Page 7 of Once Upon a Winter's Tale
The stable hand looked up. “Cook?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, Roy. The fawn. I found her in clover and thought it would be a nice name.”
“Miss Brianna, even though the mother left her for a long time, she will most likely be back for her,” he said cautiously.
“I don’t think so. She left her for several days, but I will be careful not to tame her. She must have a name,” she returned. “Speaking of Clover, I should feed her.”
He gave a small laugh and picked up a pitchfork to put out fresh straw for the horses. “Yes, miss.”
Brianna turned the corner in the stable and saw the small stall they had placed the fawn in open and empty. “Oh no!” She ran to the back of the stable and pushed open the door.
The fawn was unmoving as it lay in the high grass behind the stable. Its head remained still, but its eyes darted back and forth as if it were perceiving danger.
The way the infant’s white spots blended into the grass fascinated Brianna. As she drew closer, she placed her hand on the fawn’s neck, speaking to her softly. “There now. I’m here for you,” she soothed. Attempting to lift the fawn, she stretched one hand beneath her belly and slipped the other hand on her back when she lunged at her, emitting an almost human-sounding bleat.
Dog barking sounded from the trees and grew closer. Fear pricked her neck. It sounded like more than one dog.
“Come, Clover. We need to get back inside,” she urged. “Those dogs don’t sound friendly.” Gritting her teeth, she picked up the small deer, held her close, and made a run for the stable.
She opened the stall and placed the animal inside gently. Clover bleated in protest. “Shh! It will all be fine, Clover,” she said, stroking her head. “When your mother comes for you, she will find you waiting. I promise.”
As if understanding, the baby bleated softly.
“I have milk for you. It’s not the same as you’re used to, but hopefully, your mother comes back as Roy says,” Brianna whispered wistfully. She maneuvered the nipple at an angle and was pleased to see the fawn drinking. Without her mother’s nourishment, she would weaken. The fawn looked up and gently bumped her arm with her head as if asking for more milk.
As the barking grew closer, Brianna looked around for Roy. Hearing a noise in the front stalls, she tucked Clover in the hay and left to find him.
As she turned the corner, she saw Nero standing in the entrance, his ears perked to the sounds of the approaching dogs. The ten-stone gray mastiff stood nearly as tall as a pony, and Brianna marveled at his agility, especially considering he had been the runt of the litter. Her mother had gifted him to her a few years ago, and the dog had become her constant companion, especially when she was outside.
“What do you make of it, Nero?” she asked, standing next to him and rubbing the back of his neck. She noticed his hackles were up.
“Barrrrrooff.” His deep bark sounded agitated.
She worried about the dogs she heard in the distance. Rabies remained a tremendous concern with dogs that traveled in packs. Estates occasionally lost all their hunting dogs when one became stricken with rabies from a bite. With so little known and no cure available, the only remedy was the death of the animal. She couldn’t bear to see any of her babies injured.
Worriedly, Brianna glanced around, as the barking grew closer, hoping to see Roy or… someone. She should have run to the house but could not bring herself to leave her animals when danger lurked so close.
“I should close the back door of the stable,” she said out loud. Patting the mastiff’s head, she ordered him to stay.
The back door hung ajar. Aware of the noises beyond the stable, she stepped closer and pulled the latch down on it, making sure it was secure before moving back toward the front. As she neared the stall where she had left Clover, she noticed it open, its latch broken, and the top board split—almost into two pieces. Fear pricked her neck.
Hearing a gurgling sound, she edged closer and looked inside. Clover lay next to a large doe, nursing. Turning, she looked at Brianna and bleated, as if to say, “I told you my momma would be back.” The small deer turned back to its mother and head-butted her stomach, something Roy had explained fawns did so their mothers produced more milk.
Fleetingly, Brianna wondered if the doe had stirred the dogs.
While the two deer were occupied, she looked for anything she could use as a weapon until Roy or his father returned to the stable. She could not leave the animals vulnerable.
Recalling something Roy’s father once mentioned, she moved to the cabinet near the front of the stable and inside found an old gun. He had called it a blunderbuss. Picking it up, she held it carefully, trying to remember if he said they kept it loaded or not.
Oh well, it’s all I have. I’ll assume it is,she thought, relaxing her grip a little.If nothing else, it should be something good to swing if a dog gets too close.
“Barrrrooff!” Nero barely got a warning bark off before five gaunt dogs emerged from the side of the stable. A smaller dog hung back; possibly, he followed the pack. Four black and brown dogs with drool oozing from their mouths rushed her dog. A lead dog leapt on top of him, and he shook it off. Several of the others charged, and he head-butted them and kicked them away. Nero slung his head and angrily pawed the dirt, threatening the angry dogs who barked and darted at him. The lead dog attacked again, and the bull mastiff slapped him across the yard with his huge paw. Slobber and massive amounts of dust flew everywhere.
Brianna screamed as she watched her dog defend himself. “Oh, God! I must help Nero.”
When Nero slapped the dog away again, it gave her an instant. Squinting her eyes almost shut, Brianna aimed and squeezed the trigger of the ancient weapon, trying her best to direct its blaze away from her dog. The gun went off with a tremendous roar, knocking her onto her bottom. Fire flared from its muzzle as lead balls sprayed the canines, and a massive cloud of gun smoke covered them all.
Brianna swiped at her eyes, trying to see, silently cursing and thanking her luck that the gun had fired. Several dogs lay scattered, ravaged by their injuries. The smaller dog that had stayed back lay whimpering and licking bloody wounds from the shot. Nero’s rage grew as the lead dog persisted in his fight. The ten-stone dog reared up and came down on the smaller dog. Screams pierced the air.
