They appeared out of nowhere—emerging silently from the treeline while I was tossing hay by the fence. No fear, no hesitation. As if they’d been here before.
The larger deer stood steady, almost protective. But the smaller one… it kept tilting its head at me, blinking slowly, like it was trying to communicate.
I chuckled, pulled out my phone, and snapped a photo. “Got some curious visitors today,” I captioned it and posted without a second thought.
But just after I clicked the shutter, something unexpected happened.
The little deer stepped closer—right up to the fence—and dropped something.
At first, I thought it was just a rock or a clump of dirt.
But when I looked closer, my heart jumped. It wasn’t a rock. It was a small bundle of fabric, carefully folded. I froze, staring, confused. The young deer glanced from me to the bundle, as if urging me to notice.
I knelt down and hesitantly picked it up. It was surprisingly soft, too clean for something left in the dirt. And there was this strange pull in my chest—like I was meant to find it.
I slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a tiny wooden box. My hands trembled as I opened it to reveal a silver locket, delicate and old, etched with unfamiliar symbols. Time had tarnished its surface, but it was clear this wasn’t just a trinket—it was something more.
The deer stood motionless, watching me. The bigger one stayed back, calm and watchful. But the little one’s gaze was intense—almost expectant. Like it had delivered a message.
I stood up slowly, the locket warm in my hand, unsure what to do. Should I follow them? Ignore it and go back inside?
But something deep inside me whispered: pay attention. This was no ordinary moment.
I called out, voice barely steady: “Are you… trying to show me something?”
The young deer blinked, then turned back toward the trees, pausing just long enough to seem like it was waiting for me.
I glanced once more at the locket. No name. No initials. Just the quiet weight of something important—and a path I hadn’t expected.