using the time to catch her breath and rest her complaining muscles. Of course, Merrow does her best to cling to her composure, something that seems to be compiled of many things. Humility. Valor. Pride. They are just a few of the attributes that seem surround the doe, who regards Roscoe's retorts with a bemused tilt of her narrow head. "/No/ you do, or /no/ you don't?" comes his quick quip, the female hiding a small grin and stifling a giggle. His departing words bring her ears forward and Merrow spends a moment to reflect on them, standing in place for a few second before gliding forward once more on her long stilt-like legs, "Hmm..have you?" she muses after him, taking a few trotting steps to sidling up along side him, her small white figure a diminutive sight against his larger form, "Besides.." she adds, blue eyes narrowing impishly upon the side of his face "I am not insisting on following you. I am merely going the same direction."
The confusion that arose from his answering of her question resulted in yet another heavy sigh from the Prince. He seemed to be sighing like this a lot lately. In anger, in irritation, in frustration. Why couldn't things just quiet down again, he had to wonder? Honestly, the buck was beginning to miss the days of fruitlessly searching for other does, other bucks, other /deer/. Now it seemed as if he couldn't get rid of them! Every time that he tried to bed down in some half-comfortable spot, one of the does was there. If he was out for a stroll by himself just to think things through, he'd run into the other Whitetail buck, Chanson. He'd found a Blacktail, ran into another Elk, the fawns were all born.. there were going to be far too many deer before next year was through, and in a cynical way, he was dreading it. Eyes shifting over to her, Roscoe shifted his weight and turned to face her in a way that could be described as fluid. "No, I am not usually this talkative." he said, and a gruff sort of snort escaped him afterward, showing his disdain for speaking so much. As a leader, he felt that observing was key, and talking was to be restricted. Part of it was his vanity, as well. It should be an honor to speak with Roscoe, not like a .. normal conversation. Hooves carrying him swiftly once again, he ignored her meeting him at his side, and shook his head in disbelief at the way this day was already turning out. "Good. And I've said this before too.. but I don't want to see any trace of you back here when I return." Pausing his sentence, he looked ahead at the grass trail ahead, "Not with fawns to think about."
Ironic enough, Merrow could sympathize with the buck's growing disdain for contending with the presence of other deer and similar kin. The white doe in fact, would cherish nothing more than to find her own little quiet slice of paradise to hide away from the world. Roscoe is forced to endure because such is the responsibility of herd leader and all the woes that come with it. Merrow, on the other hand, endures not for the sake of responsibility for one herd, but for what she was raised to believe to be all of the hooved creatures of the land. Of course, in not knowing, neither can appreciate the other's tolerance, though Merrow doesn't find it too difficult to derive the 'lack of' from the buck. When her attempt at humor achieves only a gruff and serious reply, it is the ghostly doe's turn to roll her eyes, hiding a private smirk. "Good. Because you really are quite boring." she claims, issuing a small grunt of her own and taunting him in the same breath. Merrow now gives her ears a dismissive flick, abrubtly ceasing to glide along next to him as she comes to stand in place with a calm and reflective posture. The mention of herself and fawns provokes a befuddled expression to the visage of the doe, who spends a moment to reflect on how her presence might prevent him from thinking about fawns. "Well, by all means, don't let me cloud your motherly instincts." Merrow cannot help the mirthful sarcasm that dips from her words, strange in that they should belong to a voice so gentle and meek. Though even as she taunts him, there is no cruelty in her tone nor animosity towards him, even if he does seem to retain something of the emotion himself. In fact, her words are spoken as a playful jab, though perhaps intended to wound a bit of that male vanity of his. This one is in dire need of some lessons.
