Bambi Story: The Footprints Before the Rain

The forest usually announced morning with plenty of noise.

Wrens argued in the hazel bushes. Woodpeckers tested old trunks. Beetles bumped into leaves as if they had somewhere important to be but had forgotten the route.

On this particular morning, however, Bambi woke to a strange silence.

He lifted his head from the bed of fern leaves beside his mother.

No birds called from the low branches.

No frogs croaked near the stream.

Even the leaves seemed to be waiting.

— "Mother?" Bambi whispered. "Did the whole forest sleep late?"

His mother opened one eye.

— "The forest never sleeps late."

— "Then why is everyone so quiet?"

She stood, shook a few leaves from her back and tested the air with her nose.

— "Something is changing."

Bambi looked through the trees. The morning appeared ordinary enough. Pale sunlight rested on the moss. Tiny drops of water clung to the grass. A spider had built a web between two branches and was sitting in the middle of it, looking extremely pleased with the result.

— "Changing how?"

— "That is for you to notice."

Bambi made a face.

— "That sounds like a lesson."

— "It might be."

— "Before breakfast?"

His mother nudged him toward a patch of clover.

— "You may eat while learning."

Bambi decided that was reasonable.

He had just taken his third bite when a rapid thumping came from the path.

Thumper shot through the ferns, leaped over a root and stopped so close to Bambi that their noses nearly bumped.

— "You have to come see this."

Bambi swallowed his clover.

— "Good morning to you too."

— "Good morning. Now come see this."

Flower appeared several steps behind him, moving at a much more sensible speed.

— "I asked him to explain first," Flower said. "He said explanations waste running time."

Thumper bounced in place.

— "There are footprints near the old stream. Little deer footprints. They go in, but they do not come out."

Bambi stopped chewing.

— "Are you certain?"

— "I counted them twice."

Flower glanced at him.

— "He counted seven the first time and eleven the second."

— "The mud was confusing."

Bambi looked at his mother.

She was already watching the trees.

— "May I go?" he asked.

— "Yes, but do not rush past what the forest is showing you."

Thumper turned toward the trail.

— "We can look while rushing."

— "No," Bambi’s mother said.

Thumper lowered his ears.

— "We can look at a responsible speed."

The three friends headed east beneath the beeches.

The old stream was normally a cheerful place. Water slipped over stones, minnows gathered in the shallow pools, and dragonflies skimmed the surface without ever appearing to touch it.

Today, the stream looked wrong.

The water had dropped so low that half the stones stood dry. The muddy bank was covered with tracks belonging to mice, birds, rabbits and deer.

Thumper pointed at a row of small hoofprints.

— "There. Those are the ones."

Bambi lowered his nose to the ground.

The tracks belonged to a young deer, probably a fawn smaller than he was. They entered the soft mud beside the stream and continued toward a patch of tall reeds.

Beyond the reeds, they disappeared.

— "Maybe the fawn fell into the water," Flower said.

Thumper peered into the shallow stream.

— "There is hardly enough water to wet my knees."

— "Your knees are not very high."

— "They are exactly where rabbit knees should be."

Bambi stepped carefully around the last print.

— "Do not walk over them."

Thumper immediately lifted the paw he was about to place in the mud.

— "I knew that."

Bambi studied the ground.

The mud beyond the reeds was firmer, which explained why the hoofprints had vanished. But something else lay beside the final track: a small yellow petal.

He sniffed it.

— "Buttercup."

Flower looked toward the north.

— "Buttercups grow in the meadow, not beside this stream."

— "Maybe it was caught in the fawn’s fur," Bambi said.

Thumper hopped onto a stone.

— "Then the fawn came from the meadow."

Bambi followed the line the tracks had taken. The fawn had not been walking toward the water. It had crossed the stream and continued toward the deeper woods.

— "The fawn did not fall in," he said. "It crossed here."

— "So we follow it," Thumper said.

He sprang toward the reeds.

— "Wait."

Thumper landed and turned around.

— "What now?"

Bambi looked up at the silent branches.

A group of ants was moving along a fallen log. Each ant carried a pale white egg. They were leaving their underground nest and climbing toward higher ground.

Nearby, a line of snails had gathered beneath the broad leaves of a burdock plant.

Bambi remembered his mother’s words.

Something was changing.

— "Look at the ants."

Thumper leaned close to the log.

— "They are carrying breakfast."

— "Those are their eggs," Flower said.

Thumper leaned back.

— "I knew it was not breakfast."

