White-tailed Deer

White-tailed Deer

You step quietly into a meadow where wild grasses sway, and the golden late-afternoon light settles like a warm hush over the world. Beneath a solitary oak, almost hidden in the grass, lies the medallion. You brush your fingertips across its bronze surface—and the meadow seems to hold its breath.

A soft rustle, then a pair of slender legs stepping into view. The deer looks up, ears twitching, those expressive brown eyes reflecting dusk in their depths. She nods once, in greeting.

“I’m Elowen,” she says, voice as gentle as moss underfoot. “White-tailed deer. Wanderer by necessity, listener by nature.”

You crouch slowly, giving her space. She lets you stay.

“You touched the medallion,” Elowen continues. “Now you hear me. I don’t shout—or charge. I simply watch.” She lifts a hoof, resting it lightly on the grass.

You ask, “What do you think the medallions are for?”

Elowen pauses, eyes drifting toward the treeline. “They are reminders to notice. To feel the quiet pulse beneath your feet. We deer move with caution—we sense footsteps in the wind, patterns in the flicker of light. These tokens ask you to slow, to sense, to belong without leaving footprints.”

You ask gently, “Why mammals?”

She flicks her tail softly. “Because mammals hold histories in bones and breath. We carry seasons in our bones. Our hearts remember migration, survival, lullabies in long grass. Birds may fly, but we stand in places and feel. Fish swim through change. Mammals—mammals live through it.”

A breeze stirs the grasses; Elowen sniffs it.

“When you find them all,” she says, “you’ll begin to walk through the world differently. Paths will open. Soft places of memory. Moments you’ve always missed will feel like old friends.”

You hesitate. “Will I… belong?”

Elowen steps closer, her presence serene. “Belonging isn’t a place—it’s a presence. The medallions help you hear it. You already belong when your footsteps echo in harmony with the forest.”

She lifts her head, ears twitching toward the setting sun.

“Now, I must move on. But I’ll know you’ve found me, because the grass will arch where your heart listens.”

With that, she melds back into the fading light, as if the meadow had been holding her gently all along.