Boring? He wasn't boring! ..Well, yeah, he was kind of boring. To be expected though, of someone who didn't want to talk very much. Head held high, the buck walked with pride in every step even as he was trying to ignore the pale thorn in his side. Of course, once the thorn dislodged itself due to either her boredom, his words, or a healthy misture of both, Roscoe's lips curved into another small grin, though he hid this from her. Had this been winter, had it been autumn, he would've accepted the new doe into the herd with only a sizeable deal of hesitation. But with the fawns and does to look after (more) in this particular season, it was simply something he could not risk anymore than he had to. With Hotah's coloring, he already had an extra obligation. After all of his warnings for Merrow not to return, he had a feeling that he would see her again anyway. And perhaps their meeting another time wouldn't be so .. rocky. It wasn't that he didn't like her. In fact, quiet the contrary. Already, he could tell that she had a personality, and he liked that. She was of interest to him because of what he assumed happened in her past, with her birth herd and all. Again, the feelings of pity returned, but they didn't stick. A mere shake of his head was all that she got in return to any words, as otherwise, the Prince was busied with other thoughts. Some were, again, thinking about what he was going to do about her if and when he did see her again, others about Tix, others about Hotah, and even about the other couple and their fawns. They would need to be checked up on sometime today as well. There was always so much to do, and so little time to do it. A flick of his tail once more, and the otherwise silent dominant buck contined deep into the forest, for his daily doings of whatever it was that he did.
Merrow Albino Whitetail Female
Roscoe Whitetail Male
Setting:
Maple Glade
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The past few days have been anything but good for the Prince. Let down after let down had led him to believe that there had to have been some form of a curse upon him, and he had been eager to show his disappointment, projecting his anger and depression upon those who were convenient at the time. Having realized his mistake after the words of two does in his herd had been taken to heart, Roscoe still feels that pang of sadness and that sting of anger, but the overwhelming wave of guilt has weighed heavily on his sturdy shoulders as well. The male had come a decent ways, traveling from the evergreen forest to the south back to his glade, that was well into it's metamorphasis, the canopy that he had secretly missed returning with each day. Perhaps that is why he seemed somehow 'better' this morning. The dawn had broke not but an hour or so ago, and the sun was still working on shining it's light through the heavier regions of the forest. The glade was in between. Had it been later in the summer, the sun would've been nearly shielded out by the large maple leaves.. but not yet. In fact, he rather looked forward to that time, though he loathed the warmer months otherwise. The antlerless buck made his way through the dewey grasses of the glade, his hooves carrying him gracefully through the green surroundings. Large ears flicked in each and every direction, though he did not look nervous, as he was not nervous. Merely cautious and alert, as any whitetail should have been. Red eyes scanned the area for abnormalities, and as of yet, he'd found none. His goal this day was to seek out the mother of his first, and deformed, piebald fawn. His reaction to such a deformity was anything but respectable, and he felt that a sincere apology was in order. It was just /finding/ the maternal doe that would prove to be a challenge.
Hunger is what has brought her down from the sky for which she so closely wanders beneath, the existence of roots and other nourishment proving difficult to find, even amongst the loose scree and rocky outcrops. It suggests that the area had seen many harsh winters and thus, had been unable to recover so quickly up in the high elevation. Merrow had long stood on the edge of the mountain back, disappointed to find that that her travels have brought her to such a inhospitable place, shuddering against the cold wind that buffeted against her small stature. Long she stood looking down over the thriving valley below, scanning over it with a deep wistfulness. Wisdom warned her against the pressing notion: that she should descend early; as opposed for her usual wait for winter. In the end and after much deliberation, the doe chose to take a risk and leave behind the heights of the mountains, elated to find richer greens, to which she had contently fed. She should have have turned back, but something else began to tug at the doe. Fascination. Everything was so..green..and..vibrant. It was as if coming out of a world of black and grey and stepping into a fantastic dream. This awe had carried Merrow though the woods long after the sun broke the horizon, her blue eyes dancing from one newness to the next. And then she has happened upon the glade, stepping forth from the woodland edge to stare strangely upon the vastness of the tree, it's solid limbs and the abundance of verdant foliage, admiring the way the sun streams through the fluttering leaves. "Beautiful..." the words whisper past her lips, her slender legs reaching forth beneath her to guide her in another floating step toward the tree, a smile fixed across her slender muzzle. Though so enthralled is the little doe, that in that moment, Roscoe's nearby movement doesn't quite catch her attention. At least, not immediately.
