His heart beat a slow tempo across his chest, ear pressed comfortably against the grass, creating a magnified hollow to the inner sounds of his body. The steady thrum of blood against his ears was a small comfort, making him all the more aware of the delicate trickles of his own life; the cool blades of grass that cushioned the length of his body, the morning dew dampening his fur and exposing the curve of a muscle, the small ant that marched across his paw, stirring the hairs on his foot so that it twitched in reflex, it all combined, slowly penetrating, until he awoke.
<i>Reality.</i>
His eyes snapped open. And then closed.
His scrunched his eyes tightly, the cool shadows of the trees too much light for his retinas to handle. Snippets from his previous evening played through his vision, reminding him of the reason why he awoken with such a wicked headache the morning after.
Funny, the images that one's mind sears into memory. The flash of the scent of an early fawn. The high blades of grass that both obstructed his view and kept him under cover. The overpowering scent of recently spilled blood. The not quite dry back of a spotted fawn. The way the recently taxed doe had loomed from his right. A sharp pain in his muzzle. Running. And while he remembered the scenes of the incident all too well, it was the back of the fawn that lay emblazoned in his memory. The way the downy fur mixed with the patches of wetness, creating a dark, looming contrast between the light brown and the bright spots that were strewn across it's small body. It was that same image that consumed the darkness behind his eyes before he began to squint narrowly, allowing light to reach his eyes millimeter by millimeter until they were finally open and viewing the sun spotted fields in front of him.
He lay on the southern edge of the Wildwood, peering out into the expanse of fields that crawled quickly south until they were met with another tree line. He didn't remember choosing the place, only now that it was pleasantly comfortable here. The sound of a creek nearby was what stirred him into movement. Limbering to his feet, he made his way slowly westward, tongue flashing out to slide across his jowls before they opened in a wide yawn. The taste of dried blood and the aching that the movement brought on told him that he had been lucky. A hoof to the muzzle had merely badly bruised him, laying a gash open. Had the creature not been fatigued, she might have easily done more damage.
As it was, he slipped toward the edge of the creek with a banged up snout and an empty stomach. At this time in the morning, that was all the damage he needed. </blockquote>