One of my favorite things was always to graze through the woods, as they were my home, and they were beautiful, especially around midday. At what I would assume is noon, the sun would be right overhead, with the sun directly over the leafy canopy of my home, it would cast gorgeous rays all around. Many would describe the view to be almost unreal, more like a scene from a movie; however, scattered sun rays weren't the only beauty of the forest, there was also the abundance of life, from flowers to trees, insects to the mighty brown bear, who all once lived in unison.
It was amazing, to be part of the never-ending cycle that was life. The routine was always the same: wake up, graze for food, hide from predators; it had a certain rhythm that I quite enjoyed, and the forest was so vast and unpredictable that no day was just like the other. There wasa one particular day, however, that I remember most clearly, and I certainly wish I didn't, as it must have been traumatic for my dear fawn, and it certainly was fatal for myself.
That autumn morning was much like any other: my fawn pranced around bushes, dew covered every surface, and my hooves continuously sunk in mud and leaves. Of course, not all the morning was the same as ever, or else I wouldn't have a story to tell.
Anyways, as I was grazing what was left of the grass, I heard a shuffle over in the bushes to my right. My head shot up and I perked up my ears, turning my head in the direction of the noise. I could've sworn I heard a light breathing, but the sound was also very similar to shuffling leaves, so I decided to pay it no mind, and continued my grazing. I then decided I would move on to another part of the forest and continued walking, beckoning my young fawn to follow.
As we were treading through the bushes in search of a more abundant source of food, I heard the shuffling, once again to my right. However, as usual, my fawn was prancing around me, so I assumed it was simply her doing one of her happy little dances.
Now, as stories usually tend to go, I was wrong about the source of the shuffling, because no interesting story doesn't have a conflict. As I had once again turned to the source of the sound, I saw a very peculiar looking stick protruding from the bushes. It was a very slender and smooth stick, however there was an opening on one end, and it was black. I didn't recall it being there prior to the shuffling, but I also had not really paid much attention to my surroundings upon arriving in that area. I made the very bad choice to then go and examine this peculiar black stick, however, as I moved closer, I heard the unmistakeable shuffling once again, just beyond the bush in which the stick was protruding. In shock a jumped and turned to run, but by then I was too late. At such close close range, there was no way even a rookie could miss.
It was by my own stupidity in which I died, I was still fairly young at that time, all I had known was the forest and my daughter. I had no knowledge of hunters and guns prior to that day. However, it wasn't my death itself that hurt me most, it was my last memory before I died: As I fell, I saw my little fawn run away in shock. When my eyes closed for the last time in that life, I was completely alone, the one thing I had loved was gone, and the only thing I could feel was not the pain of my fresh wound, but rather fear for how my fawn would fair on her own, and dread at this was the way I had to die.