It was just a regular outing. We often went to Letchworth State Park in the summer. We usually went there in the evening and stayed in one of the many lodges until nine o’clock or so. But this night was different.

The sun had already set, and we were all in the lodge. My parents and a couple of my brothers were playing some card game, while my other brothers ate from a bag of chips. I was restless-I’d never really liked coming there, as I was not allowed to bring a book along, and card games weren’t my thing. I snuck out the door when they all weren’t paying attention, walked away from the lodge and looked up at the moon and bright stars. All the trees and the grass were silhouetted with a subtle white glow. It was a beautiful night, and inspired me to sing.

As I began to sing softly, I noticed some shadows among the trees lining the clearing I was in. A mother doe and her fawn. They hardly noticed me as I was rather far from them. And then I had a crazy idea. Maybe I’d been watching too many movies with elves in them, or fairies or something…but I wanted to touch them. I wanted to get really, really close to them so that I could at least almost touch them. I’d always fancied, when I was alone in woods and singing, that I could do extraordinary things; like draw animals to me, or cause them to actually stop and listen to me. Occasionally I even felt that I myself was different, a sort of ‘nature girl’.

I walked toward them as slowly as possible, trying to make myself look unthreatening, and sang in a neutral, pleasing tone-not too loud or screechy. Twigs snapped under my shoes as I came closer, and the deer’s ears followed the noise, but they did not run away. They slowly walked deeper into the trees, and I followed, still singing.

Please don’t run away. Please, my mind screamed, and please, God, let me get closer to them, please, please, please…

They came to a small dirt road and crossed it, stopped for a moment, and turned their heads. They watched me as I got closer, reached the road but went no further. I was close enough to see their eyes, staring back at me-shining black pearls; and their bodies were, like the trees and grass, lined with the light of the moon’s rays.

“Hello,” I said quietly, wanting yet unwilling to go any further, lest they run; and yet I knew they would not.

“Hannah? Hannah, you shouldn’t be out there! Come back inside!” I heard the door open and my mother called out.

I sighed. The spell was broken, the magic gone. The doe’s ears swiveled, the fawn gave me one last curious glance, and then the mother nosed it and they quietly departed without hurry. I departed as well-back to the lodge, happy and yet miserable, for I was sure such a thing would not happen to me again in a very long time. I made a big mistake once I was back in the lodge-I told everyone about what had happened.

“I would have shot it,” said one of my brothers, and I treated him to a withering glare.

I shall always remember those two wonderful, rare minutes. And every time I think of it, I thank God that it wasn’t hunting season, it was dark out, my brothers had not been with me, they did not have hunting licenses, and they did not have guns.

(Note: The Arânyan language is of my own making for one of my books-I used a couple words in the title because it sounded more mysterious)