With many things clouding his thoughts as usual, the buck attempts to mentally sort out and organize said thoughts into establishable goals. Succeeding in doing so after a few moments, his alertness had been compromised slightly. His gaze had lowered to the ground, and had then risen up to peer between the budding trees and the sky. The beautiful remants of sunrise were above him, and it brought the first grin in days to his lips. Lost in childlike wonder for a few seconds, the stag lowered his sights once again, and they feel upon something /strange./ From what he could tell, it was a purely white doe. A deer, like him.. but white. White as the snow that had melted weeks ago, no coloration to her at all, from what he could tell. It caused the assertive, regal buck to stop dead in his tracks and simply stare.. but not for long. Clearing his throat at the intruder, who was just as malformed as his son if she was a Whitetail like they, from what he could tell, he hoped to startle her. A serious look made up his expression, his hooves planted into the ground beneath him. "Good morning.." he drew out, not really wishing her a good morning, just wanting to capture her attention.
Many times had Merrow cast a wanton gaze down into valleys where the rich shades of summer were evident, pretending in her mind that she was walking among the far distant lilies in a field or feeling the warm breath of a whispering wind. But such was always a dream, shattered inevitably by the harsh bite of cold wind off the peaks of mountains that Merrow had long ago learned to call home, eking out a existence until winter might reach the lands below and shroud them in white, just so that she might blend in. Thus, such is the doe's wonderment now as she dares stands among all that is green and alive, though herself, existing like a flaw upon the land and entirely out of place. Sky blue eyes roam from the trunk of the old tree, where it's roots break into the earth, then up and up into the leafy boughs. Her white tail gives a few quick flutters of excitement behind her haunches, suggesting her private elation as she continues to let her gaze and sheer wonderment dance over the rustling, swaying tree branches. And then..a voice. The pink contrast of her inner ears ride forward sharply, standing erect as Merrow's head pivots only a fraction and her eyes fall level to stare across at the face staring back. There is surprise, but only in the subtle up shooting of her brows, provoked not by his sudden appearance, but rather, that she should be looking upon another whitetail at all. She smiles gently, a soft expression that encompasses her whole lovely visage to reach and glint warmly within her contrasting, cold blue eyes. "No. It is a beautiful morning." she corrects, her voice floating melodically out upon the early morning breeze, the fluctuation of her words gently changing in the way a willow sways in the wind.
Some might be enchanted by the doe's coloration. If not enthralled by her pure white pelt, then surely they would be entranced by her calming voice. If all else failed, at least one would be swept away by those charming words, even if in this instance she was correcting him. Unfortunately for the new female, Roscoe is neither enchanted, nor entranced, nor swept away. In fact, a look that seemed to be made up of varying degrees of disapproval loomed over his features, those large ears tucking back just a hair, his muscles becoming tense with knowing that he would have to coldly shun this intruder from the safety of the herd, /for/ the safety of the herd. In fact, no word of this strange, ghost-like female would ever reach any of the fellow Whitetails, nor the Elk or the single Blacktail within the ranks. Thinking on the various species that made up the body of the Umber, Roscoe couldn't help feel but a bit hypocritical. None of this showed outwardly however, as it was merely inward turmoil as he judged the poor girl before he'd even learned her name. Taking a step forward, the Lead Buck had an air of aggressiveness about him suddenly, his brows lowering and his eyes aflame. Approaching her rather quickly; too quickly for one to be interested in friendly conversation, the Prince held his head high and stared down at Merrow as he looked her over at a closer range. How.. odd. That was the perfect word for her, from what he'd known so far.. which, was next to nothing. The fact that she was hauntingly beautiful in her own right, and that she had a calming voice. Aside from the color, she rather reminded him of his mother.. all the more reason to consider her.. odd. Ignoring further words about the weather, the male continued to stare down at her, as if trying to scare her off without rudely pushing her away. "I do hope that you haven't come to this area in order to seek a herd.. if you are without one, that is." There. Civil enough, yes? He hadn't outrightly denied her any safety just yet, merely advised against it, so as to save her from embarassment, rejection, and downright betrayal by her own species.
