She had been a very pretty doe in the way that a forest fire was pretty, or the way a spark of an ember was pretty: something bright and intense and that may burn you if you get too close, but you try anyway because you can't help yourself. Ren had seen the way her hair had burned in the middle of the night; how her eyes, hooded and dark, had watched him as he had watched her, and he had been inexplicably drawn in.
And now he was about to be a father.
He wasn't regretful. Not exactly. A part of him wished he had been more cautious, but, then again, the larger part of him didn't mind so much. He loved children and the weight they could bring to one's life; maybe, just maybe, the meaning he wanted so desperately would be there now.
Or maybe it was a fruitless attempt. He didn't know, but he was going to try, wandering through a swampy field somewhere midday, feeling the mud against his hooves. He was going to try, and that was what mattered.
But first - a blessing.
And now he was about to be a father.
He wasn't regretful. Not exactly. A part of him wished he had been more cautious, but, then again, the larger part of him didn't mind so much. He loved children and the weight they could bring to one's life; maybe, just maybe, the meaning he wanted so desperately would be there now.
Or maybe it was a fruitless attempt. He didn't know, but he was going to try, wandering through a swampy field somewhere midday, feeling the mud against his hooves. He was going to try, and that was what mattered.
But first - a blessing.