Deep in a thicket there was a little, hidden clearing, giving a little free space, and that is where Bambi was standing. Around his head a swarm of midges danced and sang in the sunshine. From the leaves of the hazel bush beside him came a quiet buzzing, it came closer, and a big cockchafer flew slowly past him, straight through the swarm of midges, higher and higher up to the top of a tree where he intended to sleep until evening. His elegant wing covers stuck out from him and his wings were bursting with power.
“Did you see him ...?” the midges asked each other. “That’s the elder,” said one of them. And the others sang, “All of his relatives are already dead, but he’s still alive.”
A couple of very small midges asked, “How long do you think he’s going to live?” The others sang their answer, “We don’t know. He’s outlived all of his family ... he’s very old ... very old.”
Bambi walked on. The song of midges, he thought, song of midges ... A tender, anxious call came through to him. The voice of somebody of his own species. “Mother! ... mother!”
Before they understood what was happening, Bambi was standing there before them. Speechless, they stared at him. “Your mother does not have the time now,” Bambi told them sternly. He looked in the little one’s eye. “Can’t you be by yourself for a while?”
The little one and his sister remained silent.
Bambi turned away, slipped into the nearest bush and disappeared, even before two of them could understand what had happened. He walked on. “I like that lad ...” he thought. “Maybe I’ll meet him again when he’s a bit bigger ...” He walked on. “And the little lass,” he thought,” she’s nice too ... that’s what Faline looked like when she was a child.”
He walked on and disappeared into the woods.