A gust of spring wind sweeps in across the ground, stirring and scattering the remaining vestiges of winter's long-dead leaves to reveal the growth of tiny grass sprouts beneath; the gale rustling through the thatching of grasses and fluttering the fur across Merrow's neck and shoulder, white hair which retains a surprising density in regards to the warming temperatures. Of course, the small ungulate invest only a small amount of interest in the scents are carried upon the breeze, her moist pink nose flaring momentarily to draw in the myriad of odors, none of which are enough to alarm her to danger. Though there is danger indeed, lurking right before her and in a manner much less obvious than scent. It quickly becomes all too apparent to Merrow of the nature for which the mature stag before her will be receiving her presence, polite or not. His aggressive advance is frightening and it is now that Roscoe is rewarded with the wide eyed and startled reaction he had previously hoped for. Merrow has long grown used to other's shunning reactions to her, though outward aggression still manages to shake her resolve. Outwardly, it is minor. A single back-step. But inwardly, Merrow can feel her heart beating somewhere high in her chest, accompanied by the tightening of her throat. Though seemingly with a accord all their own, her blue eyes are unflattering and the little white doe stares back unblinking. Large ears give a strange twitch as his words echo in the depths, comprehending from them more than just the initial meaning. Valor. Thank you for your valor, Eyota. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear. Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, for all the good it does, Merrow struggles to regain a strength to her composure. If he were a slavering predator, she wouldn't be having this problem. "I am neither with or without a herd.." she explains, meeting his judgmental gaze with a stare of her own discrimination, though hardly to the extent of his judgment of her. No, her scrutiny is rather one of deliberation and recognition, that he is perhaps more than just a vagrant. Seeking to confirm this, she continues, still speaking in that manner of a gentle, calming melody "But I have come here in search of other Ahawi, those like you and.." Merrow, for a moment, was inclined to say 'I', but in a breath reiterates, "your kind." Drawing in a breath, her slender legs shift beneath her frail looking body, large ears laying back in a submissive gesture.
Trying to be intimidating was something that Roscoe had much practice on, for when he was angered with the few does of the herd, he would attempt to at least appear like he would harm them. However, beneath that rough exterior laid a heart full of kindness, in all honesty. It was just breaking through that hardened shell that'd grasped hold of the edges of Roscoe's personality that was the trouble. Had he known her history of rejection, he would've at least considered things a bit more. Had he known more about her, he wouldn't have judged her the way that he did. And yet, a part of him didn't want to know her at all. Knowing full well that she, like his son, was a liability to the safety of the herd, the Prince wanted to emotional strings attached to this passing doe. Not even her name, though conversational rituals had betrayed that. Rounded ears perked forward, reassuring the doe that he was not seeking to hurt her, physically. "Might I ask for your name, miss?" he asked, his tone taking on a warmer side, betraying every ounce of his common sense and logic. Knowing that she was.. different, as she was.. it made him feel bad for her in a sense. This was the same feeling that had overwhelmed him to the brink of anger when his son entered the world with his speckled, bi-colored coat, and he had masked that pity far too well. "A creature such as yourself does not go unnoticed.. and I have never seen you before. Anywhere.. and I have travelled far beyond this area. Where have you been hiding?" A chuckle had been added on as an undertone to this question, as if he wanted to ask, 'Where have you been successfully hiding, and surviving?' He did not, though, and his chuckle came to a swift end. Logic kicking in, his expression turned sour once again, and he seemed to look upon her as if she was something /lower/ than a deer. Agh, his feelings were so divided. To pity, or to discriminate? Choosing the latter at the mention of an 'Ahawi,' the Prince took a step back and shook his de-crowned head. "I do believe that you are searching in the wrong area. None of my kind would associate with something like you." Brows lowering again, he took in a deep breath, his chest puffing out and making him appear larger and more frightening than he already had the capability to be. Discrimination was so much easier than pity, and it was a quicker way to rid oneself and one's territory of something that was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder. "This glade belongs to me. When I return this afternoon, I do not want to see any trace of your presence here, do you understand? The forest is filled to the brim with wolves and dogs alike. If they find you.. rest assured that they will given your unnatural pelt.. I don't want them to find any of /my/ kind." Sounding like a right antagonist, Roscoe's lips curved downward into a frown. Color aside, she was still a deer, and a doe at that. Usually, he went out of his way to make does feel welcome.. but he could not have to "different" deer in his herd. "You should have stayed where you were, since you survived up there. I'm not sure if I'd grant you the same luck down here." Blinking slowly, the buck turned himself around, and began to walk in a differing direction, not really wanting to see the hurt that was sure to play on her face afterward. It was a beautiful day.. and he'd already ruined his own.
