Little Doe

Silver tears ran down the bear’s face as it watched Little Doe’s lifeless body float roughly down the churning river. Occasionally she would hit a rock or some other likely object, sending her spinning uncontrollably among the rapids. Salty drops fell past coarse brown fur onto the grass. The bear’s claws dug into the soil and it bared its teeth in pain. The child’s plait had come undone and her shimmering black hair moved like the spirits that shone in the night sky. The bear hoped Little Doe would become one of those spirits; she was always talking about them. Talked about them, the bear corrected. It ran alongside the river as her limp body reached the waterfall, crashing and raging. The bear watched the tiny girl’s legs fly over the edge, her head following shortly after. The great brown beast let out a throaty howl of anguish, a sound that broke the heart of all who heard it. Its dearest friend was dead. Gone. No longer would they hunt together in the woods for small beasts and berries. No longer would she ride upon its back pretending she could fly. The bear sank to the ground in grief, moaning into the dark grass. No longer would she live. The bear closed its eyes in resignation, intending never to open them again, for nothing would ever be as beautiful as its Little Doe. It stayed like this for a long time, but no-one else moved. Then a man gasped; a woman pointed; a child shrieked with awe. A gentle hand pressed into the bear’s fur, nudging its head towards the waterfall. There, said a voice, do you see it, Bear? And there in the spray of the water and the light of the sun, the bear saw something that made it stand again. A shining doe made of mist and steam leapt from the water and pranced towards the wide open sky to join the lights.