The Sweetness of Never Giving Up

By Susan Zare

Somewhere beyond the vast river streams that breathed life into dry land,

and past the towering redwoods that stretched endlessly through a forest

known as Shadowgrove, a fawn was born into a herd that lived by one

sacred rule: “Keep your existence quiet, and you shall remain hidden from

predators.”

The fawn was named Zareen.

From the moment she opened her eyes to the dappled sunlight of

Shadowgrove, Zareen was sheltered from all danger. Her herd believed it

best to protect her from the darker corners of the forest—those shrouded

in shadows where lions, wolves, and coyotes prowled. So she was never

taught the ways of survival. She was never warned of sorrow or tragedy.

Her world was a gentle painting, full of imagined harmony, where every

species coexisted in loyalty and peace.

Days passed in play, chasing sunbeams and leaping through glades with

her fellow deer. And every evening, she returned to warmth—welcomed

with comfort, laughter, and food.

One such day, she wandered to the river to quench her thirst. By her side

was her most trusted companion, Zephyr. He hadn’t been born into her

herd—he was found, wounded and alone, when they were both just fawns.

The herd had taken him in, and he grew up loved as one of their own.

Zareen and Zephyr were di

erent in nearly every way, yet inseparable.

Where she saw beauty, he saw danger disguised. He often said, “Don’t be

fooled by what the world o

ers you. Sometimes, it’s nothing but a

beautiful trap.”

Zareen would smile, brushing o

his words. “There’s beauty in everything,

Zephyr,” she’d say. “Even in the bad.”

As they returned from the river that day, Zareen called out to her family.

Silence greeted her.

“They must be playing hide and seek,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What a

foolish thing to do.”

She called again. And again. Still, no answer.

Zephyr sti

ened. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “I smell something.”

He followed the scent deeper into the woods. Then he saw it.

“They’re here. They’re—”

But it wasn’t them. Not really. It was what was left of them. Bloodied

corpses, torn apart by what could only have been a lion. Zephyr staggered

back, breath caught in his chest. He knew what this would do to Zareen.

She rushed past him, her hooves stumbling on dry leaves. And then she

saw it—her entire family, lifeless. Her scream cut through the forest like a

blade. Zephyr rushed to her side, whispering for silence. He had noticed

something—the fresh pawprints surrounding them. The predator was still

near.

“We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

But Zareen refused. Her legs rooted to the earth. How could she run? How

could she leave the only world she’d ever known?

What shattered her more than the sight was the truth it revealed—

Shadowgrove was not the peaceful paradise she’d imagined. There were

monsters in the dark, and now they were real.

“We don’t have time to think,” Zephyr pleaded. “If we stay, we’ll die.”

But Zareen couldn’t think. She couldn’t feel. Her world had collapsed in a

single heartbeat.

The wind turned sharp. The trees began to whisper louder. Zephyr turned—

—and the lion lunged from the undergrowth.

Zareen froze. Zephyr shouted, “Run! Run now, Zareen! Don’t think—just

follow the light!”

With tears streaking her face and her heart breaking with every step, she

ran. She ran like the wind, like her very life depended on it—because it did.

Her hooves pounded against the earth, but no matter how far she ran, she

couldn’t outrun the grief chasing her.

Eventually, she reached the farthest, most unfamiliar part of Shadowgrove.

Lost, starving, and alone, she collapsed beneath a tree.

But fate wasn’t done with her yet. A storm broke over the forest that night,

tearing down trees with a fury she’d never known. When morning came, her

body was bruised and bloodied, splinters embedded in her side from the

night’s assault. She was shattered—in body, in mind, in soul.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do, Zephyr,” she whispered. “You

were right about the world.”

She gazed at the broken trees around her, her voice a ghost in the silence.

“You know,” came an eerie, screechy voice from above, “it’s not safe for a

deer alone in the forest to be talking to herself. It attracts bad omens.”

Zareen didn’t flinch. There was no fascination left in her. Only exhaustion.

“Whoever you are,” she muttered, “are you so afraid you can’t show

yourself?”

A thick-billed raven glided down from the branches, circling above her

horns. “I’m not afraid,” he said with a croak. “My presence just makes

people... uncomfortable.”

Zareen tilted her head, unfazed. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Warning me about bad

omens—when you’re the one they say brings them.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, little fawn. You’re giving me far too much credit,” he

replied with a voice as smooth as smoke.

“I’m guessing you’ve just su

ered a tragedy,” he continued, circling above

her with deliberate grace. “The weariness in your voice... the foolish choice

to take shelter in my territory... rather telling, considering I feed on meat

such as yours.”

His tone wasn’t threatening—it was observant. Calculated. As if he could

dissect a soul with a single glance. Zareen’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“So,” he went on, “I suppose I owe you an introduction.”

“I’m Noctis—”

“Wait, you! You’re the voice of—”

“The Hollow Trees,” he finished, landing lightly on a twisted branch.

“Pleasure to meet you, little fawn.”

“Firstly, I’m not a little fawn,” Zareen said, lifting her head. “And secondly...

you’re the one who saved the elephants, aren’t you? You warned them of

the sandstorm.”

