Goal: (edit) decided, I think 20k will be a reachable challenge
Progress: 8280/20000 words ; 2/4 chapters last edit 01/12/2025
Title: Escape
Synopsis: This is a part of Lizbeth’s story that can’t be role played, as she’s alone and will only make very furtive encounters, it’s the moment she escapes the zoo (not yet decided how) and flees, hides, and sort of heals her wounds until she meets Max (Max Force, played by me).
(edit) Divided in four chapters, 'the real escape', 'wilderness escape', 'rejection escape', 'escape for better' (still open to changes) but mainly four different escapes, one break out (evasion), one abscond of the now unfamiliar wild, avoiding abjection from other, and last a flee into a rescue
Author Notes: For the moment I have an RP going on, writing the story of my doe, all the story, but like said, during her escape phase, she’s alone and hides from everything, this writing will complete the RP, it will be written in first and third person mainly. I set goal quite low, all what will be more than the 20k will be a personal success.
(edit) I have now also some other RP I'm writing I do NOT want to set on 'stand by', so the challenge 20k-words will largely get blown away, but I do not count them in this Write-a-Thon project/realization.
Progress: 8280/20000 words ; 2/4 chapters last edit 01/12/2025
Title: Escape
Synopsis: This is a part of Lizbeth’s story that can’t be role played, as she’s alone and will only make very furtive encounters, it’s the moment she escapes the zoo (not yet decided how) and flees, hides, and sort of heals her wounds until she meets Max (Max Force, played by me).
(edit) Divided in four chapters, 'the real escape', 'wilderness escape', 'rejection escape', 'escape for better' (still open to changes) but mainly four different escapes, one break out (evasion), one abscond of the now unfamiliar wild, avoiding abjection from other, and last a flee into a rescue
Author Notes: For the moment I have an RP going on, writing the story of my doe, all the story, but like said, during her escape phase, she’s alone and hides from everything, this writing will complete the RP, it will be written in first and third person mainly. I set goal quite low, all what will be more than the 20k will be a personal success.
(edit) I have now also some other RP I'm writing I do NOT want to set on 'stand by', so the challenge 20k-words will largely get blown away, but I do not count them in this Write-a-Thon project/realization.
Latest news on my participation.
I just wanted to share my newest awareness of my challenge.
I decided to stay at 20.000 words, I know it's 'less' than the expected, but I want it to be a success for me. I realized that a thousand words a day is something reachable to me. I still struggle a lot with vocabulary, even would I read three books at a time, I couldn't learn more. My brain is used with all kind of other stuff, pushing in English words with a funnel makes no sense.
You will say, 1000/day with 30 days... makes 30k... Yes, true, but I am not that lucky to have so much spare time (excuse, 'cheap' excuse...), so twenty thousand will it be. And as said, all what lies beyond, 'well done'!!!
I also decided to get that nice idea of chapters, four chapters, one a week, going public if ever I find it read-worthy.
I just wanted to share my newest awareness of my challenge.
I decided to stay at 20.000 words, I know it's 'less' than the expected, but I want it to be a success for me. I realized that a thousand words a day is something reachable to me. I still struggle a lot with vocabulary, even would I read three books at a time, I couldn't learn more. My brain is used with all kind of other stuff, pushing in English words with a funnel makes no sense.
You will say, 1000/day with 30 days... makes 30k... Yes, true, but I am not that lucky to have so much spare time (excuse, 'cheap' excuse...), so twenty thousand will it be. And as said, all what lies beyond, 'well done'!!!
I also decided to get that nice idea of chapters, four chapters, one a week, going public if ever I find it read-worthy.
Here we go, finally launched the writing and got my little doe out of the zoo…
To my surprise, when I set final point for the day, the counter marks exactly 2000😊
To my surprise, when I set final point for the day, the counter marks exactly 2000😊
Ready it is, first chapter, escaping the zoo.
second edit So is the second chapter now, escaping nature and wilderness, enjoy
edit I decided to simply publish it in my thread, I can't say how many words it will take, I will see at the end of the month. Unfinished chapters will be published in December
You can leave any negative comment or idea for worsen the bad writing
The complete opposite will be appreciated
second edit So is the second chapter now, escaping nature and wilderness, enjoy
edit I decided to simply publish it in my thread, I can't say how many words it will take, I will see at the end of the month. Unfinished chapters will be published in December
You can leave any negative comment or idea for worsen the bad writing
The complete opposite will be appreciated
Escape
The real escape
Evening falls quickly on this idylic forest, the last bees are humming through the flowered bushes before dusk will force them to return to the hive, birds have their evening chant. Most animals are preparing for the night, if it is going to sleep or waken for those that are active at night.
All is quiet…
Quick rushing steps are resonating, leaves rustle as they are disturbed by a passing figure. It passes quickly, in a hurry, in a pace of a running person, a panting person. But these sounds aren’t human. Yes the rhythm of the steps, the quickness indicates a bipedal creature. But the sounds are different, no shoes, very small imprints, almost unhearable panting, this creature tries to be unseen unheard, but yet fleeing.
Fleeing what?
Not far behind, shouts, swears, boots trampling down the plants and everything in their way, leaving indelible imprints in the moist soil of the forest. The ground trembles as a small group of humans in blue polos, strangers to the forest, destroy the peace that reings in this place.
“She must be here, find her, she can’t escape, find that stupid goat or there will be consequences!”, the voice brutal, despaired and loud, breaking through between the trees like a loud chainsaw chopping down an innocent wood. Three men are running, running behind that hushing figure, chasing a prey.
Few moments earlier…
“You know it ‘doe’, you don’t follow the rules, we have to punish you. Within a moment Mr, Andersen will come for you, he always pays in advance and a nice amount, he wants you and nobody else, not even Trisha. So you keep yourself low and let him do, is that clear?” The man speaks clear, intimidating. He knows what awaits ‘doe’ if she doesn’t do what is wanted.
“I have taken of your colar, judge Andersen wants it, he pays for it, don’t you even think of escaping, I’ll murder you with my own hands.”
The ‘doe’ is Lizbeth, Lizbeth Redwood, that deer that they transformed into a anthropomorphic animal with those absolute curvy features. That ‘doe’ was made for sex, paid sex. A hooker, a sex slave sold to rich people, men that want something exotic, something different.
“You know him, he’s always a brute, everytime I get bruises and pain from him. I can’t bear that anymore.”
“You **** him, he has paid. What’s wrong with you, you start to complain for every little shit. Do your job!”
The deer’s head goes down, those big earshells with it, her eyes close half down, she gives in, another time, once more fear of punishment wins over the rebellion. But the rebellion is only a little seedling, grown from a tiny seed planted in that doe the moment that shaman transformed the feral animal into an anthropomorphic doe. That little grain germinated and sprouted, at every punishemnt crushed into oblivion, but always there. The small seedling stands again, no, she doesn’t want to endure that brutal judge Andersen again.
But how getting away, fainting illness has no sense, saying ‘No’ leads to punishment…
“Yes Sir, yes, I will please ‘His Honor’”, that soft voice is low, submissive once again, the deer-head lowers more, her hands sink into her lap, as if no more force is to be found. Lizbeth will obey.
“That’s better,” mutters the male voice as the man in his blue polo walks towards the door, with a satisfactory grin on his lips. On the way out, just before letting the door slide into its lock, a “stupid goat” can be heard and the door clicks once, only once.
Only one click…
Lizbeth looks up, did she hear right?
Only one click…
That can’t be, all these years that door was locked when she was inside.
Only one click…
- Yes Lizbeth, you heard right, your fine deer-ears heard right -
Only one click…
Lizbeth’s nescience is obvious, her eyes wide, her hands trembling and wanting to touch that door to get confirmation. The small seedling baffled again by the words of that blue polo stands stronger, calls out to that doe to try.
Only one click… means the door is not locked.
The seedling gets stronger, grows rapidly and against all odds. Lizbeth slowly, very carefully closes in on the door, she can’t hear anything outside, no footsteps, no human breathing, no guard looking. Her hand reaches the door-knob, the door moves. She shivers, her muscles tense, her breathing halts. Only one click and the door is not locked, a decision has to be taken very quickly, soon the blue polo is back with the client…
- Take your chance Lizbeth, one click to liberty, DO IT -
Her inner voice yells at her. But there’s that punishment, that whip that destroys any rebellish seedling with only one slash. It hurts, it’s pain, it’s unbearable. Lizbeth wears the scars of that whip on her back, they hurt now, they make the doe hesitate. The guards, the cameras, all those things meant to keep slaves imprisoned, what if?
