Lemon had been avoiding Walter as best she could; mostly because she didn’t want to confront the fact that she was destined to murder him. Not only did she hate the idea of any deer passing on before their time; but Lemon actually liked the old stag, quite a bit. She had a tendency to associate with misunderstood and under appreciated deer of the forest; and Walter was certainly no exception. She had come to enjoy the peculiar old stag’s company, even if he could be a bastard, sometimes. The little doe wasn’t going to roam the forest with his blood on her hooves.

So she needed to devise a plan to save him – she needed to speak to Mystress. For now, her idea of avoiding the old stag was falling apart. Lemon stood near the playground rocks, listening intently to her surroundings. She knew that Walter was nearby, accompanied by a buck whom she did not recognize. She considered simply turning and trotting the other direction, on the off chance that Walter hadn’t yet noticed her. But in case the old man had noticed her, Lemon would rather he not be alerted to the fact that she was carefully avoiding him.

So the little grey doe took a tentative step toward the elderly stag. Walter lifted his chin proudly, and trotted over to where Lemon stood. His friend followed along – a meek little minion, blind or apathetic to his hero’s demonic ways. Lemon offered the old demon a smile. ”Hello Walter,” she said softly. She reached out to invite the old stag into an embrace, but was startled to feel the bristly pelt of his friend, instead. Lemon took a step back, disoriented, and felt Walter brush against her rump. Was he… circling her? Lemon turned, laying her ears flat against her head. Suddenly, she began to wonder if she had taken Walter’s recent good mood for granted. What had ever happened to the prudent Lemon? The old Lemon would have never been caught dead facing two adult male deer, alone. Walter grinned at the little doe, his gristly throat trembling with a violent snarl.

And suddenly, Lemon felt very, very afraid.

The little doe took another step back, just as Walter shoved his impressive antlers into her face – thankfully, missing her by mere inches. Lemon let out a whimper of fear, and bolted. Of course, the two males weren’t going to let her get away -- she could hear the larger stags thundering after her, cackling maniacally at Lemon’s terror. Gods in heaven! How could this be happening?

Lemon ran until she felt that her legs would give out at any moment. She was slowing down, growing exhausted. She was a quick sprinter -- but she couldn't run for long periods of time. Lemon needed to find a hiding place, and soon. Lemon had already put quite a bit of distance between herself and the two demon stags; but she knew that the two bastards would be closing in on her, soon. Desperate, the little doe dove for cover, and quickly concealed herself inside a nearby tree. There she stood, panting heavily as she listened to the two stags stampede toward her, throwing their heads back and laughing at her misery and fear.

Walter and company slid to a stop and Lemon remained within the tree, safe from view. She stood perfectly still, hoping that her ragged breathing wouldn’t betray her position. Though she knew that the old man was deaf, she had a good feeling that his friend was not. Walter was close – she could hear him stomping around, just a few yards away. His heavy footsteps were but a simple reminder of the fact that he far out-sized and out-weighed her. If Walter discovered little Lemon, she was sure to be a goner. Yet, he seemed completely oblivious of her, so far. In fact, it almost seemed that he had completely forgotten about her.

Lemon listened as Walter became preoccupied with his friend, engaging himself in a mock battle -- oh, and now Lemon remembered exactly why she did not like males. Such egotistical and proud fools; throwing their prized antlers around, stamping their hooves and making such terrible noise...

Suddenly, Lemon was alerted to the sound of tiny hooves, approaching. She jumped, startled, and twisted her head around to investigate who had approached her tree. She discovered that it was a little fawn; probably one of the many she had taken under her wing for a day. Not wanting to leave the fawn feeling rejected, Lemon risked betraying her hiding place, and gave the fawn a little curtsy. The fawn curtsied back – and oh, did Walter notice. The old stag snapped his attention to the fawn, suddenly alerted to Lemon’s place of cover. Naturally, blind little Lemon could not know that Walter had discovered her, and so she decided to try her luck further. She stepped away from her tree, giving the fawn a loving nuzzle. That’s when Walter broke into a run toward them, and Lemon leapt backwards into her hiding place, praying to the Gods that he hadn’t seen her – or the fawn. But he had.

Walter slid to a stop, throwing his antlers back in an impressive way. He grinned at the little fawn, revealing a set of yellowed, impish teeth. Lemon felt herself tremble. The fawn took a tentative step back, tilting his head curiously at Walter, and Lemon held her breath. For as far as she knew, Walter had already switched to a more amiable mood. From what she had seen yesterday, he wasn’t always a terrible fellow, after all.

