This is what a doe feels, when the hunter finally stops circling and just stands there.

“I’m ready. If you’ll have me.” “Ma’am.”

March: gives more than Spring

Months of walking the same treeline for nothing, and then he’s simply there — the way weather arrives, no warning worth the name.

The Distance Between Them

Thinner than the season should have left anyone. A voice that hasn’t been used for words in weeks. And still, somehow, the wrong word is the only one either of them can manage first.

Some reunions don’t get to be tender right away. This one earns it slowly.

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© 2026 I.Ph. de Lange. All rights reserved. Published by CYcrds OÜ.

Author’s Note — What the Woods Give Back

There’s a gap between what the heart dictates and what the mouth manages to say, and I wanted this scene to sit inside that gap rather than skip over it. He comes back ready to give everything. What actually comes out is a title, not a name — the wrong register entirely, the kind of slip that happens when the heart’s already made the crossing and the brain hasn’t caught up with the paperwork.

I think most real reunions have a beat like that. The mind gets there first in theory, then trips on its own feelings the second it has to speak out loud.

I.Ph.