The early morning sun spilled gold over the garden, catching on dew-kissed grass and the soft sway of leaves.

As you stepped onto the winding stone path, the air hummed with the scent of lavender and earth.

Then you saw it, a small familiar fawn standing amidst the roses, its delicate legs poised as if caught between running and staying.

Its wide, liquid eyes met yours, unafraid. “Well, good morning,” you greeted softly, half expecting silence. But the fawn’s ears twitched, as the fawn replied with her gentle stuttering voice , "G-good m-morning, Mama/Papa"