The Deer Mother: A Little Witch Tale
Mingling between the pages of winter are Yuletide tales and Midwinter myths. Mistletoe arches pledge romance to passersby, while carollers promise a visit from Santa, his sleigh filled with presents handcrafted by a brood of Christmastime elves. Between the pages of winter, feasts are laid out in honor of the Epiphany, wayward ghosts, and the return of the long-awaited sun.
But, seasonal epics are long and winding, and before the chapters of ol’ St. Nicolas and Father Frost, the pages of winter featured another Solstice spirit. She, too, was a guardian and bringer of light but wiser and much older than the rest. And she did not carry the sun in her hands, as one might expect, but cradled within her horns.
Back then, dashing between the pages of winter was Mother Deer.
“In regards to this ‘Mother Deer’,” Little Witch stood and straightened her jumper. The woolen sweater was a hand-me-down from Mother, which meant Little Witch wore it more frequently than anything else she owned. The first time Little Witch pulled the faded jumper over her head, a magical current skated from her head to her heart to her hands, and no talk of dry winter air or static electricity could convince her otherwise. The sweater was creamy and soft, marked by several red reindeer prancing along the hem.
A witch knows the power of old things, Madam Spider always said.
Little Witch apologized for interrupting, and a bespectacled fairy curtsied her acceptance. “As your editor,” Little Witch tried again, “I’d like to hear some background on this new deer character.”
“Mother Deer is not a character!” Madam Spider didn’t give the fairy a chance to respond. “Nor is she new!” The spider poked a spindly leg outside her dressing room (a basket brimming with yarn) and felt around for a loose thread. She settled on a strand of orange chenille. “Mother Deer is what we might call mmph, ghow yew ow! A legend! A paragon! A star! Dhffuh mink? ” Madam Spider’s words were muffled, smothered behind a wall of fabric.
“Will you say that again?” Little Witch called into the basket. She peered into the crevice where her mentor’s leg had been and wondered if Mother Deer was an old friend. Madam Spider seemed to know everybody.
Little Witch jumped when a silver explosion and an orange blur burst forth from the basket. Amidst the confetti cloud, Little Witch saw the blur was Madam Spider cloaked in tassels and velvet. The weaver cartwheeled and flitted her way to the storyteller’s side, where a fairy clutched her notebook and quill, ready to take notes.
Madam Spider stopped twirling and straightened her hat. She tightened her belt and peered around the room as if she were looking for something. Or someone. Finally, the spider took a deep breath and announced to the room, “I’ve said all I have to say.”
Little Witch exchanged glances with the fairy bard and opened her mouth to ask the inevitable, but why? when Madam Spider spoke again, “Deer wisdom is tender and ticklish, and dare I say…sensitive.” She rubbed a chenille tassel against her face. “Sensitive to our hungers and curiosities, the stories that live in our heads, but we wouldn’t dare speak aloud.”
A plate of cookies floated in from the kitchen, balanced between the hands of a dozen fairies. The fairies flew around the room delivering treats to their covenmates, and by the time they arrived in front of Little Witch, their wings had cooled the cookies to the perfect temperature.
“If we talk about you-know-who too much, she’ll get spooked.” Madam Spider reached for a cookie. Her eyes widened when she spotted the reindeer-shaped sweets. “Sp tred lightly, witches, because something tells me Mother Deer is close.”