The Fawnwood

Welcome...

At the end of a thin, paw-worn trail, there is a den hidden amongst the shady undergrowth. A small clan of wolves keeps a wary watch. Many wayward puppies find themselves drawn to this place, where they may be cared for by these kind yet cautious souls, and find a home of sorts surrounded by the perpetual autumn. The vast majority of these pups, however, will leave the Fawnwood once they become adults, setting back on the winding woodland trails. As they exit the magic clearing, they leave behind all memories of it, returning to the wilderness as free spirits, blank slates, only momentarily embraced by the strange calmness of the Fawnwood.


It is quiet here. These wolves do not howl or sing; instead they watch the flickering shadows of the forest with wide eyes, and whisper ancient stories to their puppies. The only consistent sound is that of the river, which runs along the southern edge of the Fawnwoods. A mysterious wolf nests on the riverbank, watching the cold water run over its paws. Sometimes it raises its head to answer the call of the hunt, but usually it simply waits - waiting for its puppies to return from the distant woods, waiting for the long evening to hush the forest's murmurs. When night falls, when the pack is silent and asleep, those ghosts - more like echoes, perhaps - of pups that have long since moved on and forgotten the Fawnwood will emerge, dancing and frolicking in the shadows, and the lonely river-watcher breathes a sigh of relief over the lost fragments of its soul.


The river runs cold. The fight is over.