'Well I never . . . !'

... The spring morning was strangely cold and blustery after so many days of warm weather. Geeri grazed a little way from where her mate, Lughooey and three of their four fawns, played tag.
Their fourth and youngest daughter, tiny, dark-furred Ammet, stood silently beside her mother, her little nose snuffling the strong breezes.

There suddenly approached a doe, with fur of gingery shades.
'Hello, Geeri!' she said, smiling. 'How are you?'
'Hello, Brance,' replied Geeri, curtly as usual, and she raised her head. 'I'm very well, thank you.'

'Well - oh my!' Brance stopped short in her tracks. She had caught sight of Ammet. 'Well I - Why, well I never! She's still so small!'

Geeri nodded, looking down with concern at her daughter. 'I'm afraid so. However Malia and I have hopes that she'll start to get bigger as winter sets in . . . '