You were alive in the cold morning. You breathed the same air I breathed. You drank from water I have never found. You knew trails older than any road I ever traveled.
I did not take you lightly. I take you into my body now the way the forest takes its own fallen — not with grief, not without it, but with the understanding that everything feeds everything and nothing is wasted if it is received with thanks.
You ran the ridgelines. You survived winters I cannot imagine. You carried your antlers like a crown earned by patience and season and bone.
Now you carry me.
I am grateful.
I will try to be worth it.