be humble, for you are made of earth
Fur stares; she is bold, brave - foolishly brave, even as she hides in the soot-dark strands of his tail. Only brave because she is hidden, or mostly hidden for as much as one of her small size can squeeze behind his large backside. Bared teeth and bright, hard eyes are all that she has beneath the scant still-growing tines of her antlers. But he bares his teeth back at her, a reprimand she is sure, since his eyes are kind above the angry mouth. Her own defenses crumble momentarily as she ducks her head down, clearly scolded but not altogether sorry for her reaction towards the buckskin.
She angles an ear forward as he claims the other is safe.
Fur is not entirely certain this is so, but she afforded him more trust than she has given most and if he claims she is safe then she believes it, even if she lifts her little head to pointedly stare at the buckskin one more time before emerging from the shelter of his flanks and back to the staunch heat of his shoulder, leaning against the steadiness of it (like a heartbeat, a lifeline, an old familiar trail she’d know even in the darkest of nights).
Fur snorts; she feels odd all of a sudden - joyous?
How can that be? A moment ago she was baring her teeth then snuggling back into the spotted stallion’s side and now, she feels an odd inflation of feeling in her gut that churns and bubbles but not in a bad way. It feels unnatural but not forced, just sudden and jarring - not natural, and she can remember the last time she felt this way and that alone is just sad and cruel and makes her face fall from the smile that all but graced it a moment ago. The last time such joy filled her heart was at the side of the herd grazing in the green fields, long into the lazy dusk - long before everything changed, and she found herself alone, like them but not them - like him and her, but not like them, like horses and deer, but some mutation in between.
“Fur.” she murmurs, unsure of just how she came by that name but that’s all she knows herself as - scraps of fur, bits of bone, eyes and antlers, different. It was the difference that drove that from her, faster and harder than the howl of hounds on the hunt and she chased them, even then, she chased them in the memories of far away and not there that glistened in the dark gloss of her very animal eyes as she looked from her to him and back again.