What if she gets caught, they will kill her, for sure. It’s not to be caught.
The does muscles tense more, ready to deliver the effort of her life, run.
Run out of that prison.
Run from here.
Run away.
- RUN LIZBETH RUN -
The door slams open, no time to look, no time to choose, no time to think. Her hooves slitter over the hard floor, that hard floor she knows so well. So many times were she beaten down and ‘kissed’ that floor in submission, in pain. Now her hooves rush over it, her legs give all they have. She bumps into the opposite wall, holds herself, keeps herself from falling, no time to stand up again. The camera eyes catch the movement, the ‘doe’ escapes!
Right at that moment the door to this hallway opens and appears a short roundish man in a long robe, a judge’s robe, symbol of power and decision. Lizbeth decides to pass, no matter how. The fat man has no time to react as he falls down on his flat disgusting butt, pushed out of the way by a rushing doe. Same as that blue polo behind him, falling upon that repellent brutal human. Curses and swaers are thrown into the air, Lizbeth doesn’t even look behind her, not time for it. The deer runs, runs through hallways straight to the door to the outside. She knows every inch of this infamous zoo she was left in, through the years she memorised every corner, every bush, every square inch that leads to liberty.
Sunlight blinds that deer as the outer door flies open, those are only locked at night. Sun is quite deep over the horizon, almost touching the canopies of the nearby forest. The forest, the deer’s native lands, where she’s in HER element. Millenium instincts are buried deep inside that doe, forest = hiding place. It’s getting late afternoon, darkness will help that deer to hide, she knows that. It’s the moment to run and not stop, run deer, run.
Fresh air surrounds this deer as her hooves bury themselves into the gravel spread all over, but she keeps running, running west into the setting sun, hopefully her chasers are blinded by that sun.
Her persecutors, those that kept and mistreated her for all these years, they don’t sleep, they are not mesmerized by this sudden attempt to escape. No, they are behind her, quickly that one blue polo got off the judge and starts to follow Lizbeth, stumbling here and then into something before getting confident again to run. He screams, uncontrollable words are heard all over ther zoo, the radio goes frantic. Everyone is behind her, she can’t escape. Shouts and swears, menaces and intimidation, all behind the back of that fleeing doe. Where are the weapons, where are the tranquilizers. One man has a gun, distinctive flop as the arrow leaves the barril in direction of a running deer but knocks into a tree. Quick, another one, quick, she’s almost at the gate.
The men panic, this was totally unexpected, an attempt to escape, as most finish at first door, locked, closed, dead end.
But Lizbeth is outside, in the open air, she’s a deer and runs way faster than any human, jumps further and higher than the best. She didn’t fall into inactive obesity as most of her fellow imprisoned, her body is lean, strong, ready to make the effort needed, the effort to pass the gate.
The doe closes in on the gate, the way out into freedom, from behind that gate everything changes. She can hear the screams, but not only from the human, her attempt is felt through the whole zoo, the electricity of nervousness of prey and predators is spreading through the whole zoo. “Do it, you can do it, jump Lizbeth, STOP, flee little doe, shoot her down, get the cars….” all in a blurred hubbub of words and sounds, screaming animals making loud noises. The doe escapes.
There she is, at that gate, 8 foot high, just a small possible spot in the middle where there is no barbed wire, just large enough for a thin deer to pass. Only a single attempt, one time, one jump for a whole life. Her legs continue, her heartbeat rushes at the limit, her eyes fix on that hole. Tinitus erases all screams, a tranquilizer dart crashes into the iron door… one step more, her legs bend, muscles strain, her hoof slams into the gravel… This moment seems to last for minutes, as her legs release like compressed springs, her hands go up, making herself as thin as possible the moment she lifts of. That hole feels like a gate to another world, illuminated by the evening sun, iron thorns blinking in the light. Lizbeth’s heart stands still as her body’s length passes through that one hole of hope. She touches with her left leg one barb, this one leaves a blody scratch all over the rear of her leg. It doesn’t matter, she went through.
Then everything goes quick again, a moment of respite as they have to open the door. A moment just long enough to land safely on the ground again, gather everything to continue to run. The scratch hurts, sweat feeling as if pepper thrown over it. She doesn’t care, what’s a scratch if it is to gain freedom. The doe is out of the zoo, out of the place of horror where only pain and fear reign as masters. Without thinking she heads for the forest nearby, no car can follow her there. Engines roar as the gate slowly opens, pick-ups throwing up sand and gravel as the tires turn wild.
But Lizbeth enters the forest and disappears into the underwood, the smell of that nature is freeing her nostrils, freeing her mind, she did it. But no time to celebrate and to profit of that free air. Soon they will reach the forest too and deploy to chase that escaped prey. But the prey is in its element its home, and she uses that advantage. The forest takes the doe as if she were gulped, her fur is camouflage. She wears some ‘sexy’ black simili leather clothing, if needed she’ll get rid of it quickly. But for now she has to get deeper into the forest, there where the underwood is denser, where the smell of the forest is stronger than hers, there where she can hide for the night.
Memories rise in the doe as she deepens into the woods, memories of her as fawn, running and playing happily between these trees, memories of her Mom, she falls, “Little stardust”, she doesn’t move anymore, the puddle of blood widens underneath her, no, no, Angel…
A twig cracks into Lizbeth’s face, immediately conscious again about her flee.
Conscious again about her persuers, those are finding their way to the forest, fortunately their cars can’t enter, no path wide enough lead inside. They have to abandon their vehicles, furiousness delimit their faces, from now on, Lizbeth isn’t awaiting punishment if ever they catch her, she’ll be dead. The men are running, they wear boots that smash everything, that can even crush someone’s dignity. They trample their way down into the forest, fast, widespread as there are a dozen. Three of them choose another side, one is a hunter and knows how cervine react. They are far closer to Lizbeth than all the rest.
“She must be here, find her, she can’t escape, find that stupid goat or there will be consequences!” It’s the same one that fell on the judge, he’s really ‘pissed off’, embarrased by a slave, he caused all the trouble they’re in now, he made the door only click once, not twice. He looks for signs if ever that doe made her way around here, small almost invisible traces, small prints between the dried leaves on the floor, recently broken twigs, this man is a tracer, hunting down any wild animal.
The three men continue, forcing the doe into her retranchments, inexorably closing in on her. They know she isn’t far, they know this is her land, her habitat, but they know too that it hasn’t been her home for years and she has changed, she has been changed into a human. Lizbeth has that human form, that can be a disability in the wild, even if old deer instincts take the lead. So these boots bring them to the deer, and Lizbeth tries to get away from them. They run, they push away anything in their way, always that one goal, get that stupid goat.
Whilst running she darts aside, changes trajectory to mislead the pursuers, leaps wider and avoids open places. She searches for dense underwood as she has to slow down, she huffs too strongly, she needs to find her breath, to be quiet should she have to hide. Those men are tenacious, her deer strategies don’t work, she has to change her goal. Running isn’t enough. The night will bring new perspectives.
The cat and mouse game lasts until the dark night, where the man need light, the doe has sight. Deer can see far better in darkness than humans, this is the biggest chance for Lizbeth to completely escape her hunters. And the one left over deer strategy, hide unseen, unheard, unsmelled. No bloodhounds are used, they would find her in less than a heartbeat. Dense underwood will give her shelter.
Lizbeth decides to hide, to do like when she were fawn, be and stay out of sight. Even if now she’s a grown deer, human size, she still can hide underneath a bush, underneath a massed bank of fern. The doe finds a place, a hide where she can get away quickly should they still find her. Silently she crawls through the underwood, avoiding most possible to leave the smallest trace of her passage and then rolls her body to be as small as possible, her ears flat against her, her breathing as low as possible. Weren’t there these awkward black clothes and these stupid human shoulders, she would be just a heap of fur lying in a small natural basin underneath dense leaf lid. Immobile and barely breathing the doe stays hidden, able to stay like this for hours. Patience will be needed, those men are still around.