Bambi examined the low stream again. The water was not merely low. It seemed to be pulling backward around the stones, as though something farther upstream was holding it.

A sudden breeze turned the leaves overhead, exposing their pale undersides.

Flower sniffed the air.

— "It smells like wet stone."

— "But it has not rained," said Thumper.

Bambi listened.

Far beyond the hills came a low sound.

Not thunder exactly.

More like a heavy cart rolling across a distant bridge.

— "A storm is coming," Bambi said.

Thumper looked at the clear patch of sky between the trees.

— "From where?"

— "The western hills."

— "I cannot see it."

— "The ants can."

Flower looked back at the disappearing hoofprints.

— "Then the little deer is alone in the woods with a storm coming."

Bambi felt an urge to run immediately, but he made himself stay still.

If he chose the wrong trail, they could waste the little time they had.

He studied the reeds.

One stem had been bent toward the north. A tuft of pale fur clung to a thorn. Farther ahead, two small branches had fresh scratches where hooves had pushed past them.

— "This way."

They followed the signs into a part of the forest Bambi rarely visited.

The trees grew close together. Nettles crowded the narrow path, and old roots twisted across the ground. Every few steps, Bambi stopped to inspect a scuffed leaf or a broken fern.

Thumper tried to remain patient.

He succeeded for almost a minute.

— "Could the fawn possibly leave a large sign?" he asked. "Something like ‘I went this way’ would help."

— "Lost animals do not usually make signs," Flower replied.

— "That is a weakness in the system."

Bambi found another yellow petal caught in the moss.

— "We are still on the trail."

The ground began to rise. The smell of rain grew stronger, and the forest darkened even though it was still morning.

Then a thin voice came from behind a cluster of young pines.

— "Mama?"

Bambi pushed through the branches.

A small fawn stood beside a fallen tree. Her coat was dotted with white spots, and several buttercup petals were tangled near one ear. Her legs trembled, but she held her chin high as though she had decided crying would make the situation worse.

When she saw Bambi, she stepped backward.

— "Who are you?"

— "My name is Bambi. These are Thumper and Flower."

Thumper lifted one paw.

— "We followed your footprints."

The fawn looked down at her hooves.

— "I did not know I was leaving them."

— "That is usually how footprints work," Flower said.

Bambi approached slowly.

— "What is your name?"

— "Fern."

— "Where is your mother?"

Fern’s mouth tightened.

— "We were in Buttercup Meadow. A flock of birds flew out of the grass all at once, and I followed them because I wanted to see where they went. Then I heard Mama calling, but I ran the wrong way."

— "How long have you been here?"

— "Not long."

She glanced at the darkening sky.

— "Maybe very long."

Bambi looked around.

They could return by the stream path, but it crossed a low hollow. If heavy rain reached the hills, water would rush through that hollow first.

The Great Prince had once shown Bambi an older deer trail that followed the rocky ridge. It was longer, but it remained above the flood ground and ended near Stone Shelter.

Bambi had walked it only once.

He tried to picture each turn.

A split cedar.

A gray boulder shaped like a sleeping bear.

A narrow slope covered in pine needles.

— "We need to take Fern to Stone Shelter," he said.

Thumper looked toward the stream.

— "The meadow is the other way."

— "The storm will reach us before we get there."

Fern’s ears flattened.

— "I need to find Mama."

— "She will be searching for you," Bambi said. "Stone Shelter is where the deer gather when the low trails flood. She will know to look there."

— "Are you sure?"

Bambi almost said yes.

Then he remembered that pretending to know something was not the same as knowing it.

— "I believe it is the safest choice," he said. "I remember most of the ridge path, and the Great Prince taught me how to find the shelter."

Fern looked at the thick woods behind him.

— "Most of the path?"

Thumper stepped beside Bambi.

— "He notices everything. Sometimes it is annoying."

Flower nodded.

— "Today it is useful."

A cold drop of rain struck Bambi’s nose.

Then another landed on a leaf.

— "We should move," he said.

They began climbing toward the ridge.

Bambi led. Fern followed close behind him, with Flower beside her and Thumper bringing up the rear.

The first part of the trail was clear. They passed the split cedar and found the gray boulder exactly where Bambi remembered it.

The rain increased.

Drops rattled through the canopy and struck the ground in dark circles. Wind pushed the branches from side to side. Somewhere behind them, the first true thunder rolled over the hills.

Fern flinched.

— "I do not like that sound."

— "Thunder is only noise," Thumper said.

A crack split the sky.

Thumper jumped high enough to land on a root.

— "A very rude noise."

