Hushed Willows we used to be close but people can go from people you know to people you don’t

lestan had found another herd, and had swiftly named all its inhabitants. spice, a doe named for her dark mask. another he chose to call rosemary, an older female with white stippled along her withers. a third doe lestan chose to call sunflower for her striking and odd yellow eyes.
their leader was a grand stag in his very prime, who had fought wars in the autumn and kept control of his herd. the mayfair had dubbed him monstro.
spice and rosemary were pregnant, the tracker noted to himself, due in a few months. monstro knew that a wolf tagged behind, and watched lestan with open mistrust. but he was one and they were many. the swiftcurrent dweller did not make eye contact, nor did he signal any interest in hunting.
he was far from home by now but time was a concept weakest with him in his best moments.
eventually the deer bounded away, and sputtering, lestan scrambled up from where he had been tail in the air bent over a patch of odd blue mushrooms! he ran after them, trying to hold back so that it would not seem as if he was actually chasing them.
but monstro was enraged. lestan shrieked in fear and flattened into a dead sprint as the massive beast bellowed and charged him, sending the wolf slamming to a halt.
he tumbled from a sandy ridge, and rolled into shale, and landed with a thump and an oof facedown into a springy bed of moss beneath a fetching willow. when he raised his head and tried to focus his eyes, a weeping woman swam in two places and then became one. or maybe she wasn't, maybe he had only misheard.
"hello," he said quite poshly despite his splatting against the ground beneath her willow tree.