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((Edit: changed name to Desert Song))

“Oh no, it must be here.” The sunflower-colored doe backed away from the tree that held her hidden treasures in its hollow. She slowly paced around the tree searching the bark of the tree and the ground around it for a speck of muddy-colored red.

“Oh, no. Oh, no” she chanted to herself. “I can’t go without my feather.”

Rustling noises above her drew her attention up to the tree branch where a bird was settling itself in its nest. A fluff of dusty red caught her eye. “My feather”, she whispered to herself. Woven into the twigs of the nest was her lucky feather. This wasn’t an improvement to her current situation. The nest was too high for her to reach, even if she stood on her hind legs. Not that the bird would take kindly to someone trying to take its nest apart anyway, she was sure.

“Oh, pretty bird, might I bother you?” she called up to the branches above her. The bird looked down over edge of her nest and cooed at the golden doe below her.

Not sure if the bird would understand her, Setting Sun tried to explain her dilemma anyway. “I see that you’ve borrowed my feather and woven it into your nest. And it adds a nice bit of color, but it’s my lucky feather, you see. I’m going on a journey today and I need to take it with me.” She paused, looking for some sign from the bird that it understood what she was saying. The bird watched her, tilting her head this way and that.

“Please, if you could pull the feather out and let it drop, I’d be most grateful.” Setting Sun looked pleadingly at the bird. The bird simply chirped and chattered at her. “If you give me back my feather, I’ll bring back many other feathers for you to weave into your nest,” she added, hoping an offering might be what the bird was waiting for. The golden doe was beginning to fret. How could she go on a journey without her lucky feather. Would she have to tell her friends to go without her. Caught up in her worries and watching the bird, she didn’t hear the padding of muddy hooves behind her.

“I think the bird wins.”

Setting Sun whirled at the voice behind her. A brown doe stood behind her looking up at the bird. Recognizing her traveling companion, Lost Petal, she said, “It’s my lucky feather. I can’t go without it.”

The brown doe looked at her with a quizzical expression, “But it’s just a feather.”

“It’s not just a feather. It’s my lucky feather.”

“Well, now it’s the bird’s lucky feather,” stated Lost Petal. “We need to get going before the sun gets too low.” Seeing her friend’s hesitancy, and not wanting to argue about a feather, she added, “Maybe it’s a sign.”

Now it was Setting Sun’s turn to have a quizzical look on her face. How could losing her lucky feather be a sign. Maybe a bad sign.

“Maybe it’s time to leave the feather at home. Maybe this means you must take this journey without the feather and make your own luck.” Lost Petal wasn’t a great believer in signs, but she knew her friend was. She was hoping this suggestion would sway her friend from wasting time and let them be on their way.

“What if it means I shouldn’t go?”

Lost Petal sighed. Not the response she was hoping for. “The bird found your feather because Mother meant for it to happen. This journey must be taken on your own.” The brown doe could see that her friend was wavering. “Come, Setting Sun, we must leave soon.” Lost Petal nudged her friend, adding, “Besides… you have me. You know nothing bad happens when I’m around.”

Setting Sun reluctantly let her friend gently nudge her into walking away from the tree. With a last look over her shoulder, she whispered forlornly, “My feather.”

The golden doe felt her heart ache as the bird in the nest above fluffed its feathers, settling around its eggs. A soft wind came and tickled the down of her charm, grey-red fibers aflutter. Sunlit Feather was stricken with sadness as she watched the small songbird with the utmost intent. Sunlit Feather rose on her hind feet carefully and braced her forehooves against the trunk of the great tree, careful of the slime that had adhered to the trunk.

It was in vain, of course, a feeble attempt at trying to reach her treasure. Sunlit Feather knew that she could never reach it. She bore no claws to climb the tree, nor wings to fly and snatch her charm.

"No..." she whispered, distraught. "No, no..." She could feel the weight of the grief settle in her chest. Losing the feather was like losing a friend. As if deep water was sucking them down, down, down into the depths of motherswamp, never to be seen again and only to be grieved for. The tug of her heartstrings was too much and she scrabbled at the moss on the trunk in a foolish attempt to scale the tree.

The slime caused her to lose her balance and she tumbled away, landing askew on the ground. The songbird saw her now and it flitted to the edge of it's nest, watching her with small black eyes. It hopped from side to side of the woven life-vessel, the shelter of it's eggs, and then hopped down to a closer branch as Sunlit Feather slowly sat upright.

The doe stared up at the smaller creature mournfully. It chirped back at her, cocking its head back and forth. Never was there an instant where the bird was completely still. Head, tail, body, one or many would move. Sunlit Feather dropped her head and the curious little mother bird flitted down the tree, branch by branch.

