The Priest

I have rested, and I have thought. But I still have no solutions. I must have solutions. This fighting cannot last. I am not built for war. My frail body was never trained in this. This much is certain. So I must think of another way.

But I cannot figure out what that other way could be.

My strength is returning yet again. The Gods still require this task of me, though perhaps not in the way I thought. Perhaps. I have prayed to them, receiving only silence. They want me to continue to think.

So I do. I know the forest must be rid of this evil. I have an inkling that the demon may be connected to a ghost. But that cannot help me. I cannot use a ghost in a battle, can I?

So I continue pondering. I cannot remember when I last slept. Day after day , I ponder. I stand and pace, back and forth, back and forth. There are other ways of combating evil.

Perhaps if I cast the devout pelt, he will burn up. No, that is stupid.

All I find is no, no, no. No way to defeat him, no way to combat him.

Perhaps I could convert him. No.

I pace more. The sounds of the forest are just a backdrop. I pace, pace, pace. I must find a solution soon. I must think of something.

Otherwise...

I will have failed my Gods again.

-The Priest

((Subtle hint of past coughcough))

The Fawn

It's strange. Today is sunny. I have never seen a sunny day in the forest. It's always raining or misting.

Maybe I'm getting really, really trapped here. I'm afraid of that. I don't want to be trapped. I want to go home. The stupid idols are keeping me here.

I'm tired of the deer here. They're all oblivious. They make bright flashes come from their horns and then I feel really sick. I wish they'd go away. I really do.

I walked around the forest and tried to wreck those statues again. Nothing happened, of course. I was able to ignore my pounding head today, but all I saw was those stupid deer making stupid bright flashes that hurt. I ran from them lots, but stopped when I felt sick.

I remember falling, but nothing after that. How weird.

((Short. xD))

Warning: This next one has minor violence.

Ulh
The stag of the yellow-slit eyes awakens, hungry. For what, he's not sure. Madness flits through his normally wild eyes, turning them into something feral and beastly. He rises, agitated, but drinking in his surroundings. He listens, seeking something.

Then he starts off, channeling his feral state. His hunger must be sated.

He finds the river leading to the pond first. He leaps over it soundlessly, tracking perhaps. The glimmer of a reflection flits in the pool. Golden pelt. This will not do. He gathers his materials.

He finishes swiftly, already knowing what should be made. He stands, risking a mad smile. He bellows (suddenly realizing that he can, but saving the surprise for later) and runs off.

His reflection, flitting in the pond, shows a deer, painted white and scrolling black, tiny red dots filtered between the black.

Ulh has changed. He knows he has. He is embracing this new, freer him. Everything has come painfully clear. He swivels his ears. His hunger has not yet been sated.

He searches, but does not find. He is careful to avoid large groups of deer, suddenly finding a reluctance to encounter others. He's looking for a one-on-one, not a group, even though he knows he could take them. Especially fawns.

But something in him is a tiny bit hesitant. He shakes it off, frustrated, but realizes what he wants. The mad joy that comes with a fight.

He growls, not finding a suitable target. He gores the tree in front of him, rears at it, releasing his anger. But it is a poor substitute. He leaves it, more agitated than he was.

He finally finds his prey in the shade of the trees, close to the pond. A sleeping deer. His slitted eyes size it up, but his anger overrules their judgment. He runs over.

His hooves strike its pelt, antlers ramming into its side. That feral exhilaration returns, his target for his hunt found. He soon leaves the deer, though. Too easy, not enough joy. He feels no remorse, though. None at all. The hunter hunts when he needs to. He leaves it, blood on his hooves. The deer continues to breathe, slowly.

He decides that there is too little in hunting non-moving prey, almost nothing. Perhaps he'd find something that actually moves next time. Or perhaps he just wouldn't care.

He looks for more prey, but finds no others. He goes back to the deer he injured, curious. A fawn stands there in horror and looks up. He grins madly and vanishes back into the forest. Hunters hunt what they need. He had needed this.

Tomorrow, his golden pelt will be back, his muteness will return. Too bad. He wishes he had more time to seek better quarry.

((No, he has no idea that this sort of thing is wrong. He will NOT attack your deer unless he/she directly challenges him. If he attacks a sleeping deer, it will no longer be acted out in forest. He's nicer when in his golden butterfly pelt, truly. >.<'))