The morning sun filtered through the canopy of the ancient woods, painting the mossy floor in dappled patterns of gold and emerald. For Molly, this was the best time of day to forage for wild berries—the air was crisp, and the forest felt alive with the chatter of squirrels and the distant song of a thrush.
She hummed a soft, wordless tune as she walked, the hem of her dress brushing against the ferns. It was a melody she often used at the library to settle the children down for storytime, and it seemed to work just as well on the forest itself.
A sudden snap of a twig broke her reverie. Molly paused, her hand resting gently on the rough bark of an oak tree. Ahead, partially concealed behind a thicket of briars, something moved. It wasn't just a deer grazing; the silhouette was too tall, the posture too upright.
Slowly, a figure stepped into the small clearing. It was a doe, yet she stood upon two legs, her movements graceful and hesitant. Her large, liquid brown eyes darted around nervously, and her long ears twitched at the sound of the wind. She looked lost, clutching her arms to her chest as if she were cold, despite the warmth of the season.
Molly didn't gasp or flinch. Instead, her heart swelled with that familiar, warm ache of empathy she felt whenever she saw someone—or something—in need of a friend. She crouched down slowly to appear smaller, smoothing her skirts beneath her, and offered a warm, welcoming smile.
"Oh, please don’t be afraid, little one," Molly cooed, her voice slipping into that sweet, melodic register that felt like a warm hug. She extended a hand, palm up and open. "You’re safe here. My name is Molly."
She hummed a soft, wordless tune as she walked, the hem of her dress brushing against the ferns. It was a melody she often used at the library to settle the children down for storytime, and it seemed to work just as well on the forest itself.
A sudden snap of a twig broke her reverie. Molly paused, her hand resting gently on the rough bark of an oak tree. Ahead, partially concealed behind a thicket of briars, something moved. It wasn't just a deer grazing; the silhouette was too tall, the posture too upright.
Slowly, a figure stepped into the small clearing. It was a doe, yet she stood upon two legs, her movements graceful and hesitant. Her large, liquid brown eyes darted around nervously, and her long ears twitched at the sound of the wind. She looked lost, clutching her arms to her chest as if she were cold, despite the warmth of the season.
Molly didn't gasp or flinch. Instead, her heart swelled with that familiar, warm ache of empathy she felt whenever she saw someone—or something—in need of a friend. She crouched down slowly to appear smaller, smoothing her skirts beneath her, and offered a warm, welcoming smile.
"Oh, please don’t be afraid, little one," Molly cooed, her voice slipping into that sweet, melodic register that felt like a warm hug. She extended a hand, palm up and open. "You’re safe here. My name is Molly."
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