These man have slowed down, unaware whether the doe is still around or not, but to their disadvantage not in the most quiet way. It’s getting dark, and they don’t see enough no more. Flashlights suddenly throw beams of light through the forest, they are still looking for a running deer, not a hiding one, the beams go left, than right again, up, down, desperately seeking a movement, an owl is surprised and flies away over their head. “Damn stupid bird…”.
Lizbeth shivers, that voice was not far, they are really close to her. The men still continue searching, walking through the underwood, leaves ruffle, twigs crack under those odious boots.
Lizbeth lies still, not even the slightest twitch in her flattened ear, like Angel told her once. Then, her heart almost stands still, she stops instantly with breathing, one of these boot slams its sole, into the soil, right next her. That leave, moved by the man stepping on it even tickles her fur. Few inches more and Lizbeth is dead. He doesn’t see her, doesn’t sense her, doesn’t know that she’s at his feet.
The man stops, stands and looks around, the lightbeam illuminates the forest like a lighthouse the ocean. The leave under the boot rustles and cracks, that foot moves, turns. If this man stays too long at that place, he will sense the warmth of a body right at his feet, the warmth emanating from a doe that has been running not long ago.
“Damn, we lost her, she can’t be found in this forest, it’s too dark. We have to admit her escape. ****, this is the first that escapes, damn. Her collar is at the base, that stupid fat judge always wants it off… return to the base and report…”, the swears and the arguing goes on, but the men leave. That boot is taken away from the doe, relief. Those humans move off, leaving behind a calm forest again, last words reach that hidden animal “Someone is going to pay for that…”. That brute is capable to let his frustration be outed on another slave, making Lizbeth feeling guilty.
That frightend owl returns to his place, as if to say that everything is secure. Is nature already talking to Lizbeth?
The doe opens an eye on a human print, the trace of a boot, right next to her, these shoes will stay in her memory for ever, shoes of brutal humans, shoes as signal for fear, terrorizing fear.
Lizbeth still stays for a while in her hiding place, breathing heavily, panting, her eyes wet.
What now little deer, what now? You made it, you got out of that hidious place, no more punishment, no more whip. -
The whip, that lash that destroyed her will, that destroyed so many times the little seedling of rebellion with just a bang, that loud snap when the tip cuts open her skin. Never will this happen again, Lizbeth made it, she’s out. Still lying underneath those ferns, on the cold soil of the dark forest, but out, free. The wounds she carries, the cut of that iron barb, the bruises from twigs and branchs hitting her while running, all hurts. But it is a different ache, an ache that is bearable, surmountable as it is the pain of freedom.
Lizbeth is free.
Free of years of slavery, tyranny, punishment and whips. Whilst waiting for the moment to leave all these years pass by as memories, finally finished. All will be memories, lingering memories, memories not mentioned for oblivion but as rememberance, Lizbeth will always remember what they did to her, what they took from her. Those scars are indelible, ever witness of cruelty.
It’s time to move on, little stardust, the stars will testify the escape. Those stars that give serenity to the doe whenever she were able to see them, those stars the gave her surname.
“Angel my Angel, where are you?” are the first words from this despaired doe, words to her Mom, that doe she saw die right in fornt of her. “please lead my way”
The owl coos softly, it is time to leave that hiding spot, those humans will be back tomorrow, Lizbeth has to be far away by then. Carefully a doe’s head rises from the underwood, looking around. The owl coos twice, all is clear. Lizbeth rises with a jerky breathing, muscles hurt from effort, traces of blood on her face and leg, no time to complain, Lizbeth has to move. Slowly, stealthily the deer moves, but quickly the moves get faster, the doe starts to run again. Her eyes wide she can see just enough not to run into a tree or a stump, not to stumble over roots or other obstacle. A soft breeze catches up with her, as if to show her the way, the way to assured freedom, Angel?
Lizbeth runs until the morning, until exhaustion, until she can be sure that they won’t find her. She crossed a river, moving upstream through the cold water, no bloodhound will find her trace. Lizbeth vanished from the grasp of the zoo, they will not find her. But she’s totally exhausted and simply crumbles into the leaves of an old oak tree, right between his roots. The moment the first ray of the sun lightens up the tangled fur of that free doe.
Lizbeth looks pitiful, dirty, her whole fur a mess, smeers of blood and mud mark her body, but she sleeps profoundly, peacefully and for the first time in years, right in the element that saw her birth, nature.
Will this nature be her savior?
Wilderness Escape
It’s a small glade, surrounded by trees, with an imposing old oak tree, in fact an idyllic place, hidden somwhere in that vast nature, where only native animals could be found. Still underneath that big tree lies a figure, half animal, half human. Lizbeth peacefully sleeps embraced by the vigourating interlaced roots of that one old oak, a millenium tree. For sure has this tree a lot of stories to tell, one of it is an anthropomorphic doe that found rest at his feet.
Yet a figure approaches, a human, a known human. Military boots and a blue polo, THE blue polo has found Lizbeth. This man is very tenacious, as said a tracer, a hunter that finds any trace of any animal, including Lizbeth’s. He wears a gun, but not one with tranquilizer darts, a real gun. This man is a hunter, but here he has some very lethal shotgun and he silently closes in on that innocent doe. He whispers to himself “Found you stupid goat, now you’re done, you made me look stupid, I’ll peirce a hole through your damn fur.”
Only few feet away he lifts his gun to the sleeping deer, finger on the trigger, that gun is loaded. Few seconds that man stands, immobile rifle pointed at Lizbeth’s head. He could just feel that slow heartbeat of a deer, see her torso move with her silent breath, not the slightest sign of remorse in those cold eyes.
“DOE”
A shout, Lizbeth wakens abruptly and before she could see, the gun goes off, all what could be seen is the explosion in the barril, the bullet showing it’s tip and then….darkness.
All the running in vain.
With a gasp the doe awakens, heart is racing, she pants heavily as she looks around…. Nobody. Not even a squirrel rushing into the tree. All is quiet, no man in a blue polo, no shotgun, only residuals of an awful dream. She trembles heavily, someone shot her… It was all just a dream, that blue polo with his boots, like burn-marked into her memories. Lizbeth’s skin itches, she’d love to scratch herself all over, as if a whole army of ants had invaded her. She has to move, awkward premonitory dreams and feelings make her move again. For the moment freedom doesn’t feel good, this has to change. That disgusting outfit has to change, but it means travelling further her chest bare. It’s tricky, as a deer, taking of her clothes would be no issue, here, that torso, meant to be an attraction for others, inflicts an embarrassment. Nature has no solution to offer, but nakedness. So goes off that horrible dress, simili leather exposing her curves, deep plunging V neck, not letting a doubt about here feminine human breasts, very short hotpants revealing the bases of her rear. Yes, she looks sexy, she was made to look alike. Off goes it all, never again will she wear so figure emphasizing dirty things. Quickly those repugnant peices of cloth are buried into oblivious forest soil.
Lizbeth is free.
That doe is also in her element, nature, nature in it’s brute state, no human, no technology, no traces of civilization, wilderness. But is she still made for it, isn’t she now something inbetween? She were amongst humans for so long, do those deer instincts really exist? Does she know what is good or bad for her. Maybe her ‘cousins’ can show her.
Lizbeth, deer-like human is going to seek for other deer, feral deer, those that have survived for thousands of years, until man came and…. Of course does she quickly find traces of her kin, but she realizes that she has to train her senses again, way less alert than they used to be. She can smell lot of things, but which are real, which are the ones to follow, where are the deer.
Still able to find some wild deer, a smile comes on her lips, her first smile since long. Bucks and does peacefully profiting of the sun, fawns and youngsters playing or comparing their force. Lizbeth wants to accompany those, wants to learn again to reveal her deeper instincts, so she nears them, delicately. The group sees her, but they don’t see a deer, only a human with a deer’s head. They are puzzled, and puzzle means doubt, doubt means fear and the whole group darts off within a few seconds.
- Lizbeth, you are no deer anymore, you don’t even speak cervine language anymore, you can’t hear them -
Lizbeth feels disappointed, so happy to see fellow deer, so sad to see them flee her, her that doe, not that human. Nature can be brutal, in nature there’s only yes or no, maybe doesn’t exist. But Lizbeth is a ‘maybe’ herself, a mixture, a concoction, an amalgam of two different worlds. She’s an abject compound made by human. Tears come into those soft deer eyes, pity for herself. She hides her torso, her chest to nature, no, she’s no more deer.
