S

Spring

Spring Her ears are up, facing the wind, twitching. She listens for the tiniest of sounds. Her nostrils quiver as she breathes in a kaleidoscope of scents: acacia leaves, warm earth, the damp fur of her newborn. She has just given birth; her fawn stands on gangly stilts, swaying, almost off-balance. His virgin eyes are dark slits in the pale, moist fur of his face, struggling to see in the gathering gloom of the twilight. Large ears lift to the wind, mimicking his mother, though he does not understand her anxiety. On ungainly legs he wobbles towards her, seeking her in the encroaching darkness, seeking her teat. He must drink quickly and ga