The buck greeted her like an old friend. He was so happy to run into her. It had been so long. Cue Queue was absolutely certain she'd never seen the buck before in her entire life.
"The winter we spent by the mountains' edge! And now it is almost winter again."
She had never been to the mountains' edge in winter. He must have mistaken her for someone else. (Either that or he was orchestrating an incredible scam.)
"Oh, don't say that," he was so dismayed, "those were some of the best days I've spent. You, me, and your Kiokote friend."
That was uncanny. Uncanny enough that it prickled unease down her spine.
The buck was strange, but passing fair, with a silky mane (if unkempt) and a grey, grainy pelt that made him look as if he had melted out of some solemn woods. His eyes were blue, and unusually large. They were distant, and fixed, she considered, on a point entirely beyond her.
"Some of the best days," he repeated, "but he missed the children so much."
She daresaid he would have, if it had ever happened.
"We traced over our hoofprints, him and I," he said, "then more snow fell, and there were no hoofprints to trace. We might still be lost if it hadn't been for you. Or not lost, anymore – you were the only one who could find anything we could eat.
"It's colder near the mountains," and his distant eyes became more distant still, "winter is always hard, isn't it?"
That was winter; it killed the weak to make way for the strong. And then the Earth was born again.
"And we are so weak."
His laugh was brittle petals.
"Winter is always beautiful," he said, "and the snow. So cold it is warm again. I laid down in the snow one day and fell asleep. I never woke up.
"I had a dream. Now she is out there, alone, and it is almost winter again. She is strong, but will they be?
"I had daughters, once."
His eyes were moonbright, and so far away.
Perhaps it was an incredible scam. She didn't usually give her blessings away for nothing. She was hardly a secret, he could have seen her ways. There were many Kin like him, loose-tongued and lotus-eyed. Perhaps there was no doe, out there, alone. He might never have had daughters. Perhaps it was a dream, after all.
How many foals were born in winter; how many lived come spring?
Cue didn't like these rhetorical questions. The Swamp was the Swamp, and the Swamp was its way for its reason. Something always had to die for something else to live. Still, he didn't ask. A little of the Motherfather's power, a little wish to have them live come spring. His eyes were far away; he didn't seem to notice when she left.
The next time she saw him, it was deep in winter. His eyes were moonbright and they had never met. He introduced himself as Asphodel.