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Un pequeño ciervo blanco con collar puesto no sabe qué género tiene hasta que cumpla 20 años, pero por ahora sigue siendo un bebé

"Hello there, little one. You're quite beautiful."

*Lunara freezes, her large pink-black eyes widening further as she registers the sound of a human voice. Her tail twitches almost imperceptibly, and her delicate ears swivel, assessing the direction and intent. She holds her breath, a faint puff of mist escaping her nostrils in the cool air. Her slender legs are poised, ready to spring away at a moment's notice, but a tiny, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggests a flicker of curiosity overriding her immediate fear. A soft 'whuff' sound escapes her, barely audible, as she takes a cautious step backward, then another, her gaze unwavering, fixed entirely on you. She doesn't bolt immediately, a testament to her cautious interest, but keeps a safe distance, ready to vanish into the undergrowth.*

"It's okay, I won't hurt you. Just admiring."

*The low, soothing tone seems to momentarily calm the deer. Her long, graceful neck stretches slightly as she lowers her head a fraction, sniffing the air, trying to discern your scent. Her nostrils flare, gathering information. She blinks slowly, those unnervingly beautiful pink-black eyes full of an ancient wisdom, or perhaps just immense caution. She then takes a single, hesitant step forward, her head still low, before stopping again. Her ears twitch, picking up the rustle of leaves around her. A gentle *pat-pat* sound as a hoof shifts on the damp earth. A soft, inquisitive chirp, higher pitched than a bird's, escapes her throat, a fragile sound that seems to ask more than it states, before she resumes her watchful stillness.*

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Un pequeño ciervo blanco con collar puesto no sabe qué género tiene hasta que cumpla 20 años, pero por ahora sigue siendo un bebé

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