[Thank you, Sonata, for the inspiration!]

Shh. Listen closely.
Hear.
He hears.
The ancient stag looks to the stars, to the Gods. He hears the tale weaving through his ears, at first with surprise, then acceptance, then a sort of patience that seems to come with old age, frowning and wondering as the words wound through the air around him.
The Priest had heard his share of sad stories, yet something within him moved.
He knew he could help.
Shaggy fur, ragged with age, riddled with scars, shook as he stood, a determined look in his gray eyes.
He was coming.


Shh. Close your eyes.
Feel.
She feels.
The chocolate doe looks to the same stars, eyes closed, feeling the wind weaving through the locks of fur. The voices of the Gods weave with the wind, red and gold, two of one. They tell a tale of two others, forced apart, torn apart, one tossed here.
He was waiting.
The doe gets to her feet, determined, eyes shining.
She would help him. She would answer the call.
In an instant, Amadahy was bounding off amongst the green hills, searching for a lost scent.


Shh. Open your eyes.
See.
He sees.
The golden stag's eyes open from sleep. The stars glow and dance. Across his vision come two ribbons, one yellow, one a beautiful dark red.
His eyes open wide as voices come from nowhere. Not even from the transparent ribbons. They tell him a story, one of the sort that he prizes. His mind absorbs it, turns it over, analyzes it.
One of the participants was here.
Keme stands, magpie mask blending perfectly with the night.
With a slow trot, he attempts to find the source.


Three shadows moved of their own accord, silent in the night forest. An owl hooted in the distance; one shadow turned to look, feminine head curious. Yet she would not linger long.
The larger shadow, only by measure of his antlers, walked steadily, slowly, determined to reach his destination.
The last stag, tall for his age yet not towering, pauses for a moment to look at the stars.
The Gods are watching.
Three shadows moved on from different places, merging on one point in the distance.


Where there were shadows before, suddenly there were deer. One red, one brown, and one gold converged on the stricken shape. None had been out of the woods before this night; somehow, they had known the way to this spot.
One slow beat, one fast beat, one medium.
Red, gold, brown came towards him.
For tonight, rivalries were forgotten, left behind.
They came only for him.


The red stag spoke first, in a voice cracked with age, yet with an air of pride to it. He stood as though he had regained something lost to him long ago. The Priest looked on the sad little body and sat beside it, laying a gentle head on the shoulder.
"Boy...It is time for you to awaken. Come."

The doe speaks next, laying a chocolate head blackened by pitch-colored feathers on his side. Her blue eyes were closed, but she was smiling.
"You have somewhere to be," she whispers softly, nudging his side.

Finally, the golden stag lowers his head to the fallen boy's, letting the magpie mask fall to the side so he can speak better. His voice is quiet as well, almost a masculine version of the doe's.
"Come to the Forest."
The golden stag takes his place at the head of the boy, looking down and studying. The arrow wound would need tending tomorrow. He huffed softly.


Dawn broke then, pink light shattering the darkness. All three looked up, watching it in silence, waiting.