Lizbeth’s body crumbles onto the floor, onto that soil that saw her birth as a cervine, she puts her head into her hands. Hands.. something so human, something specifical human, no animal has such agile fingers. For Lizbeth they have become symbol of the decline, for a moment, a short moment she regrets to have escaped that warm place.
NO, it’s not a warm place, it’s cold, horrible and those hands don’t change a thing on that… - Lizbeth get yourself together, you know how to survive, one day you’ll be part again of that seclude group called ‘Deer’. -
The doe gathers her thoughts, these moments of doubt should not exist, no, they don’t exist. More determined than ever, Lizbeth finds her way back to searching her identity.
This way starts with a clean fur, until now she didn’t even get aware of the numerous bruises, scratches and wounds she wears around. She remembers words of her Mom, that Mom that showed her the way, that Mom that teached her secrets of nature. Calendula and chamomile, flowers to be found in the forest, flowers that ease ache and soothe excited nerves. A small torrent with chrystal clear water, all is there, just open your eyes little doe. Lizbeth picks flowers, some eating them some bringing to the water. Without hesitation she almost jumps into that fresh water. This one acts like a natural body scrub, the cold momentarily taking away the pain, as well as the dirt. Still it feels as if knives enter the wounds, cold needles, numbered in thousands and thousands, pricking that tormented frame. But it feels so good.
On the border, a bear, at distance watching the doe in the water, confused about this frame she has. The bear gives off a growl, Lizbeth is startled, frightens, panics. Again her hooves slitter and slide of the wet rocks, she tries vainly to get away, falling back into the water, knocking elbows and other joints against those hard rocks. The doe realizes that she misses alertness, she misses listening to signs of that nature. But a bear is not a natural enemy of a grown deer, he won’t attack if Lizbeth is not a danger. The bear returns to his fishing. The doe falls with relief back into the water. This seems an innocent incident, but for Lizbeth it’s a crucial event. Her deer senses are like in stand-by, as there was no need to expect the unexpected. In wildlife it’s essential, life-saving, not as in a prison cell. The doe realises that she has a lot to learn again about nature.
She gets slowly out of the water, keeping low not to be a threat to the bear. She takes her flowers, the bear sniffs once more but has no intent to attack, no aggression is shown. At safe distance Lizbeth sits down, the sun warming her, her fur will quickly dry. She takes the flowers and rubs them between her hands, making some kind of paste and carefully smears this over her wounds.
There she is, in the middle of nowhere, that anthropomorphic doe, not fitting in this world yet, but trying her best to remember anything teached to her. Nature is cruel, merciless if you do not understand the codes. The cooing owl, a growling bear, fleeing birds or calling animals, the language of nature is vast, incomprehensible for the uninitiated.
Lizbeth torments her head, trying vainly to remember Angel, remembering her words. But all what comes up is her soothing soft voice. The doe sits all alone on that stone, sadness in her eyes, she has to think of those few that were kind to her back at that zoo. She hopes them to be ok, to be fine even after the trouble she might have caused.
The thoughts quickly disappear, hunger makes its entrance, search for food. But nobody will bring that bowl with ‘selected’ grains, a diet specifically chosen for deer, for goats or other ruminant species. No given hour for eating, no prepared things, Lizbeth has to find her own nutrition. To her comfort, all she needs is all around her, plants, gras, bark, fruits, roots… nature. Deer have quite a large variety of aliments changing through the year and seasons, and all they need is to be found in this nature. Lizbeth starts to taste, some things and appearances of different plants or leaves tell the doe either to eat or maybe not. Some things taste bad, some are dangerous. But obvious things like tasty known fruits or nuts are very welcomed. Young leaves on trees like oak, maple or yellow birch, a delicatess, even a need. Acorns are something prefered, but if she could find an apple, then it is feast. At this her hands become an advantage, she can pick berries, get nuts or other apple from a tree, but first tear off grass to eat selectively, a bit strange for this herbivore.
Lizbeth is aware that she’s not a complete herbivore, here and there a fish, an egg or even, in rare cases, small animals are on the list of this feeder. Even if for the moment, that doe doesn’t think of chasing a mouse. She has enough choice in the vegetarian range of nature. So, while straining through that wilderness, she picks leaves, scratches of some bark, or is lucky to find something like a mushroom, one that’s already been bitten by another animal. Slowly some remeberances of good or bad food find their way back into Lizbeth’s mind, memories of bitterness or toxicity. No she hasn’t forgotten all, but those information are pushed away since very long and hidden sometimes like that famous needle in a haystack.
Lizbeth halts, a very weird thought crosses her mind, routine. It’s time for the weekly inspection, or that one regular costumer for his quarter of an hour of pleasure. It’s time to suckle that maleness and have her amount of human seed…. The doe gets nervous, if that inspection turns out badly, the whip waits to be used… She shivers, trembles, it’s back, the whip. Her marks, left by that thin peice of leather in her skin, her scars start to itch, no, not again. She closes her eyes and trembles, almost falling to her knees, but there is no belt or scourge, there’s no more punishment. Lizbeth is free and far away from that, but the mechanisms stay, momentarily. These memories will chase her for ever, will make her feel uncomfortable for the rest of her life. Lizbeth will have to deal with them.
At that moment, nature in its greates ‘cruelty’ shows its muscles, shows that a doe is a prey and a cougar a predator. A very large feline has taken trace of that doe, all alone, a perfect dinner. A cougar is a silent hunter and closes in on its prey stealthily, but is betrayed by its reputation. Other animals sound alarm when the cougar is on the hunt. A hunt for a doe, it doesn’t care what allure that doe has, no matter if it walks on its hinds or looks like a human, it’s a prey, a tasty prey. The cougar closes in on Lizbeth, determined to make of her a snack.
A warbler flatters up…
Two peircing green eyes are fixed on that flicking deer tail, all white underneath.
A squirrel rushes down a tree and up the next one making a stuttered barking sound
Two cervine ears are alerted by these happenings, Lizbeth’s eyes getting the moving bird and squirrel, there is something wrong. Nature gives alerts, and before that big cat could jump on her, the doe darts off, away from point of impact with a cougar. The cat misses, the deer runs. In Lizbeth’s mind Maxwell shows, armed with antlers, head low charging a predator. No need to run, deer.
Lizbeth halts, her heart pounding like forge hammer, her frame trembling but facing that approaching feline a large stick in her hands. The prey faces the predator, ready to charge. The moment the cougar hesitates, not used to this situation, Lizbeth brandishes her stake and wants to hit that cat. This one turns around, claws buried into the dirt to run away. Lizbeth freezes in her position, breathing jerkily, trembling all over. The wood falls on the ground but the hands stay up, terror shown in that deer’s face, eyes wide, panting quickly through an open mouth. The doe’s heart races again, all muscles tense and crisped.
Welcome to wilderness little doe…
Night will come soon again and Lizbeth realizes how exposed she in reality is. Her inherited instincts aren’t yet all awake, she might not have succumbed to sedantery obesity, but her deepest instincts are far too soothed and dormant through years of inactivity. But she can’t just experience moments of terror like with this cougar to waken them, the next can be fatal if not apprehended or foreseen correctly. Lizbeth needs temporarly a human built shelter, or something similar. She has no protecting herd, she has weak alertness, and no artificial safety, Lizbeth is all alone facing bitter reality of free nature.
Appears in front of her the face of that blue polo, that torn human chasing her “there’s a warm comfortable place waiting for you, come back… come back…, the face grows bigger closes in, all around is fading and anger shows. The features shift into those of a cougar’s and back, eyes gleaming fearfully, devil’s visage starts to scream, that mouth invading and wanting to gulp the doe, “ Come back stupid goat, I will squish the lights out of you with my hands, I will MURDER you with bare fingers…”
A loud “NO”, long, peircing, full of rage is heard through the glades, animals flee, birds take the flight, the ‘no’ echoes through valleys as if it is thundered through the storm, louder as a stag’s bellow. It’s not a rutting call, but more a yell for freedom.
“I will not come back!”
Lizbeth’s eyes fix on nothing, staring into the idling forest, but show all determination needed to survive this nature and its ambushes. The intimidating face disappears, calm finds its way back, even in Lizbeth’s heart. No, never will she return, never will she live there again. But for now she lives in wild nature, always used to have a protecting roof, now she’e delivered to wind and weather. Lizbeth needs a place for the night.
