The fawn
dipped its tongue into the crisp water. The birds sung and the trees whispered;
everything else was silent. She glanced at her mother besides her, dark against
the dying sunlight. She was old, but she was still graceful. The fawn yawned.
She was always lagging behind when the deer moved, and all that running had
caught up with her. It didn't matter—the herd always stayed up late. Besides,
she loved drinking water. It tasted good, and she could play with the other
fawn that was always staring back at her, doing whatever she did.
A short
chattering broke the calm. The herd stopped drinking, and glanced up at the
noise. The fawn tensed up. A few seconds passed, and they went back to
drinking. She nuzzled her mother, and she nuzzled back.
Then there
was a flash, and the roar of thunder pierced the air. The herd scattered
downstream. The fawn yelped, chasing her mother through the trees as the dirt
flew into her face. Was it a storm? Her mother slowed down before whimpering
and falling. The fawn leaped to her side, nudging her frantically. She was
hurt, blood running down a hole in her side. The water was colored red, and the
other fawn in it looked scared. The fawn nuzzled her mother, tears blurring her
vision. Why was she sleeping now? The herd always stayed up late. A shadow fell
across her. She turned around and glanced up, where a tall, hairless monkey was
pointing a stick at her. She whimpered, taking a step back. She nudged her
mother again, but she wouldn’t stir.
The monkey
stared at her. It took a step towards her, raising its stick. She had no
strength left to run.
The last
thing she heard was another clap of thunder before the world went black.