Huge and expressive, clear blue eyes insist on affixing themselves to the impressive -and somewhat ominous- person of the whitetail stag, venturing across every curve, line, and delineation of his noble visage; tucking each detail away into the complexity of her calculating mind before moving on to sweep her gaze smoothly across his powerful form in order to do the same. Each notation that is made becomes a morsel of thought for which will later be regurgitated to be reflected, assessed, and surmised. 'There is much to be discovered in the way a creature appears, for nothing is ever as it truly seems'. Merrow easily remembers the words of the Sani who had come to care a great deal for her, and in turn, she for him. These days, Merrow finds herself missing the lull of his voice and the gentle reprimanding way he would call her name. Those days seem long ago and Merrow, for a moment, allows a emotion to move across her face that has no business being there at all. It is provoked by the forthcoming words from Roscoe that entail obvious discrimination and out-casting, causing her mouth to turn down in a dull frown as a well guarded, indignant contempt seethes just beneath a stoic visage. How much she has given up to come among them and tell them what they already seem to know. That she is different and in that, dangerous. To what purpose should she even continue? Redemption. The word echoes dimly in her mind and soothes away the moment of disgust, Merrow pulling in a even breath as she adjust her gaze back to the muscular buck, who strikes a impressive sight, even without his crown. Though even with Roscoe's softening demeanor, the feeble white doe retains a certain emotion detatchment, hardly hoping that his moment of affable politeness will hold out. However, Merrow herself continues to stand before the buck in all her difference and insignificance, but strangely, seeming all the more important for it. "My name is Merrow of High Rock. I journeyed with the shooting of a new spring growth, then upon the sway of summer trees. I paused a lifetime to watch the river's flow, but the time passed in a moment and on I went with the scattering autumn leaves." Such is manner for which the white doe answers his questions, "And you are correct, they 'should' not associate with ones like me. But..you should know why." A small shake of her head is given now and Merrow allows a moment of amusement to flicker behind her eyes as she watches the buck turn away, "Do you always make it a habit to feign interest in others?" She takes a step after him, dismissing his warning for her to be gone from /his/ glade. "As for /my/ survival, do no be so proud as to think you alone might dictate what becomes of me. I have survived this long without knowing of your existence, stag.." she allows a chuckle to slip, striding gracefully at his heels, "-I'm quite sure I shall continue on doing so until Time comes for me."
Hmmph. Well, compared to her snarky come back, Roscoe probably would have preferred that she be upset with him, and beg for mercy like he had admittedly expected her to do. For her to act so opposingly to his pre-determined outcome upset him to some extent, and the fleeing buck paused himself, and turned back in order to repremand her some more. To his suprise one again, she was directly behind him. Taunting him, almost. The one half of his logic wanted to treat her as if she were some disease that he was to shake off, with her following him like that. Though he'd only run into /one/ wolf /one/ time throughout his year here, with his luck at the moment, he was almost sure that this Merrow would attract some form of attention, be it predator or just sheer annoyance. Tossing his head a bit, he glared towards her, and rolled his eyes. Silence overwhelmed the two of them for a few brief moments, Roscoe not usually being the talkative type. Stoic.. that was how Aspen described him, weeks ago. An observer who chose not to seek close relationships, and who chose silence over gossiping. Obviously then, having this ghostly doe follow him around was the last thing that he would've wanted, especially considerint that he had planned on making amends with a special doe in his eyes, Tix. The mother of his first son, and the one who had taken such verbal abuse on what should've been a joyous day. Just thinking about his 'family' made his head lower a bit, his eyes meeting the lush, green grass as he remembered to continue on walking away. This doe would tire of him eventually, he figured. After all, what fun was talking to someone who would not talk back? His response to her question and her confidence-infused-remark about her survival was the simple eyeroll, which she may or may not have seen. Regardless, the male flicked his tail against his hindquarters, and continued gracefully up and down the sweeping hills of the area. The silent treatment was his specialty.