Sunlit Feather's friend would begin to wonder where she was, would begin to set out to find the golden doe. Sunlit Feather shuddered as if a sudden chill had come over her and she looked once more back up at her worn out charm. It was gone. Gone. There was no way she could get it, and it was this fact she had to accept that grieved her more than losing the feather altogether. No longer would it’s luck serve her.

The songbird chirped at Sunlit Feather and the kimeti's eyes focused on the creature once more. She could not blame the bird. No, it was not the mother-to-be's fault. Still she grieved. The bird lost interest with the doe and fluttered back up, settling back down upon her eggs to warm them.

Sunlit Feather rose to her hooves and eyed her talisman. Perhaps it was time to move on. Perhaps she could survive without the luck the feather brought... no. Wait... Yes. That was right. She could, and maybe, just maybe the feather never really had brought her luck, maybe it had been her own luck all this time.

She snorted up at the feather, tail swishing. It had served her for all this long time. Whether it had helped her or not, she would never know. Perhaps it was her own dependence on the plume that had made her rely on the luck it seemed to bring her. Perhaps all the good fortune it had brought her wasn't really luck, but rather the flow and churn of life.

Or, perhaps if it was real genuine luck, it was time for her start making it on her own.

With that, she turned and begin to head for her friend, glancing over her shoulder to eye the mother bird once more. The plume fluttered in the wind, as if it was waving her onward and goodbye. A much harder journey awaited her now, but it was one she could make and every scale of her body, every vessel, sinew and hair would get her there.

She could do it, and she would, all on her own.

(Edit: Fixed a few gosh durn'd spelling errors.
Edit 2: Changed the name after deadline with Raisin-kins' permission.)

Red-Crested Bones

Red-Crested Bones lay at the base of the tree, listening to the song of the bird above her head. Her feather was there, with that bird. Bones did not know if it was anger she was feeling, or fear. Fear of the trip she knew she would take, feather or no… or fear of not being herself anymore without the feather. The birds song was jubilant, happy… but the bad thing she felt creeping over the land muddled her mind; and without her feather to clear her head she felt vulnerable. Was the loss of her feather a sign of things to come?
Bones tilted her head up and looked at the nest, her worn old feather twisted into the twigs and other treasures snatched by the bird in order to warms its eggs.
Putting her head down, Bones fought back frustrated tears. There was a reason that the mother swamp had allowed her feather to be taken now, at such an important time. Closing her eyes she listened to the bird, to the ground, to the trees. They all blew with the odd wind that had first brought the electric scent of change; but now it blew the birds songs around her. The ground told her to be calm, the birds songs told her to listen.
So she did.
She heard the change that would arrive soon, the sacrifices that must be given. The change… changes they all must go through.
Opening her eyes she looked to the bird, and then to the sun.
It was nearly time for her friend to arrive, and then they would go to the hill crest to see beyond… pushing her self up, Bones began to walk around the tree, but rather than look up she looked down. The ground was scattered with leaves, twigs and small down feathers from various birds. Moving aside leaves here and there with her hoof she finally found what she was looking for.
A large enough feather from the bird above, white and speckled brown. It was clean and unbent, a token from the birds to mother swamp. Going to her hollow trunk she set the feather in the turtle shell and then picked them both up, checking the sun again before walking out of her clearing.
She had time to do what she needed to do.
The trees broke open to another clearing, a small crest of earth that was un-choked by water. Beautiful red flowers grew here, and she treaded through the water onto the hill to retrieve some. Setting the shell down she gathered the flowers, being careful not to crush them in her teeth as she made a small pile of their flower-heads.
Once she had enough she replaced the feather with the flowers and began to crush them carefully with her hooves. The red would dye the inside of her shell, and most likely change the color of her hooves for a good day. Bones took the shell and crushed petals to the water and added a bit of water before returning. Carefully placing the feather in the mixture she nudged it with her hooves, letting the feather be submerged and changed by the deep red color.
“Bones? Bones!” The sound of her friends voice made Bones look up from the feather she had been busy with.
“I’m here…” She called, tipping the shell and pouring out the mixture, feather and all, to the ground. In the midst of the mess of smashed leaves and watery mess, the white of the feather had been died red. The brown spots still there.
The feather had changed. She must change. Picking the feather up she took a small amount of the mud and stuck the still damp feather to her head and looked in the water.
She had changed.
As she was making her way off the crest back to the woods with her shell her friend met her.
“Bones… I was looking for you… hey, that’s a new feather!” Bones smiled and lead the way through the woods, and out into the unknown.