Bambi was born in a hidden thicket beneath the hazel leaves. When he first opened his eyes, his mother’s warm face was bending over him.
“Stand up,” she said gently.
His thin legs trembled. He folded into the grass, tried again, and at last stood swaying while a magpie chattered above him.
The forest arrived one wonder at a time. A butterfly rested on his back. A beetle marched past on serious business. Friend Hare sat up on his long legs and said, “Good morning, young prince,” which puzzled Bambi because he did not feel like a prince.
His mother showed him paths beneath the bushes and taught him to listen whenever the birds suddenly stopped. Yet there was one place she would not visit until he could run well: the meadow.
One evening, she led him to its edge. The open sky seemed enormous. Bambi pressed against her side.
“We wait,” she whispered.
She listened, sniffed the wind, and stepped out. Bambi followed into grass silvered with dew. He raced in a circle simply because there was room.
Two other fawns bounded towards him. They were Faline and her smaller brother, Gobo. Faline was bold and full of questions. Gobo tired easily but noticed things the others missed. Their mother, Aunt Ena, greeted Bambi’s mother like an old friend.
Suddenly two antlered stags walked from the trees. Everyone became still. The great stags crossed the meadow without looking at the fawns and vanished into the opposite woods.
“Who were they?” Bambi breathed.
“Your father was one,” said his mother.
On the way home, a vast old stag appeared between the trunks. His antlers rose like a crown of bare branches. He studied Bambi, then asked, “Why did you not stay alone?”
Bambi could not answer. The old stag turned away as silently as he had come.
That night Bambi lay beside his mother, thinking about the meadow, his father, and the solitary prince whose hoofsteps made no sound.
The End