Gliding gracefully across the ground in what is best described as casual pursuit of the antler-less buck, it is in a like manner of ease in which Merrow halts herself in the face of his glaring eyes as Roscoe turns to cast his disapproving gaze upon her. Stoic frowning visage is meet with a irritating contrast of mirthfully glinting blue eyes and a soft smile. Her pale brows lift themselves expectantly, as if politely waiting for the words that never make it from his mouth. Though there exist no disapproval as he proceeds to discard her with silence and a roll of his eyes, which causes that smile upon her lips to privately broaden into a self-satisfied smirk. Undesirably, the silence does little to unnerve the strange doe or stir even a ounce of frustration within her. In fact, Merrow seems content to trail along behind the buck, who himself is allowed to fade into the backdrop of her mind as the small undulate entertains herself with the sights of the forest in spring, the wondrous smells, and cacophony of song birds and buzzing insects. The occasional, fawnish giggle even escapes the female on a few occasions, to which immediately embarrasses her, causing her head to slink below the height of her shoulders and the pink of her ears flushing brighter before folding back against her head as a coy smile manifest itself. Silence. Merrow is hardly a stranger to the sound of it, thus, it is not so odd for her to move along without the need for useless banter that so many others are often inclined to do. There is only one thing that does arise, but Merrow does well to pass it off. Fatigue. It begins as a breathless panting of her sides, demanding much from her muscles and causing them to begin to ache with the effort of keeping up. Several times Merrow finds herself stopping, though so as to not draw attention to the real reason, the white doe is careful to incline her head to sniff at plant growth or turn her gaze to feign interest in her surroundings, as if to study the beauty around her. Though in all reality, Merrow can hardly appreciate her adventure now, hearing the dull wooshing of her heartbeat in her head and feeling the muscle tremble that threatens to overtake her elegant figure. Her blue eyes turn up ahead to the buck she has thus far, persistently followed, clearing her throat softly to speak in a voice that might not betray her breathlessness, "Are you always so talkative?" she inquires sarcasticly, a lop-sided grin appearing upon her slender muzzle in good humor, even as she quietly pants for breath. Just a moments respite, that is all she needs.
Having travelled such far distances across many different terrains not only from the far north in the 'Cold Lands' to here, but from the forest to the mountain as well, the buck is far more than used to the long walks that he puts himself through every day. As such, the fit male's breathing is far less labored than the doe's. In fact, his breathing is very, very calm. Some fragment of it is instinctual, knowing that a hard breathing deer was a loud deer. Those large ears flick back at the faint sounds of her heavier breathing, and the Prince lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes closing in irritation. 'Are you always so talkative?' The words roll around in his mind a few times before he actually answers it, and he has to hide a tiny grin. Not that it was funny.. it wasn't. Nothing was funny about the situation. Their safety was compromised with her being there, and the safety of his herd as well. He should've just ran her off as his primative instincts told him to do, but that wouldn't bode well for his already suffering reputation as being some sort of tyrannical monster. "No." He said simply, and slowed his pace in order to help Merrow slow her breathing. It was bad enough that she was as white as the melted snow, the extra noise didn't help. His hooves ceased to carry him farther at one point, and he turned to face the doe once more. "I don't know why you insist on following me.. I believe I've made it clear that I don't want you around." There was no threat in this, merely a rude awakening to the stranger. A look of annoyance played across his features, letting out a faint scoff before he turned around, making his way through the glade at a quicker pace than before.
Fitness, or the lack off, has little to do with Merrow's current condition. In fact, if not for the ailment that afflicts her, the small doe would likely be able to out distance the buck any day on account of the mountainous terrain and inhospitable weather she is accustomed to. That is, if she were any given deer, save for who she is. Though in her own way, Merrow is a strong as any. The fact that she goes on existing is proof that the strange doe possess some kind of redeeming quality. Luck, if anything. The change of pace, for all that it last, is appreciated. Something that is discernible in the gentle smile that the female offers up on his behalf, using the time to catch her breath and rest her complaining muscles. Of course, Merrow does her best to cling to her composure, something that seems to be compiled of many things. Humility. Valor. Pride. They are just a few of the attributes that seem surround the doe, who regards Roscoe's retorts with a bemused tilt of her narrow head. "/No/ you do, or /no/ you don't?" comes his quick quip, the female hiding a small grin and stifling a giggle. His departing words bring her ears forward and Merrow spends a moment to reflect on them, standing in place for a few second before gliding forward once more on her long stilt-like legs, "Hmm..have you?" she muses after him, taking a few trotting steps to sidling up along side him, her small white figure a diminutive sight against his larger form, "Besides.." she adds, blue eyes narrowing impishly upon the side of his face "I am not insisting on following you. I am merely going the same direction."
