[Gift] The 11th Hour | Strawberries

The strawberry patch was a lovely place to be. This early in the morning, with spring still so very new, the air was crisp, nipping. But the ripening fruit lent a sweet taste to the air, sitting on the front of her tongue.

And! When she found a ruby-red fruit, all trace of green youth gone, Angela could pluck it from the stem, let the flavor burst in her mouth, then subside with contentment until it came time to wend her way through the brush again.

The strawberry thicket was especially lush this year, a perfect place for her to hide, magic allowing her to swim through the air, gliding as leaves, stems, and fruits knocked against her antlers.

Her long, spotted body disappeared in the greenery, occasionally surfacing with all the grace of a whale rounding out, her back arched, exposed to the air until she, at last, went fluking beneath the waves again, tail tuft waving like a flag in the open air as she submerged.

Some might view this as a threat, as Angela staking claim and warning others away, but, if anything, it was simply a statement. ‘I am here. If you like, we can share strawberries.’ Sometimes, people took her up on this—came to pick themselves, darting frightened glances towards the shadows as if she might suddenly change her mind and lunge. Angela hid from them, not wanting to frighten them off. She knew what she looked like, knew it did not inspire feelings of friendship in most.

Yet they came. And they began, after moments of inaction, to trust.

By the time the day began to grow dim, she had more than eaten her fill, her mouth almost tingling with residual tartness, and her heart was full.