They continued upward.

At the top of the slope, Bambi stopped.

The pine-needle path should have turned beside a tall dead tree.

But the dead tree was gone.

A recent wind had knocked it down, and several smaller trees lay tangled across the trail.

Fern stared at the barrier.

— "Now what?"

Bambi moved left, but the hillside dropped steeply toward a ravine. To the right, thick brambles blocked the ground.

He could no longer see the trail.

Rain ran down his face. The others were waiting for him to decide.

For the first time that morning, he wished his mother were there.

She would know where to step.

The Great Prince would know which direction the ridge turned.

Bambi knew neither.

— "I lost the path," he admitted.

Fern lowered her head.

Thumper moved closer.

— "You did not lose it. A tree is sitting on it."

— "That is not much better."

Flower sniffed along the fallen trunk.

— "I smell other deer."

Bambi raised his head.

— "Where?"

— "On the bark. The rain is washing it away, but they passed here before the tree fell."

Bambi examined the ground beneath the lowest branches. A narrow gap remained between the trunk and the rocks. Flattened moss continued on the other side.

The trail had not disappeared.

It had merely been covered.

— "We can crawl beneath it."

Thumper looked at Bambi’s long legs.

— "You can try."

Flower slipped under first and reached the other side easily. Thumper followed, barely lowering his ears.

Fern crouched but stopped at the opening.

— "It is too dark."

Bambi moved beside her.

— "It is only a few steps."

— "What if I get stuck?"

— "Then I stay with you until you are free."

— "What if the tree moves?"

Bambi placed one hoof against the trunk.

— "It is held by three rocks and its own roots. It will not move."

Fern looked through the gap at Flower and Thumper.

Thumper lowered himself until his face was level with hers.

— "There is excellent mud on this side."

Fern blinked.

— "Why would that help?"

— "I am still learning how to encourage deer."

Fern gave a small laugh.

Then she lowered herself and crawled beneath the tree.

Bambi followed. His antlers were still small, but one caught briefly on a branch. He twisted free and rolled onto the wet moss beside the others.

Thumper looked at him.

— "Very graceful."

— "Thank you."

— "That was not praise."

— "I am keeping it anyway."

The trail continued along the ridge.

Below them, water began filling the low ground. The old stream had changed from a shallow ribbon into a brown, rushing current. Twigs, leaves and foam spun between the banks.

Fern stared down at it.

— "We crossed there this morning."

— "That is why we could not go back the same way," Bambi said.

The storm had hidden the sun completely. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed.

At a fork in the ridge, Bambi paused again.

Both paths were narrow. Both climbed through tall pines. He could not remember which one led to Stone Shelter.

He looked for tracks, but the rain had washed them away.

He smelled wet bark, mud and pine sap. No useful scent remained.

Then Thumper struck the earth with one hind foot.

— Thump.

He waited.

— Thump. Thump.

From far to the right came an answering sound.

Three dull knocks traveled through the ground.

Thumper’s ears lifted.

— "Rabbits."

— "What are they saying?" Fern asked.

— "High ground is safe. Low burrows are flooding. They are gathering near the stone wall."

Bambi knew the stone wall lay close to Stone Shelter.

He turned right.

— "This way."

They moved more quickly now.

The ridge narrowed, passed between two boulders and descended into a broad hollow protected by an overhanging shelf of rock.

Stone Shelter was already crowded.

Rabbits sat beneath the driest edge. Squirrels huddled in the cracks above them. Two foxes kept to the opposite side, too tired and wet to cause trouble. Several deer stood near the back of the shelter.

Fern searched every face.

— "Mama?"

No answer came.

Bambi felt his relief disappear.

They had reached safety, but Fern’s mother was not there.

One of the older does stepped forward.

— "Where did you find her?"

Bambi explained about the stream and the ridge trail.

— "Her mother may still be searching near Buttercup Meadow," the doe said.

Fern pressed close to Bambi.

— "She will be out in the storm because of me."

— "She knows the forest," Bambi said. "She will find shelter."

Fern looked at him.

— "Do you know that?"

Bambi did not answer immediately.

— "No," he admitted. "But I know she will keep looking for you."

Rain hammered the stone above them.

For a while, everyone listened.

Then, through the storm, Bambi heard a deer calling.

It came from beyond the ridge.

Fern sprang to her feet.

— "Mama!"

The call came again, faint beneath the rain.

Bambi stepped toward the entrance, but the old doe blocked him.

— "The slope is dangerous now."

— "She may not know where the shelter is."