But today – oh, today – was different.

Walter took a step toward the fawn, a low growl rumbling through his sinewy throat. Lemon’s ears slicked back against her head, and her eyes grew wide. Oh, Walter. Not this… The fawn, who was still quite unsure about what was happening, tried to give Walter a friendly nuzzle. Walter responded by shoving his great antlers in the little fawn’s face. The young one let out a bleat of fear, and stumbled backwards. Lemon felt fury bubble up within her, and she leapt from her hiding place within the tree, placing herself directly between Walter and the fawn.

The little doe didn’t get angry often; but there were times when even the very gates of hell couldn’t hold her back – specifically, when she was protecting the life of an innocent fawn. Lemon lowered her feathered head and braced herself, daring the old man to accept her challenge. ”Get back!” she growled, scratching the ground with her dainty hooves. Walter scoffed, giving his heavy set of antlers a casual toss, drawing attention to the fact that he was much more well-equipped for battle. Lemon was nothing more than a useless little blind doe; who was she to boss around someone like Walter? Nevertheless, Lemon was undeterred. She wasn’t going to let Walter push around an innocent little fawn – Walter wasn’t going to lay a hoof on the child, Lemon would make sure of that.

The little doe reared up and smashed her hooves back down into the ground. ”I said leave him ALONE, Walter!” Walter snarled, rising up above Lemon as he balanced tediously on his powerful hind legs. He hesitated there for a moment – looming ominously above the little doe and fawn – before slamming his hooves into the ground at Lemon’s feet. Lemon hefted herself up onto her hind legs and kicked out with her forelegs, striking Walter squarely in the chest. He snarled and thrashed his antlers at her, knocking her over with one powerful blow. With a whimper, the little doe collapsed to the ground, her sides heaving with pain and fear. The little fawn let out a squeal of surprise, and tried to nudge her back to her feet. And suddenly, the hopelessness of her situation became quite clear. She was just a little, blind doe. How in God’s name was she supposed to fend off a deer like Walter – let alone, kill him?

Lemon closed her pale yellow eyes, and was surprised to feel a tear slide down her silvery cheek. She was already at a disadvantage to Walter; not only was she blind and significantly smaller, but she had no antlers, and now she was wounded. It would seem that she was at his mercy, now. But somehow, Lemon knew that all was not lost. Not yet. She lifted her aching body to its feet, trying to calm her frayed nerves. And suddenly, she could feel them all around her; the forest spirits. They were with her, helping her. She knew that they would give her the needed strength to protect the little fawn, and bring Walter down. Re-energized, Lemon pawed the ground and shook her head, letting Walter know that she was more than ready to continue fighting, if that was what he wanted. He bellowed at her, his deep half-snarl of a voice laced with a strange, new emotion. She bellowed right back, hoisting herself up onto her twiggy back legs, and struck out with her cloved forehooves. Walter took a step back and growled. Lemon smashed her hooves back into the earth, scratching in the dirt threateningly. The fawn at her side nestled against her, wide-eyed and curious. But Walter had had enough. The old stag turned and moved slowly away. His friend followed, no doubt bewildered by the old man’s behavior. The little fawn kept close to Lemon, watching the two stags move slowly away.

Lemon gave the ground one final, resolute scratch, and the spirits left her. The little doe slumped against a tree, exhausted. Had she… truly just won a fight against Walter? The little fawn seemed almost as amazed as she felt – for as soon as Walter was a fair enough distance away, the young child suddenly became full of boundless energy. Lemon couldn’t help but smile as she listened to the young thing skip circles around her. Ah, youth – the innocence, the wonder. She gave the little fawn a nuzzle, and attempted to join in his merry celebrating, but found that she had misjudged the severity of her wounds. Lemon cringed as she righted herself from the tree, a split of pain blossoming over her entire right side. She twisted around to feel her pelt, checking for open wounds, and was startled to find that her whole right side was caked with blood. Lemon whimpered, giving her coat a tentative lick. Granted, her wounds were probably not as bad as they appeared – but she was going to have to be careful, if she wanted to ensure that her next meeting with the spirits was as a mortal…

Lemon sighed, giving the little fawn a gentle kiss on the top of his head. As far as she knew, Walter wouldn’t be returning anytime soon – the fawn at least knew now to steer clear of the old demon. She needed time to rest, and clean her wounds. And so she said goodbye to the little fawn, and headed for the pond.