The confusion that arose from his answering of her question resulted in yet another heavy sigh from the Prince. He seemed to be sighing like this a lot lately. In anger, in irritation, in frustration. Why couldn't things just quiet down again, he had to wonder? Honestly, the buck was beginning to miss the days of fruitlessly searching for other does, other bucks, other /deer/. Now it seemed as if he couldn't get rid of them! Every time that he tried to bed down in some half-comfortable spot, one of the does was there. If he was out for a stroll by himself just to think things through, he'd run into the other Whitetail buck, Chanson. He'd found a Blacktail, ran into another Elk, the fawns were all born.. there were going to be far too many deer before next year was through, and in a cynical way, he was dreading it. Eyes shifting over to her, Roscoe shifted his weight and turned to face her in a way that could be described as fluid. "No, I am not usually this talkative." he said, and a gruff sort of snort escaped him afterward, showing his disdain for speaking so much. As a leader, he felt that observing was key, and talking was to be restricted. Part of it was his vanity, as well. It should be an honor to speak with Roscoe, not like a .. normal conversation. Hooves carrying him swiftly once again, he ignored her meeting him at his side, and shook his head in disbelief at the way this day was already turning out. "Good. And I've said this before too.. but I don't want to see any trace of you back here when I return." Pausing his sentence, he looked ahead at the grass trail ahead, "Not with fawns to think about."
Ironic enough, Merrow could sympathize with the buck's growing disdain for contending with the presence of other deer and similar kin. The white doe in fact, would cherish nothing more than to find her own little quiet slice of paradise to hide away from the world. Roscoe is forced to endure because such is the responsibility of herd leader and all the woes that come with it. Merrow, on the other hand, endures not for the sake of responsibility for one herd, but for what she was raised to believe to be all of the hooved creatures of the land. Of course, in not knowing, neither can appreciate the other's tolerance, though Merrow doesn't find it too difficult to derive the 'lack of' from the buck. When her attempt at humor achieves only a gruff and serious reply, it is the ghostly doe's turn to roll her eyes, hiding a private smirk. "Good. Because you really are quite boring." she claims, issuing a small grunt of her own and taunting him in the same breath. Merrow now gives her ears a dismissive flick, abrubtly ceasing to glide along next to him as she comes to stand in place with a calm and reflective posture. The mention of herself and fawns provokes a befuddled expression to the visage of the doe, who spends a moment to reflect on how her presence might prevent him from thinking about fawns. "Well, by all means, don't let me cloud your motherly instincts." Merrow cannot help the mirthful sarcasm that dips from her words, strange in that they should belong to a voice so gentle and meek. Though even as she taunts him, there is no cruelty in her tone nor animosity towards him, even if he does seem to retain something of the emotion himself. In fact, her words are spoken as a playful jab, though perhaps intended to wound a bit of that male vanity of his. This one is in dire need of some lessons.
Boring? He wasn't boring! ..Well, yeah, he was kind of boring. To be expected though, of someone who didn't want to talk very much. Head held high, the buck walked with pride in every step even as he was trying to ignore the pale thorn in his side. Of course, once the thorn dislodged itself due to either her boredom, his words, or a healthy misture of both, Roscoe's lips curved into another small grin, though he hid this from her. Had this been winter, had it been autumn, he would've accepted the new doe into the herd with only a sizeable deal of hesitation. But with the fawns and does to look after (more) in this particular season, it was simply something he could not risk anymore than he had to. With Hotah's coloring, he already had an extra obligation. After all of his warnings for Merrow not to return, he had a feeling that he would see her again anyway. And perhaps their meeting another time wouldn't be so .. rocky. It wasn't that he didn't like her. In fact, quiet the contrary. Already, he could tell that she had a personality, and he liked that. She was of interest to him because of what he assumed happened in her past, with her birth herd and all. Again, the feelings of pity returned, but they didn't stick. A mere shake of his head was all that she got in return to any words, as otherwise, the Prince was busied with other thoughts. Some were, again, thinking about what he was going to do about her if and when he did see her again, others about Tix, others about Hotah, and even about the other couple and their fawns. They would need to be checked up on sometime today as well. There was always so much to do, and so little time to do it. A flick of his tail once more, and the otherwise silent dominant buck contined deep into the forest, for his daily doings of whatever it was that he did.