Her voice trembled, not from fear, but awe. “We used to hear stories about

you in our herd when I was young. Zephyr and I... we always thought you

were just a made-up tale. A bedtime myth to make fawns brave.”

Her eyes sparkled with the memory—until they didn’t. The light faded,

replaced by a hollow grief. The weight of Zephyr’s absence pulled her spirit

back to the ground.

Noctis noticed.

He always noticed.

Though his voice was cool, his insight ran deep—deeper than roots, older

than wind. “I suppose this... Zephyr of yours wouldn’t have believed you

made it into my territory. I imagine he’d have laughed in your face.”

Zareen swallowed the lump in her throat. “Zephyr was more than a friend.

He was... he was family. My guide. My compass. He always tried to prepare

me, told me the world wasn’t what it appeared to be. That beauty could be

a trap, and I shouldn’t let it blind me.”

She paused. Her voice cracked.

“I didn’t listen. I thought I knew better. And now... now he’s gone. And it’s

my fault. All of it. I should’ve protected him. I should’ve—”

Her words caught in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m the reason

he’s not here.”

Spend too much time blaming yourself, and you’ll soon lose the essence of

what’s left to do with that time,” Noctis said, smirking—which was odd,

considering how a raven could smirk at all. “Then you’ll blame yourself for

not doing what mattered, and that turns into an endless cycle of self-pity.”

Zareen rolled her eyes, turning sharply toward the river.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” she snapped. “Where I should be is

with Zephyr and my family!”

She kicked a pebble into the water, voice rising.

“And that ‘precious time’ you speak of—the time I’m supposedly wasting?

It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve already lost everything.”

She turned to him, a flicker of fury burning in her eyes.

“What do you expect me to do now? Frolic through the woods, chase

butterflies while danger hunts me down?”

She stepped closer, voice trembling with bitterness.

“Let me enlighten you, Noctis. You have wings—you can fly, escape, vanish

into the sky whenever things get tough. You have your precious freedom.

But me?”

She thumped her hoof against the earth.

“I’m a deer. I don’t get to escape. My fate is to run, to hide, to end up as

someone’s dinner. That’s all I am. Prey.”

There was a long silence.

Noctis’s smirk faded. He lowered his gaze, and his voice dropped into

something quieter. Sadder.

“I had a family too, you know,” he murmured. “We all do... or did.”

Zareen’s ears perked up. Her rage softened just slightly as she turned to

him.

“What do you mean you were once like me?” she asked, part curious, part

broken.

“I was naive,” he said. “I believed that if you did good for others, it would

come back to you somehow. So one day, I helped a pack of wolves escape—

masked their scent from their predator.”

He paused, eyes dark with something old and painful.

“They promised they’d help me find my little brother. He’d gotten lost in

the sandstorm, and they said they saw him. Said they knew where he

went.”

A dry laugh escaped him—bitter and hollow.

“They gave me hope. False hope. Then they vanished the next morning.”

Zareen said nothing. Noctis didn’t look at her.

“I knew the storm was coming. I sensed it. I could’ve gone after him. I

should have. But instead, I saved the wolves and those elephants- for

which I was considered a hero but I failed my dear little brother. I saved

strangers. And I lost him.”

He looked up, and for the first time, Zareen saw something fragile behind

his sharp eyes.

“So much for loyalty, eh?”

“I—I’m... sorry. I don’t know what to say—”

“You don’t have to say anything more,” Noctis interrupted gently. “What

you should do... is listen.”

He tilted his head, voice steady and low like wind rustling through

forgotten leaves.

“You believe that just because I have wings, I’m free of pain. Free of

betrayal. But you’re wrong there, little fawn.”

His eyes, dark and deep, didn’t waver.

“There’s pain, betrayal, and sacrifice built into simply being alive. That’s

the price of breathing. Life isn’t just sunshine and soft earth. It’s storm and

fire too.”

He fluttered down to a lower branch, snapped o

a wide banana leaf with

his beak, and with surprising tenderness, wiped at the dried streaks of dirt

and blood across her face.

“You think happiness, chasing the skyline, running wild through the jungle—

that that’s what makes life meaningful? No.” He paused. “There is no good

without bad. And no bad without good. The contrast gives it colour.”

Zareen stared at the ground, her throat tightening. She didn’t want to cry

in front of him. She turned her face away.

He noticed, and understood.

“Fate,” he said softly, “is not something carved in stone. It’s something you

shape with choice. If you decide to sit here, mourning, blaming yourself,

then that’s what your life becomes, grief in a loop.”

He straightened his feathers, then looked at her with something close to

fierce compassion.

“But if you decide to rise... to rebuild, piece by piece, then that becomes

your fate too.”

Zareen blinked back tears. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“And what happens if I lose what I gain... again?”

Noctis didn’t hesitate.

“Then you start over. Again. From scratch. A million times, if you have to.

And then—on the one million and first time, you’ll get it right.”

He tilted his head, a glimmer of something warm in his eyes.

“That’s the sweetness of never giving up.”

By Susan Zare