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He could see her, scarcely; he had no idea what to do with her.

Final Rest had been aware of the doe wandering his territory, though it had taken him a time to determine her to be a doe -- well, a kin at all, for a while. Being nearly blind certainly didn't help, but there was something about her scent that had thrown him off entirely: she smelled like nothing he'd encountered in the Swamp, and yet, seemed to exude the Swamp itself. It's how he imagined the MotherFather would smell, if they had a scent at all.

She didn't seem to have a direction that he could determine, though it did take him several frozen footsteps and halted advances to tell himself that this was some sort of doe and wasn't, in fact, what appeared to be an enormous moth with glowing accents. The green was the most he could see of her, from a distance. It was disconcerting.

Realizing she truly was simply moving about without a purpose (was she waiting? he couldn't tell), the hunter finally pushed beyond the shadows and boughs that kept his striped fur hidden to his prey, and made himself known - a very un-hunterly move. His mother would gut him, had she known.

"Are you lost?" Final Rest spoke quietly, his voice easily lost in the sway of tree branches in a fair wind, but deep and earthen. Green ears lofted forward, listening, even as his posture remained ready to move if the moth -- the doe made any sudden movements herself.

She -- she disappeared. The small flit of of wings told him she was, for the moment, a bird -- and then she was a doe again. A mare. He'd heard whispers of beings like that, the MotherFather's own will, but he'd never crossed paths with one. Or rather...none had crossed paths with him.

There was a brief flicker of incredulous amusement - did it mean he was going to be a father? - but she admitted she was lost. And not. And Final Rest still had no idea what to make of her.

Flitting his tail to the side, he tilted his head subtly to the side and took a few steps closer, mossy eyes trying to focus on her face. "I apologize; it was not my intent," he finally said at length, one ear up, one to the side. "I don't -- understand. I don't remember you coming through here before."

He paused and, after a long moment of consideration, he spoke again, more softly. "I am Final Rest."

"Giveforward." He tasted the name, the purpose of it, and even knowing that she was special, he still couldn't help but feel briefly on edge. Final Rest had been minding the territory for almost all his life, it was impossible to deny his basic instincts.

But even he was not a creature wholly ruled by his need to hunt.

Dipping his head a little, he turned and took a few steps in another direction, pausing in invitation. "The grubs are plentiful when the ground is warm." A pause. "I've some flowers and herbs I tend, and if you've nowhere to be, I could use the help. I've nothing to offer except a meal when it's done." Another pause. "Or during, if you like the taste of grubs."

Final Rest blinked in surprise as she seemed to brighten, neck arching back as she came into his space but not stepping back (some habits were harder to kick than others). "You...would? That's..." What word did he want? Weird? Unusual? "...nice." The word rolled around strangely in his mouth, and as his eyes struggled to focus, he felt entirely baffled by her enthusiasm to help.

"My sister, Bare Trees, would like you very much. You're both very...kind." Shaking out his mane, he turned and started to pick his way through the Swamp and the heavy boughs, his hoof steps very confident even without perfect sight. "If you would follow me, Giveforward." It was a little dark and wild where he lead, but the twist and turns eventually lead to a clearing.

Saying he had 'some flowers' was probably an understatement. The sun filtered into the clearing without the boughs in the way, and everywhere it touched, flowers blanketed the ground. In the midst of summer, they were in full bloom, to the point the land wasn't barely visible; their colors were bright, vibrant, collected from many corners of the Swamp and thriving there. It was many long strides in length at the furthest end, the modest herb garden could be seen, though its mix of soft and rich greens was easily outshined by the spectrum of colors.

His eyes relaxed then, not as wide, able to 'see' with the bright colors blanketing the Swamp floor. "There's plenty to do, as you can see. If you get tired, though, there's a good patch of shade," he turned his head, indicating the direction, "near the sun-colored ones."

The buck came to a halt, turning his head towards her with his ears skewed in opposite directions, utterly perplexed. "Exquisite isn't a word I would use for myself," he said slowly, the scaled ridges of his brows furrowing, "but perhaps...it is better suited for you." The hunter blinked slowly, eyes unable to focus on her face with the brighter colors of the flowers, and after a moment he gave up on it.

Where his sight failed him, his hearing did not, her words reaching his ears. Was she -- was she asking the grubs to leave? He took a few steps closer, and despite himself, he felt the vaguest tug of a smile forming. "Does that work, Giveforward?"

His weak gaze 'watched' the grub shimmy away, scaled brows lofting, mildly impressed. "You are the protector of flowers, Giveforward. They thank you, as do I." Final Rest gazed at her for a moment, considering, mindful -- and then he turned again, lowering his head to draw his nose through the flowers to find another grub. Whuffling softly against one, he considered snapping it up and being done with it, but the mare with him gave him pause, gave him consideration. It seemed that females had a way with him, probably no thanks to his mother.

Taking more time than he ought to, he patiently maneuvered around the creature until it had crawled on his nose, only then trotting to the edge of his flower field and letting it go on a tree. It was ridiculous, and yet, he was doing it because of Giveforward. Did it matter? Maybe not, but he knew to practice what he saw in others, at least in their presence.

Returning, he snorted softly. "I think that method may take a little longer than I planned, but...it can be done." A pause, and then, "Forgive me. I'm a hunter. I understand the sanctity of life, and I am trying too to be respectful of your ways." Pale eyes flit over to her and then back to his fields, once more lowering his nose.

"Mm?" he asked after her prompt, pausing from his task to lift his head and 'look' at her again. Final Rest listened to her seemingly innocent query, mulling it over to consider how to respond. Interestingly enough, the answer was not quite simple.

The buck tilted his head to the side. "I don't believe I've ever had nothing to do," he answered at length. "If I'm not sleeping, I eat. If I'm not eating, I tend my gardens. If I'm not tending, I scour my territory, I memorize what I haven't before and find new things to build upon. If all that is complete, I hunt." The idea that one could not fill the hours in their day was most curious to him. "If all else fails, there is no time too early to prepare for winter."

His sister flit through his mind; her eager eyes, her hopeful words. The reminder that there was more than the hunt, more than patrolling his territory. The activities between his duties, the things he could do that were still and peaceful. "...if the weather is right," he added, slowly, thoughtfully, "listening to the song of the breeze can take away the rise or fall of the sun. Counting the stars, seeing stories in them can pass the night." It wasn't active, but it was...something.