The shady little grotto stood wide agape, like a beast's yawning maw with gnawing roots for fangs, allowing the scents of medicinal herbs to escape it and be carried away by the light wind. The sun was slowly drifting behind the approaching clouds, their shadows running over the great field at the mountain's foot.
Stinger was lying on a rocky outcrop near the cave, indifferent to the landscape which lay right below him. The heavy smell of a potion prepared by Kolhan could not disturb him either, although the former surely added plenty of wintergreen leaves to it - the fawn was somehow surprised by how his weary mother accepted every foul-tasting tincture and burning ointment the stag gave her without complaint. She already seemed lifeless at this point, a puppet in their saviour's hooves, who stuffed her with berries and leaves and stinking mashed-slimy-something. The fawn tried to stop him at first, seeing how the doe's condition was not improving at all, b