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Description

Svetlikin
Autumn, Year 745 of the New Age, Glenmore, the Great Oak

Hopefully, you will have noticed that Kin lives in a pink and blue pastel coloured forest. Well, that's how I colour it, anyway xD BUT the forest is only pastel and pretty when he's happy or content - as in this picture here fav.me/d77ksv6

Here, he is not happy. The forest is still pink and blue, but this time it should look like some hideous neon nightmare. Hopefully that comes across!

As for the title - I imagine the doe he's thinking of (who may or may not actually be dead, you'll find out before too long ) saying that after they've parted for the last time, two years' previous to this image.

Kin had never expected to fight for a doe - or at least, he had hoped he would not. Although the word had been that she would be betrothed to his father, he had hoped the King would see sense. They had been perfect, they had been wonderful - young love, true and pure. He would never have another doe, he would not even see them. Not for him the smack of antler on antler, not for him the braying and bellowing about the Great Oak as buck went against buck to prove their masculinity.
He had been wrong. His first rut had come and she was dead.
He ached with unfamiliar hormones and the scent of does in heat was more unbearable than he could have imagined. It had been more than two years now, but the pain was still fresh and livid and the heat of testosterone ripped open the wound anew. He saw her face in every passing doe, but none had her strength and her fierceness. None were as charismatic, as kind - none ever would be.
It seemed almost that he had no choice to make: he was driven towards the Great Oak that morning by something stronger than willpower. The season controlled him, propelling him forwards, lending him the fierce confidence of the Royal he should have been. When he strutted towards the gathered royal does as they flirted playfully with the stags nearby, he had felt power and weight. It was as though the blood of Earran was truly pumping through his veins.
They turned as a mass towards him, like some vile hydra, all heads moving at once to look upon their latest victim. There would be no soft smiles or kind words, no gentle turning away from this herd of harridans.
It started with a snigger from the center of the group but it grew like mould, taking in not just the monstrous many-headed creature but the whole glade. The laughter surrounded him, every royal head in the glade whooping with delight at the thought that this thing could think it would mate!
He stood, his tail thrashing behind him and his eyes wide and afraid, too many memories of this same laughter flashing through his mind and then the memory of her because it had been her who could save him. They had killed her and now he had no one, no one to protect him, no one to run to, nowhere to run to - and yet he ran.
He ran from their cruelty but more than that he ran from the memories; he ran from the pain; he ran from the thought of her.

Description

Svetlikin
Autumn, Year 745 of the New Age, Glenmore, the Great Oak

Hopefully, you will have noticed that Kin lives in a pink and blue pastel coloured forest. Well, that's how I colour it, anyway xD BUT the forest is only pastel and pretty when he's happy or content - as in this picture here fav.me/d77ksv6

Here, he is not happy. The forest is still pink and blue, but this time it should look like some hideous neon nightmare. Hopefully that comes across!

As for the title - I imagine the doe he's thinking of (who may or may not actually be dead, you'll find out before too long ) saying that after they've parted for the last time, two years' previous to this image.

Kin had never expected to fight for a doe - or at least, he had hoped he would not. Although the word had been that she would be betrothed to his father, he had hoped the King would see sense. They had been perfect, they had been wonderful - young love, true and pure. He would never have another doe, he would not even see them. Not for him the smack of antler on antler, not for him the braying and bellowing about the Great Oak as buck went against buck to prove their masculinity.
He had been wrong. His first rut had come and she was dead.
He ached with unfamiliar hormones and the scent of does in heat was more unbearable than he could have imagined. It had been more than two years now, but the pain was still fresh and livid and the heat of testosterone ripped open the wound anew. He saw her face in every passing doe, but none had her strength and her fierceness. None were as charismatic, as kind - none ever would be.
It seemed almost that he had no choice to make: he was driven towards the Great Oak that morning by something stronger than willpower. The season controlled him, propelling him forwards, lending him the fierce confidence of the Royal he should have been. When he strutted towards the gathered royal does as they flirted playfully with the stags nearby, he had felt power and weight. It was as though the blood of Earran was truly pumping through his veins.
They turned as a mass towards him, like some vile hydra, all heads moving at once to look upon their latest victim. There would be no soft smiles or kind words, no gentle turning away from this herd of harridans.
It started with a snigger from the center of the group but it grew like mould, taking in not just the monstrous many-headed creature but the whole glade. The laughter surrounded him, every royal head in the glade whooping with delight at the thought that this thing could think it would mate!
He stood, his tail thrashing behind him and his eyes wide and afraid, too many memories of this same laughter flashing through his mind and then the memory of her because it had been her who could save him. They had killed her and now he had no one, no one to protect him, no one to run to, nowhere to run to - and yet he ran.
He ran from their cruelty but more than that he ran from the memories; he ran from the pain; he ran from the thought of her.