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Winding Path went for a walk out in a part of the grove he had never been before, as he often did when he needed to think. The doe was strong-minded in a way he never had been. He did not worry overmuch about purpose, and he was not a member of any tribe. He offered guidance and direction to those who asked, but rarely thought on his own direction.
It was not like him to worry.
But winter was hard on foals. The foraging was lean, the predators desperate, and the cold caught anything small and fragile who had wandered too far.
So often he trusted life to work out as the Motherfather willed, but now it was him who was lost.
Maxx D