The doe starts to roam around, always an eye on the possible return of the cougar, trying to find a decent place where even the rain wouldn’t bother her too much. There is no civilization around, no humans living here, only wild animals. Lizbeth picks up different scents, some familiar, some unknown. Her sense of smell enhances, it never left her. The doe only gets aware of it, using it purposely, yet the odors mix up, with a bit practice, that doe will be able to distinguish clearly different smells, if it were of deer, animals or plants. Deer orientate on scents, leaving small traces for those following. Still those traces are subtle and weak, cervine's sense of smell is very accurate, near to that of a dog. This doe right now uses that sense to find her way to a more secure place, maybe even hideouts of wild deer. In a natural glade, a small depression in the landscape, Lizbeth finds a place, dense canopies, thick bushes, seemingly perfect for a rest. Lizbeth has been moving a lot, finding nurishment, escaping wild predators, moving further away from the place that locked her up. All smells strongly like her, that typical deer-like pinewood scent. She found a cervine refuge.
Lizbeth installs herself comfortably in ‘a corner’ a small place slight offside, hoping she didn’t take someone’s place as even tufts of deer fur can be found, defintely a secure place. Still not having the alertness of a wild animal, Lizbeth falls asleep, rolled into a position that prevents getting cold. There’s no fireplace, no modern heating system and it’s Lizbeth’s second night all alone outside in her newly gained freedom. Asleep and far away from reality.
Lizbeth shivers slightly, something touching her, first reaction panic, but that touch is somehow familiar, somehow different and yet well known. That creature wasn’t a threat, Lizbeth would again be gone forever if it were so. No that creature is well minded, as even there was no ‘alert’, no cooing owl, no bird twirling away in a rush. Slowly Lizbeth opens her eyes, she was no more alone, the herd returned to its refuge, Lizbeth is surrounded by other deer. Her heart rushes of joy, but she has to be careful, not appearing as threat. Another doe laid next to her, sharing her warmth, sharing company and secureness. Oh how much would she love to caress that fur, touch that wild animal, feel reality. The body slightly shifts, that doe ruminates and Lizbeth freezes and stops breathing, her eyes wide. She was lying next to a pregnant doe, ruminating for two.
- Don’t disturb this moment Lizbeth, don’t move -
The doe looks at Lizbeth, not completely reassured about this strange deer next to her, still she stays, but her stag is intensely watching. An imposing deer, 18-point antlers, king of the forest, and yet not chasing the ‘foreign” doe. The scene seems to happen in near silence, soft bleats and a short snort here and there, elder fawns playing or again testing their strength. That one buck freezed in the middle, staring at that different doe. Yes she smells almost same, she smells like deer, she looks like deer, but different.
Lizbeth dares move, very slowly, she reaches out her hand and touches very tenderly the doe next to her, then it hits her like a lightning strike. She felt this before, as if inner voices talk to her, but this time it was intense, almost initiating a connection between herself and that doe. For a brief instant she hears the other deer talk, shreds of words, phrases, questions. “Do you know her? Sickness…weird form…” and all goes silent again, except for those little bleats and snorts. Lizbeth is amazed, she experienced a moment that she had when being fawn, cervine speech.
Animals communicate between each other of its own kin, a secret language, only heard by the different animals. So do deer, all cervine. Lizbeth has that language inside her, but pushed back into deep oblivion of old memories. Lizbeth uses human communication and instinctive movements. Her transformation blocked those memories, even if sometimes special events like these make these inner skills emerge again.
The pregnant doe is a bit surprised by the touch and wants to leave, Lizbeth whispers a very soft “No…”. Her word is like an explosion, spreading through the herd as if it were a tsunami in a small lake, initiating fear in the whole herd.
Human!
The stag rises his head, his antlers intimidating, a strong snort indicating his will to defend his herd. He approaches Lizbeth, she doesn’t move, her ears ‘drop’, opening of the shell downwards and held low. She stretches her arms forward on the ground, and holds her head as low as possible. Her tail flicks up and down. The stag puts his front hoof over Lizbeth’s head, she still doesn’t move, he dominates her. The buck retreats, satisfied by Lizbeth’s reaction, the whole herd witnessed and seems accepting that weird doe. The pregnant one gives a low bleat and stays next to Lizbeth. Lizbeth is accepted as deer, but not as human, she can feel the indecisive demeanor of the deer around, there’s doubt.
Lizbeth knows she can’t stay with the group, even if she would love to. She represents a danger for them. Not a physical direct danger, but that lingereing threat of humans tracking her down. The blue polos are behind her, one for sure. The one that beated her constantly, the one that was cruel and merciless. The one she infliged shame to as she fled. Still she can see this man, haunting her, whip in his hand and furiousness in his face, ruthless as that leather swishes through the air to hit her back over and over again, anihilating that seedling of rebellion over and over again. But that seedling has become a tree over night, strong, standing and Lizbeth will not give in to him.
Lizbeth doesn’t want that man to find this herd, especially as there are mothers and fawns. For now she profits of the secureness to rest, rest and watch those fawns with tears in her eyes. Never will she have that view with a fawn of her own, that stallion took her motherhood. Lizbeth pushes away that memory with all her forces, she pants, her body crisp. The doe next to her feels same and starts to lick Lizbeth. If only she could hear the recomforting words that deer has for her congener. Lizbeth caresses that doe tenderly, it’s a new feeling for that Mom, but she accepts, knowing that it’s well meant. Lizbeth just found a friend, a sincere friend that will not abuse her.
A few hours more, Lizbeth stays with this herd, but for safety reasons, they have to move again. Lizbeth is aware of this, but she doesn’t follow them. Fawns and does have a look at her before they leave, as if to say goodbye, not a leave-taking, more a ‘see you again’. Lizbeth can even caress the cheek of that enormous stag, full of pride and wisdom. It is even possible that this stag once knew Maxwell, Lizbeth’s father.
Lizbeth leaves the glade with a broken heart, for once she was accepted, for a short moment she was home. But she has to be aware that she doesn’t fit in anymore, she’s no longer a deer, no longer such a doe hushing through wild forest, following in strict hierarchy a stag, never will she be a Mom.
“Did you see that Angel, did you see your little fawn, your stardust is still a deer.”
While she says these words, tears run down her face, both of joy and sadness. Joy of having friends, sadness of loosing them again, same as her own herd decimated by pouchers. A tender breeze, warm and welcoming makes the leaves rustle around Lizbeth hooves, delightfully carressing the doe’s fur as it passes and twirls once around her, Angel?
Lizbeth continues her pelerinage to the south, somewhere there has to be a place for her, maybe close to humans, maybe even amongst them. But only the thought of getting close to them again makes her healed wounds itch and burn again. Those numerous impacts of that terrifying whip, more or less profoundly marked forever on her skin, hidden under a dense fur. Bruises are healed, but she could enumerate them one by one, pain infliged by humans, scars…. Lizbeth is very confused, all sort of thoughts go through her mind, memories of pain, unconsciously she starts to run again, run away, but she just can’t leave memories behind. Her face is torn by sadness and felt ache, her eyes watering intensely as those hooves move faster and faster. She stumbles into a bush, falling right inbetween those twigs and branches, a loud bleat of despair can be heard.
Also by some canine ears….
Canine ears that belong to a wild sort of dogs, a wolf pack has sighted the fleeing doe.
Wolves, murderous beasts of the wild, always taken for bad and blood-thirsty. Hunters that track down preys in groups, peircing eyes seeing the slightest movement and the best sense of smell existing. Those are wolves, living in organized packs, with a leader, the alpha, the most respected.
And now they go for Lizbeth. Yaps, growls and huffs can be heard as the pack encircles the ignorant doe. She runs fast, unaware of what’s going on, until she senses a presence, deer instincts awaken. Her fine ears can hear the wolves, left and right of her, rushing through the underwood. Lizbeth has to run faster, all her legs can give. But one of them is faster and right behind her, she can almost feel his breathing in her neck. The Alpha, the fastest one, faster than the poor doe. The wolf gets closer, dangerously closer. With a slight turn of her head, Lizbeth can see that wolf, snarling those awfully pointy teeth in an almost smiling mouth. The wolf takes his last step, his hinds straighten to make him jump.
This is Lizbeth’s end….
