They appeared without warning, wandering in from the treeline while I was tossing hay near the fence. Calm and unafraid, the larger deer stayed close, watchful and steady, while the smaller one stared at me with wide, curious eyes. I smiled, snapped a photo, and posted it online, thinking nothing more of the moment.Then the little deer stepped closer—closer than I expected. I could hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath its hooves as it paused near the fence. Slowly, it lowered its head and dropped something onto the grass.
At first, I thought it was just dirt or a small rock. But when I crouched down and brushed aside the leaves, my breath caught.It was a worn piece of fabric, embroidered and faded. I recognized it instantly—a fragment of the quilt my grandmother had sewn by hand, lost during a violent storm the previous autumn. I had searched everywhere, but the wind had carried it far beyond where I thought it could be found.