Thumper moved beside him.

— "She will if we answer."

He hopped to the front of the shelter and struck the hard earth.

— Thump. Thump. Thump.

Other rabbits joined him.

Their feet beat against the ground in a steady pattern.

— Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound traveled through the ridge.

Flower stood near the entrance and released a strong warning scent into the wind—not enough to fill the shelter, but enough to mark its location for any animal approaching from below.

The deer called again.

This time, the voice was closer.

Fern answered with all the strength in her small body.

— "Mama! I’m here!"

A shape appeared between the rain-darkened trees.

A doe climbed the last stretch of the ridge, slipped once, recovered and ran beneath the rock shelf.

Fern rushed toward her.

They met in the middle of the shelter, pressing their faces together while rain streamed from the mother’s coat.

— "I looked everywhere," the doe said.

— "I’m sorry. I followed the birds, and then I could not find the meadow."

— "You are here now."

Fern turned toward Bambi and his friends.

— "They found me. Bambi knew the safe path."

Bambi glanced at Flower and Thumper.

— "Flower found the hidden part of it. Thumper found the correct turn."

— "And Bambi found the footprints," Flower said.

Thumper shook water from his ears.

— "I found the footprints first."

— "You counted them incorrectly."

— "Counting was not part of finding."

Fern’s mother lowered her head to them.

— "Thank you."

The storm continued through the afternoon.

Inside Stone Shelter, the animals settled into their own small spaces. Thumper told Fern the story of how he had once outrun a falling pinecone, though Flower quietly explained that the pinecone had not been chasing him.

Bambi stood near the entrance and watched rain pour over the edge of the rock.

A tall figure emerged through the gray curtain outside.

The Great Prince stepped beneath the shelter.

Water ran from his antlers, but his stride remained calm.

He looked first at Fern and her mother.

Then he looked at Bambi.

— "You used the ridge trail."

— "The stream path was flooding."

— "How did you know the storm was coming?"

— "The birds were silent. Ants carried their eggs uphill. The leaves turned over, and the stream began pulling backward."

The Great Prince nodded.

— "And when the trail was blocked?"

— "Flower found the deer scent beneath the fallen tree."

— "At the fork?"

— "Thumper heard the rabbits near the stone wall."

The Great Prince studied him for a moment.

— "Then you listened well."

Bambi looked out at the storm.

— "I did not know everything."

— "No one does."

— "I lost the path twice."

— "But you did not pretend you could find it alone."

Bambi considered that.

He had always imagined that being grown meant knowing the right direction before anyone asked.

Today had been different.

He had noticed some signs.

Flower had noticed others.

Thumper had heard what Bambi could not.

Fern had been brave enough to follow them.

— "Is that what leading means?" Bambi asked. "Listening to everyone?"

— "It is part of it," said the Great Prince. "The loudest animal does not always know the safest road."

Thumper looked over.

— "Is that about me?"

The Great Prince’s expression did not change.

— "Was your name mentioned?"

— "No."

— "Then decide for yourself."

Flower covered a laugh with one paw.

Near evening, the rain weakened.

The storm moved east, grumbling as it went. Light returned between the trees, and water dripped from every branch.

When the animals finally left Stone Shelter, the forest smelled washed and new. Small streams crossed paths that had been dry that morning. Leaves shone. Birds began calling from the wet branches, each one apparently eager to make up for the hours of silence.

Bambi walked home beside his mother.

She had waited near the shelter after learning where he had gone. Now she listened while he told her about the tracks, the ants, the fallen tree and Fern’s reunion with her mother.

— "You noticed what the forest was showing you," she said.

— "Not all of it."

— "Enough to begin."

They reached the clearing where they had eaten breakfast.

The spiderweb between the branches had survived the storm. It sagged beneath dozens of raindrops, but every thread still held.

Bambi looked at it carefully.

— "Mother?"

— "Yes?"

— "I think the web is stronger because every thread is connected."

His mother glanced at the web, then at him.

— "That is another thing worth noticing."

Bambi settled into the ferns as evening spread through the forest.

Somewhere across the ridge, Fern was safe beside her mother. Thumper was probably explaining the storm in a way that made him responsible for most of the weather. Flower would correct him when necessary.

The day had begun with silence.

Now the woods were full of dripping leaves, distant voices and frogs returning to the stream.

Bambi closed his eyes.

He knew he would not understand every footprint or every warning the first time he saw it.

But he would stop.

He would look.

He would listen.

And when the path disappeared, he would remember that finding the way did not always mean finding it alone.