But just before the wolf reaches the doe, 18 tines of antlers smash the wolf out of the way, the stag saves Lizbeth life, the Alpha is down. The deer is unreachable for the wolves, many tries to hunt him down resulted in frustration for the wolves. They don’t even follow him anymore, if he attacks the alpha, he’s stronger. The deer saves Lizbeth in memory of Maxwell Redwood, he was indeed his father’s rival to become prince of the woods. The pouchers allowed his father to become first stag, it’s normal that the son rescues Maxwell’s daughter. The pregnant doe had recognized Lizbeth as 'little stardust'.
Again this situation reveals more to Lizbeth, she’s not for this kind of life, she wanted so much to be part again of wilderness, but now she has to flee it. Another escape…
Lizbeth has to approache humans again, they might be her rescue, even if she doesn’t want this to be true. The next stop - civilization, in the hope to find a possible gentle human.
It’s a small glade, surrounded by trees, with an imposing old oak tree, in fact an idyllic place, hidden somwhere in that vast nature, where only native animals could be found. Still underneath that big tree lies a figure, half animal, half human. Lizbeth peacefully sleeps embraced by the vigourating interlaced roots of that one old oak, a millenium tree. For sure has this tree a lot of stories to tell, one of it is an anthropomorphic doe that found rest at his feet.
Yet a figure approaches, a human, a known human. Military boots and a blue polo, THE blue polo has found Lizbeth. This man is very tenacious, as said a tracer, a hunter that finds any trace of any animal, including Lizbeth’s. He wears a gun, but not one with tranquilizer darts, a real gun. This man is a hunter, but here he has some very lethal shotgun and he silently closes in on that innocent doe. He whispers to himself “Found you stupid goat, now you’re done, you made me look stupid, I’ll peirce a hole through your damn fur.”
Only few feet away he lifts his gun to the sleeping deer, finger on the trigger, that gun is loaded. Few seconds that man stands, immobile rifle pointed at Lizbeth’s head. He could just feel that slow heartbeat of a deer, see her torso move with her silent breath, not the slightest sign of remorse in those cold eyes.
“DOE”
A shout, Lizbeth wakens abruptly and before she could see, the gun goes off, all what could be seen is the explosion in the barril, the bullet showing it’s tip and then….darkness.
All the running in vain.
With a gasp the doe awakens, heart is racing, she pants heavily as she looks around…. Nobody. Not even a squirrel rushing into the tree. All is quiet, no man in a blue polo, no shotgun, only residuals of an awful dream. She trembles heavily, someone shot her… It was all just a dream, that blue polo with his boots, like burn-marked into her memories. Lizbeth’s skin itches, she’d love to scratch herself all over, as if a whole army of ants had invaded her. She has to move, awkward premonitory dreams and feelings make her move again. For the moment freedom doesn’t feel good, this has to change. That disgusting outfit has to change, but it means travelling further her chest bare. It’s tricky, as a deer, taking of her clothes would be no issue, here, that torso, meant to be an attraction for others, inflicts an embarrassment. Nature has no solution to offer, but nakedness. So goes off that horrible dress, simili leather exposing her curves, deep plunging V neck, not letting a doubt about here feminine human breasts, very short hotpants revealing the bases of her rear. Yes, she looks sexy, she was made to look alike. Off goes it all, never again will she wear so figure emphasizing dirty things. Quickly those repugnant peices of cloth are buried into oblivious forest soil.
Lizbeth is free.
That doe is also in her element, nature, nature in it’s brute state, no human, no technology, no traces of civilization, wilderness. But is she still made for it, isn’t she now something inbetween? She were amongst humans for so long, do those deer instincts really exist? Does she know what is good or bad for her. Maybe her ‘cousins’ can show her.
Lizbeth, deer-like human is going to seek for other deer, feral deer, those that have survived for thousands of years, until man came and…. Of course does she quickly find traces of her kin, but she realizes that she has to train her senses again, way less alert than they used to be. She can smell lot of things, but which are real, which are the ones to follow, where are the deer.
Still able to find some wild deer, a smile comes on her lips, her first smile since long. Bucks and does peacefully profiting of the sun, fawns and youngsters playing or comparing their force. Lizbeth wants to accompany those, wants to learn again to reveal her deeper instincts, so she nears them, delicately. The group sees her, but they don’t see a deer, only a human with a deer’s head. They are puzzled, and puzzle means doubt, doubt means fear and the whole group darts off within a few seconds.
- Lizbeth, you are no deer anymore, you don’t even speak cervine language anymore, you can’t hear them -
Lizbeth feels disappointed, so happy to see fellow deer, so sad to see them flee her, her that doe, not that human. Nature can be brutal, in nature there’s only yes or no, maybe doesn’t exist. But Lizbeth is a ‘maybe’ herself, a mixture, a concoction, an amalgam of two different worlds. She’s an abject compound made by human. Tears come into those soft deer eyes, pity for herself. She hides her torso, her chest to nature, no, she’s no more deer.
Lizbeth’s body crumbles onto the floor, onto that soil that saw her birth as a cervine, she puts her head into her hands. Hands.. something so human, something specifical human, no animal has such agile fingers. For Lizbeth they have become symbol of the decline, for a moment, a short moment she regrets to have escaped that warm place.
NO, it’s not a warm place, it’s cold, horrible and those hands don’t change a thing on that… - Lizbeth get yourself together, you know how to survive, one day you’ll be part again of that seclude group called ‘Deer’. -
The doe gathers her thoughts, these moments of doubt should not exist, no, they don’t exist. More determined than ever, Lizbeth finds her way back to searching her identity.
This way starts with a clean fur, until now she didn’t even get aware of the numerous bruises, scratches and wounds she wears around. She remembers words of her Mom, that Mom that showed her the way, that Mom that teached her secrets of nature. Calendula and chamomile, flowers to be found in the forest, flowers that ease ache and soothe excited nerves. A small torrent with chrystal clear water, all is there, just open your eyes little doe. Lizbeth picks flowers, some eating them some bringing to the water. Without hesitation she almost jumps into that fresh water. This one acts like a natural body scrub, the cold momentarily taking away the pain, as well as the dirt. Still it feels as if knives enter the wounds, cold needles, numbered in thousands and thousands, pricking that tormented frame. But it feels so good.
On the border, a bear, at distance watching the doe in the water, confused about this frame she has. The bear gives off a growl, Lizbeth is startled, frightens, panics. Again her hooves slitter and slide of the wet rocks, she tries vainly to get away, falling back into the water, knocking elbows and other joints against those hard rocks. The doe realizes that she misses alertness, she misses listening to signs of that nature. But a bear is not a natural enemy of a grown deer, he won’t attack if Lizbeth is not a danger. The bear returns to his fishing. The doe falls with relief back into the water. This seems an innocent incident, but for Lizbeth it’s a crucial event. Her deer senses are like in stand-by, as there was no need to expect the unexpected. In wildlife it’s essential, life-saving, not as in a prison cell. The doe realises that she has a lot to learn again about nature.
She gets slowly out of the water, keeping low not to be a threat to the bear. She takes her flowers, the bear sniffs once more but has no intent to attack, no aggression is shown. At safe distance Lizbeth sits down, the sun warming her, her fur will quickly dry. She takes the flowers and rubs them between her hands, making some kind of paste and carefully smears this over her wounds.
There she is, in the middle of nowhere, that anthropomorphic doe, not fitting in this world yet, but trying her best to remember anything teached to her. Nature is cruel, merciless if you do not understand the codes. The cooing owl, a growling bear, fleeing birds or calling animals, the language of nature is vast, incomprehensible for the uninitiated.
Lizbeth torments her head, trying vainly to remember Angel, remembering her words. But all what comes up is her soothing soft voice. The doe sits all alone on that stone, sadness in her eyes, she has to think of those few that were kind to her back at that zoo. She hopes them to be ok, to be fine even after the trouble she might have caused.
The thoughts quickly disappear, hunger makes its entrance, search for food. But nobody will bring that bowl with ‘selected’ grains, a diet specifically chosen for deer, for goats or other ruminant species. No given hour for eating, no prepared things, Lizbeth has to find her own nutrition. To her comfort, all she needs is all around her, plants, gras, bark, fruits, roots… nature. Deer have quite a large variety of aliments changing through the year and seasons, and all they need is to be found in this nature. Lizbeth starts to taste, some things and appearances of different plants or leaves tell the doe either to eat or maybe not. Some things taste bad, some are dangerous. But obvious things like tasty known fruits or nuts are very welcomed. Young leaves on trees like oak, maple or yellow birch, a delicatess, even a need. Acorns are something prefered, but if she could find an apple, then it is feast. At this her hands become an advantage, she can pick berries, get nuts or other apple from a tree, but first tear off grass to eat selectively, a bit strange for this herbivore.
