Depth's Of Winters Embrace - Chapter One
#1 of Depths of Winters Embrace
A Doe, neither human nor deer, lives alone, far from humanity, in the deep wood. She hides for fear of that and which she is - not only is she a witch - a white witch - but a witch none the less...human's would fear and hunt her if they truly knew the depths of her heart - and could see the scars on her furred neck...
Depths of Winter's Embrace
© Cederwyn Whitefurr
9thOctober, 2021
All Rights Reserved.
I lived alone, all alone, in a cabin deep in the woods, as far from humanity as I could hope. Being that which I was, they would fear me, hunt me...try to kill me...
Clutching the steaming bowl of chamomile tea in my paws, I watch the snow fall from the leaden skies. It lays like a cold, white blanket over the frozen ground, yet I know in a few short months, new life will spring forth from this desolation, such is the way of nature...
Turning my back I gaze at the fireplace where logs crackle and pop, the heat warming me and affirming my knowledge of better times to come.
For in the flames do I see images and visions...before an errant gust swirls down the chimney and breaks my concentration as the fire dies back then surges once more.
I turn back to the window, looking out on this desolate white land, my hooflets clicking as they tremble on the bowl.
It should be restful, a time for contemplation and relaxation before the new year begins...
It does nothing to abate my loneliness...
I fear nothing shall...
*
I gather more wood for the fireplace from under the lean too beside my cottage. Wrapped in my forest green robes, cloven hooves and mid-shin buried in the snowfall that crunches beneath me, I am almost oblivious to the cold. Long have I lived alone, separate from humanity as I've watched it from afar. Sometimes as I am now, neither human nor deer - some hybridisation of the two - sometimes as a feral deer, but always from the depths of the woods do I watch. My mind wanders and with a sigh, I force myself to concentrate on what I was doing - gathering wood - for the fire keeps me warm...
Not that I think I truly need it, my winter coat I have grown serves me adequately enough and the robe that covers me from neck to ankle serves as well. My arms laden down, I make my way back to my cottage, backing against the door to force it open.
Placing the wood beside the fireplace, my nostrils flaring at the scents coming from the black, cast iron pot that lays suspended over the hot coals to the side. Looking around, I take stock of my meagre possessions - a crude pallet bet in one corner, covered with hides of my feral brethren - worry not, they did not suffer - for everything in nature must live...including me. Flicking my long, floppy ears back, a gift and a curse, I trail my hooflets under them and spread them out across my shoulders. Blessing and curse indeed, for in summer, they help me radiate excess heat via the blood vessels within them - come winter - they ache abysmally, the cold gnawing at them without mercy.
Here before me, a cast iron pot hangs from a tripod, rough cooking implements are there on the trestle table, a hand made plate, crude wooden bowl and other utensils. My floor is packed dirt, covered with bulrush and straw that has been crushed and worn flat. I imagine the floor is quite cold, but with my cloven hooves, I do not really feel cold, unlike the snow dampen my shins and chill me when I step outside.
I have little, I need even less. Nature herself provides me much of that which I need, be it food, water or herbs and plants for my medicines and tinctures. That which I can not make myself, or acquire from nature - do I barter for with those precious few humans I trust.
Idly stirring the bubbling vegetable and elk stew, then taking a small sip, I put the ladle back and add a little more salt. I live alone, in this I thought myself content, but as winter tightens her grip, I long for the days of sunlight and warmth. Of new life that springs forth and all the joys it brings with it.
Pushing aside my melancholic thoughts, I run my paws down my robe and sigh quietly. Winter always made me reflective and introspective, I dream of what could have been, had my life never changed the way it did...
No, Ceredwyn, banish those thoughts back into the void from whence they came. Came the voice in my mind, that voice who spoke calmly, politely and often brought me back from the darkest of depression and despair.
I listen to that voice, maybe it is the voice of who I once was, or should have been - maybe it is my slow descent into madness that will one day drive me completely insane...
I do not know...
I listen to it...
I act on it...
*
Outside, naked as the day I was fawned, the snow falling lightly on my shoulders, head and ears, I am almost oblivious to it. My fur fluffs out and traps warm air, preventing the snow from penetrating and chilling me. I stand there, hooflets drumming against the side of my jaw for a while - lost in thought and contemplation.
After a time, I crouch down and begin to pack snow together between my paws. Quickly they grow numb from the cold, but I merely ignore them and continue. Inch by inch, I mold and sculpt the fresh fallen snow. I know not that which I make, I let my paws guide and shape it how they wish, all I know, is it is something - it _will_be something...
Time passes, I know not how long, until I look up and see the sun setting in the distant mountains. Before me, stands a crude sculpture - an almost indiscernible shape - but squinting my eyes I see the intent I sought to wrought with my stinging, aching paws.
It is crude, it is barely the shape...
It is...
Something...
It is a crude effigy of a stag, fallen sticks for antlers, a chunk of charcoal for its black nose...it is a poor facsimile of what I see in my mind. I am no artist, I never professed to be one. Yet in this - creation - I find something I longed for all winter...
Companionship...
*
I returned inside, cold, trembling and hungry. My fire had long died down to glowing embers and I added some small kindling and gently blew on it to spark the fire. Taking my bowl from the table, I ladle my stew into it and inhale the scent of elk and vegetables. It does its magic on me as it always does and my stomach growls as my nostrils flare. Taking a dipper of water from the barrel beside the door, I sit alone to eat my evening meal...
Replete some time later, I wash myself with water warmed by the fire and hang the wet rag over the back of the chair to dry. Content, I lay down on the straw pallet bed and draw a deerskin up over me, its fur against mine, skin side out. Sleep draws me into its embrace and it is one I go with freely and easily, bathed in the silvery moonlight that shines down through my window upon my sleeping form...
*
I awaken, eyes wide and my heart skipping a beat as I hear the creak of my front door opening...
To Be Continued...