[=10]

The snow wasn't as thick as it could have been, but it still swallowed a deer's hooves whole and sent warning chills to their ankles. It wasn't really the snow that made the Forest cold; it was the cool air, and the freezing gusts of wind that slashed across unmasked faces like cruel blades of ice, that made it unpleasant to be without some form of shelter.
Rhye had expected it to be warm at least, really; from what he'd heard from other deer, the weather should have been kind to them. But the Gods followed no form of structure when it came to weather and time of day, clearly. Not one to hide away from rain or snow, the brown stag had ventured from his warm place in the Old Oak out into the Forest. He'd gotten to the river and the Crying Idol before realising just how cold he was, and was instantly desperate to warm up. Disliking the thought of running around, Rhye searched his surroundings for someone or something to help him.
After trotting about and nearly falling into the Pond, he'd given up on finding a warm spot in the Forest. The sunbeams weren't warm at all, the willows were damp and cold, and even the Oak, whom he had always considered 'faithful', was chilly. He couldn't find anywhere that was clean and warm and dry and suitable to his standards.
But fortunately, perhaps, he had a brainwave. Was body heat not the most efficient way to stay warm? And Rhye loved to snuggle. He loved snuggling more than he loved most things. His search began.
Conscious deer, it seemed, did not like his lack of personal space. And sleeping deer were cold.
The stag, now lonely, mood dampened, curled up near the river and slept. He slept for a long time.

When he awoke, he was very warm. Gold-hazel eyes opened and he lifted his head, magpie mask falling to the ground as he did so.

Chapter Four – Ill and Indisposed

Never before had Jergens felt so clean and refreshed (as well as sexually assaulted). Irene had given him a gift of some of her husband’s old clothes. Sure, they literally almost fell off his skin and bones body, but they were clean. Several people that he walked past no longer glared at him, they just gave him odd, awkward glances. It was quite an improvement, really.

As he strolled down the mansion gates he passed by a rather lovely rose bush. Jergens, who was quite impulsive when it came to matters such as these, picked one without even slowing his pace. He glanced over and happened to notice one of the nearby forests’s deer walking along on the other side of the street. Ordinarily, Jergens would have stopped and inspected it, but for this town, visits from the deer seemed pretty normal, and he wanted to blend in.

When he reached the rock wall enveloping the estate’s garden he considered how he would meet Bartleby again and begin phase one of his plan. Hide in the garden? No… he didn’t quite like that, did he? It also made him seem more like a creepy stalker. Go through the front door? He considered this, going through the front door… asking for some employment like a normal person? For shame! That wasn’t the Jergens way, no sir! But it was either that or the garden stalking…

Of course he went with the garden stalking, who wouldn’t?

He climbed over the wall and dropped behind some bushes, only to stiffen himself and bite his lip in fear. Right across the garden path, less than twenty feet away from him, were two black guard dogs. One had the oddity of a white muzzle; the other had dirtied white paws. Both of them were looking at him in curiosity.

Jergens had been terrified of dogs ever since his birth. No, he had no traumatic event that gave birth to his phobia, he was just deathly afraid of them. Even the small, puffy varieties were scary to him!

Months and dates meant nothing to Cloud, seasons were his calendar. He remembered that it was around this time, when the days grew warmer and longer, a time known as summer that his younger brother was born. Sky would have been two by now, just a year younger than Cloud. He would have been excited at the prospect of having larger antlers, he would have been trying to take on every stag he came across. He would have been happy. In a perfect world, Sky would have been alive to celebrate growing a year older. But the world was not perfect.
Cloud carried the assortment of flowers that he had so carefully picked earlier to the birch forest. Sky had always loved the birch forests back at their old home range, he'd said they made him feel safe and comfortable. How ironic that such a place would also be where he would die.
Cloud stopped beneath a tree situated deep in the forest and laid the flowers down at it's base. His task done, he stepped back for a moment, reminiscing about what should have been, could have been, and how it was.
Why do I still linger? He wondered, Maybe I just can't let go.
Cloud raised his head skyward and forced a smile even though he was breaking on the inside. He would always smile for Sky, no matter what.
"Happy birthday, little brother."