Lizbeth is aware that she’s not a complete herbivore, here and there a fish, an egg or even, in rare cases, small animals are on the list of this feeder. Even if for the moment, that doe doesn’t think of chasing a mouse. She has enough choice in the vegetarian range of nature. So, while straining through that wilderness, she picks leaves, scratches of some bark, or is lucky to find something like a mushroom, one that’s already been bitten by another animal. Slowly some remeberances of good or bad food find their way back into Lizbeth’s mind, memories of bitterness or toxicity. No she hasn’t forgotten all, but those information are pushed away since very long and hidden sometimes like that famous needle in a haystack.
Lizbeth halts, a very weird thought crosses her mind, routine. It’s time for the weekly inspection, or that one regular costumer for his quarter of an hour of pleasure. It’s time to suckle that maleness and have her amount of human seed…. The doe gets nervous, if that inspection turns out badly, the whip waits to be used… She shivers, trembles, it’s back, the whip. Her marks, left by that thin peice of leather in her skin, her scars start to itch, no, not again. She closes her eyes and trembles, almost falling to her knees, but there is no belt or scourge, there’s no more punishment. Lizbeth is free and far away from that, but the mechanisms stay, momentarily. These memories will chase her for ever, will make her feel uncomfortable for the rest of her life. Lizbeth will have to deal with them.
At that moment, nature in its greates ‘cruelty’ shows its muscles, shows that a doe is a prey and a cougar a predator. A very large feline has taken trace of that doe, all alone, a perfect dinner. A cougar is a silent hunter and closes in on its prey stealthily, but is betrayed by its reputation. Other animals sound alarm when the cougar is on the hunt. A hunt for a doe, it doesn’t care what allure that doe has, no matter if it walks on its hinds or looks like a human, it’s a prey, a tasty prey. The cougar closes in on Lizbeth, determined to make of her a snack.
A warbler flatters up…
Two peircing green eyes are fixed on that flicking deer tail, all white underneath.
A squirrel rushes down a tree and up the next one making a stuttered barking sound
Two cervine ears are alerted by these happenings, Lizbeth’s eyes getting the moving bird and squirrel, there is something wrong. Nature gives alerts, and before that big cat could jump on her, the doe darts off, away from point of impact with a cougar. The cat misses, the deer runs. In Lizbeth’s mind Maxwell shows, armed with antlers, head low charging a predator. No need to run, deer.
Lizbeth halts, her heart pounding like forge hammer, her frame trembling but facing that approaching feline a large stick in her hands. The prey faces the predator, ready to charge. The moment the cougar hesitates, not used to this situation, Lizbeth brandishes her stake and wants to hit that cat. This one turns around, claws buried into the dirt to run away. Lizbeth freezes in her position, breathing jerkily, trembling all over. The wood falls on the ground but the hands stay up, terror shown in that deer’s face, eyes wide, panting quickly through an open mouth. The doe’s heart races again, all muscles tense and crisped.
Welcome to wilderness little doe…
Night will come soon again and Lizbeth realizes how exposed she in reality is. Her inherited instincts aren’t yet all awake, she might not have succumbed to sedantery obesity, but her deepest instincts are far too soothed and dormant through years of inactivity. But she can’t just experience moments of terror like with this cougar to waken them, the next can be fatal if not apprehended or foreseen correctly. Lizbeth needs temporarly a human built shelter, or something similar. She has no protecting herd, she has weak alertness, and no artificial safety, Lizbeth is all alone facing bitter reality of free nature.
Appears in front of her the face of that blue polo, that torn human chasing her “there’s a warm comfortable place waiting for you, come back… come back…, the face grows bigger closes in, all around is fading and anger shows. The features shift into those of a cougar’s and back, eyes gleaming fearfully, devil’s visage starts to scream, that mouth invading and wanting to gulp the doe, “ Come back stupid goat, I will squish the lights out of you with my hands, I will MURDER you with bare fingers…”
A loud “NO”, long, peircing, full of rage is heard through the glades, animals flee, birds take the flight, the ‘no’ echoes through valleys as if it is thundered through the storm, louder as a stag’s bellow. It’s not a rutting call, but more a yell for freedom.
“I will not come back!”
Lizbeth’s eyes fix on nothing, staring into the idling forest, but show all determination needed to survive this nature and its ambushes. The intimidating face disappears, calm finds its way back, even in Lizbeth’s heart. No, never will she return, never will she live there again. But for now she lives in wild nature, always used to have a protecting roof, now she’e delivered to wind and weather. Lizbeth needs a place for the night.
The doe starts to roam around, always an eye on the possible return of the cougar, trying to find a decent place where even the rain wouldn’t bother her too much. There is no civilization around, no humans living here, only wild animals. Lizbeth picks up different scents, some familiar, some unknown. Her sense of smell enhances, it never left her. The doe only gets aware of it, using it purposely, yet the odors mix up, with a bit practice, that doe will be able to distinguish clearly different smells, if it were of deer, animals or plants. Deer orientate on scents, leaving small traces for those following. Still those traces are subtle and weak, cervine's sense of smell is very accurate, near to that of a dog. This doe right now uses that sense to find her way to a more secure place, maybe even hideouts of wild deer. In a natural glade, a small depression in the landscape, Lizbeth finds a place, dense canopies, thick bushes, seemingly perfect for a rest. Lizbeth has been moving a lot, finding nurishment, escaping wild predators, moving further away from the place that locked her up. All smells strongly like her, that typical deer-like pinewood scent. She found a cervine refuge.
Lizbeth installs herself comfortably in ‘a corner’ a small place slight offside, hoping she didn’t take someone’s place as even tufts of deer fur can be found, defintely a secure place. Still not having the alertness of a wild animal, Lizbeth falls asleep, rolled into a position that prevents getting cold. There’s no fireplace, no modern heating system and it’s Lizbeth’s second night all alone outside in her newly gained freedom. Asleep and far away from reality.
Lizbeth shivers slightly, something touching her, first reaction panic, but that touch is somehow familiar, somehow different and yet well known. That creature wasn’t a threat, Lizbeth would again be gone forever if it were so. No that creature is well minded, as even there was no ‘alert’, no cooing owl, no bird twirling away in a rush. Slowly Lizbeth opens her eyes, she was no more alone, the herd returned to its refuge, Lizbeth is surrounded by other deer. Her heart rushes of joy, but she has to be careful, not appearing as threat. Another doe laid next to her, sharing her warmth, sharing company and secureness. Oh how much would she love to caress that fur, touch that wild animal, feel reality. The body slightly shifts, that doe ruminates and Lizbeth freezes and stops breathing, her eyes wide. She was lying next to a pregnant doe, ruminating for two.
- Don’t disturb this moment Lizbeth, don’t move -
The doe looks at Lizbeth, not completely reassured about this strange deer next to her, still she stays, but her stag is intensely watching. An imposing deer, 18-point antlers, king of the forest, and yet not chasing the ‘foreign” doe. The scene seems to happen in near silence, soft bleats and a short snort here and there, elder fawns playing or again testing their strength. That one buck freezed in the middle, staring at that different doe. Yes she smells almost same, she smells like deer, she looks like deer, but different.
Lizbeth dares move, very slowly, she reaches out her hand and touches very tenderly the doe next to her, then it hits her like a lightning strike. She felt this before, as if inner voices talk to her, but this time it was intense, almost initiating a connection between herself and that doe. For a brief instant she hears the other deer talk, shreds of words, phrases, questions. “Do you know her? Sickness…weird form…” and all goes silent again, except for those little bleats and snorts. Lizbeth is amazed, she experienced a moment that she had when being fawn, cervine speech.
Animals communicate between each other of its own kin, a secret language, only heard by the different animals. So do deer, all cervine. Lizbeth has that language inside her, but pushed back into deep oblivion of old memories. Lizbeth uses human communication and instinctive movements. Her transformation blocked those memories, even if sometimes special events like these make these inner skills emerge again.
The pregnant doe is a bit surprised by the touch and wants to leave, Lizbeth whispers a very soft “No…”. Her word is like an explosion, spreading through the herd as if it were a tsunami in a small lake, initiating fear in the whole herd.
Human!
The stag rises his head, his antlers intimidating, a strong snort indicating his will to defend his herd. He approaches Lizbeth, she doesn’t move, her ears ‘drop’, opening of the shell downwards and held low. She stretches her arms forward on the ground, and holds her head as low as possible. Her tail flicks up and down. The stag puts his front hoof over Lizbeth’s head, she still doesn’t move, he dominates her. The buck retreats, satisfied by Lizbeth’s reaction, the whole herd witnessed and seems accepting that weird doe. The pregnant one gives a low bleat and stays next to Lizbeth. Lizbeth is accepted as deer, but not as human, she can feel the indecisive demeanor of the deer around, there’s doubt.
Lizbeth knows she can’t stay with the group, even if she would love to. She represents a danger for them. Not a physical direct danger, but that lingereing threat of humans tracking her down. The blue polos are behind her, one for sure. The one that beated her constantly, the one that was cruel and merciless. The one she infliged shame to as she fled. Still she can see this man, haunting her, whip in his hand and furiousness in his face, ruthless as that leather swishes through the air to hit her back over and over again, anihilating that seedling of rebellion over and over again. But that seedling has become a tree over night, strong, standing and Lizbeth will not give in to him.
Lizbeth doesn’t want that man to find this herd, especially as there are mothers and fawns. For now she profits of the secureness to rest, rest and watch those fawns with tears in her eyes. Never will she have that view with a fawn of her own, that stallion took her motherhood. Lizbeth pushes away that memory with all her forces, she pants, her body crisp. The doe next to her feels same and starts to lick Lizbeth. If only she could hear the recomforting words that deer has for her congener. Lizbeth caresses that doe tenderly, it’s a new feeling for that Mom, but she accepts, knowing that it’s well meant. Lizbeth just found a friend, a sincere friend that will not abuse her.
A few hours more, Lizbeth stays with this herd, but for safety reasons, they have to move again. Lizbeth is aware of this, but she doesn’t follow them. Fawns and does have a look at her before they leave, as if to say goodbye, not a leave-taking, more a ‘see you again’. Lizbeth can even caress the cheek of that enormous stag, full of pride and wisdom. It is even possible that this stag once knew Maxwell, Lizbeth’s father.
Lizbeth leaves the glade with a broken heart, for once she was accepted, for a short moment she was home. But she has to be aware that she doesn’t fit in anymore, she’s no longer a deer, no longer such a doe hushing through wild forest, following in strict hierarchy a stag, never will she be a Mom.
“Did you see that Angel, did you see your little fawn, your stardust is still a deer.”
While she says these words, tears run down her face, both of joy and sadness. Joy of having friends, sadness of loosing them again, same as her own herd decimated by pouchers. A tender breeze, warm and welcoming makes the leaves rustle around Lizbeth hooves, delightfully carressing the doe’s fur as it passes and twirls once around her, Angel?
Lizbeth continues her pelerinage to the south, somewhere there has to be a place for her, maybe close to humans, maybe even amongst them. But only the thought of getting close to them again makes her healed wounds itch and burn again. Those numerous impacts of that terrifying whip, more or less profoundly marked forever on her skin, hidden under a dense fur. Bruises are healed, but she could enumerate them one by one, pain infliged by humans, scars…. Lizbeth is very confused, all sort of thoughts go through her mind, memories of pain, unconsciously she starts to run again, run away, but she just can’t leave memories behind. Her face is torn by sadness and felt ache, her eyes watering intensely as those hooves move faster and faster. She stumbles into a bush, falling right inbetween those twigs and branches, a loud bleat of despair can be heard.
Also by some canine ears….
Canine ears that belong to a wild sort of dogs, a wolf pack has sighted the fleeing doe.
Wolves, murderous beasts of the wild, always taken for bad and blood-thirsty. Hunters that track down preys in groups, peircing eyes seeing the slightest movement and the best sense of smell existing. Those are wolves, living in organized packs, with a leader, the alpha, the most respected.
And now they go for Lizbeth. Yaps, growls and huffs can be heard as the pack encircles the ignorant doe. She runs fast, unaware of what’s going on, until she senses a presence, deer instincts awaken. Her fine ears can hear the wolves, left and right of her, rushing through the underwood. Lizbeth has to run faster, all her legs can give. But one of them is faster and right behind her, she can almost feel his breathing in her neck. The Alpha, the fastest one, faster than the poor doe. The wolf gets closer, dangerously closer. With a slight turn of her head, Lizbeth can see that wolf, snarling those awfully pointy teeth in an almost smiling mouth. The wolf takes his last step, his hinds straighten to make him jump.
This is Lizbeth’s end….
But just before the wolf reaches the doe, 18 tines of antlers smash the wolf out of the way, the stag saves Lizbeth life, the Alpha is down. The deer is unreachable for the wolves, many tries to hunt him down resulted in frustration for the wolves. They don’t even follow him anymore, if he attacks the alpha, he’s stronger. The deer saves Lizbeth in memory of Maxwell Redwood, he was indeed his father’s rival to become prince of the woods. The pouchers allowed his father to become first stag, it’s normal that the son rescues Maxwell’s daughter. The pregnant doe had recognized Lizbeth as 'little stardust'.
Again this situation reveals more to Lizbeth, she’s not for this kind of life, she wanted so much to be part again of wilderness, but now she has to flee it. Another escape…
Lizbeth has to approache humans again, they might be her rescue, even if she doesn’t want this to be true. The next stop - civilization, in the hope to find a possible gentle human.
Rejection Escape
So that doe resigns to return to civilization, still with that enormous apprehension towards human mankind.
What are humans for this doe? Mostly brutal sex driven idiots, they took her away, they killed her herd, her parents, her dignity. They changed her into something she didn’t want, something weird and disformed. She was a doe, walking on four legs, with a deer family. Now nothing is left over, half a doe, half a deer. Maybe she were accepted in cervine ranks, but could she follow them? And again those humans would ruin all that idyllic shape, again they would decimate all around this anthropomorphic doe and herself too. So what is a human in that deer’s mind?
A monster, nothing more than a reckless monster.
Something to be afraid of, as that human has ustensiles, objects that inflict pain, that are meant to hurt, meant to kill. Man has invented numerous instruments to gain superiority, as man himself is weak, furless, slow and with limited senses, a prey that worked himself to be the most fearful predator existing, capable of anything.
But now this doe is half human, has this disabling form, is getting ‘weak’. Lizbeth has only abhorrence, disgust for mankind. She fears man, everytime a man visits her, it’s linked to aching, submission, forced interaction. If she didn’t obey, it was pain, still the whiplash sound makes her body twitch and tremble, it dominates her.
And now she has to return towards them, towards those that stole her everything, towards something to be afraid of? Thoughts, weird thoughts, paranoid thinking, all this in that mind of that doe as she makes her way to first contact with human after her escape.
So that doe resigns to return to civilization, still with that enormous apprehension towards human mankind.
What are humans for this doe? Mostly brutal sex driven idiots, they took her away, they killed her herd, her parents, her dignity. They changed her into something she didn’t want, something weird and disformed. She was a doe, walking on four legs, with a deer family. Now nothing is left over, half a doe, half a deer. Maybe she were accepted in cervine ranks, but could she follow them? And again those humans would ruin all that idyllic shape, again they would decimate all around this anthropomorphic doe and herself too. So what is a human in that deer’s mind?
A monster, nothing more than a reckless monster.
Something to be afraid of, as that human has ustensiles, objects that inflict pain, that are meant to hurt, meant to kill. Man has invented numerous instruments to gain superiority, as man himself is weak, furless, slow and with limited senses, a prey that worked himself to be the most fearful predator existing, capable of anything.
But now this doe is half human, has this disabling form, is getting ‘weak’. Lizbeth has only abhorrence, disgust for mankind. She fears man, everytime a man visits her, it’s linked to aching, submission, forced interaction. If she didn’t obey, it was pain, still the whiplash sound makes her body twitch and tremble, it dominates her.
And now she has to return towards them, towards those that stole her everything, towards something to be afraid of? Thoughts, weird thoughts, paranoid thinking, all this in that mind of that doe as she makes her way to first contact with human after her escape.
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