I have had, as time has passed, many a name.
I came to the forest without a name, bestowed one upon myself, and went forth to face the new world.
And yet the closer I got and the more I explored in silence I learned that my name was not enough.
I needed another name.
I needed a name to hide behind.
I learned that many of the forest hid behind many names.
So I took another name.

I wrote this down when I was bored, so it isn't perfect,

[=13][=purple]Yellowstone Valley stood silent and still that morning. The sky was beggining to be lit with the light of the burning hot sun. The many animals that inhabited the valley were asleep, deep in their dreams where nothing would hunt them, no winter would starve them.
Then there was movement.
Far up in the mountains a wolf emerged from her resting spot.
Her large pack were still asleep, hidden in cramped burrows, sheltered by trees. She imagined them huddling together for more warmth than their thick coats could provide.
Pressing her paws into the snow she managed to climb up to a ledge carved in the side of the great snow-topped mountain. From the ledge the wolf could see the entire valley, shrouded in the night's darkness.
Two golden orbs for eyes, flecked with green watched the horizon.
This particular part of the day was special to the young female.
Then what she was waiting for came alive. The top of the sun burst from the edge of the mountain peaks, it's great golden rays reached down and fed the valley life and day. The gold shimmered off the silver-white snow making it look as if each individual flake were a diamond.
The valley was rich in beauty.
The she-wolf threw back her head and howled, her eyes were shut and her ears were pinned back against her brown-grey fur. The howl sang out her thoughts and emotions into the sky. The plants and trees seemed to stand still and listen to the song.

An eagle beat it's powerful wings and sailed of the mountain side, a dusting of snow sprinkled off it's white tail feathers. He flew past the howling wolf and let out a cry of freedom and happiness, marking the new day. It's yellow eyes looked down at the valley below him,searching. He took in every detail.

Warning - blood and gore warning

Forest of the Zombie Harts

Fledermaus awoke with a nasty headache. The air was strangely foggy and had a decrepit smell. He coughed a little, trying to get used to the air. He noticed many of the trees were rotting, and the limbs were bare. What has happened to the Forest?, he thought.

Standing, he looked around, not seeing any other deer in the area. He began to walk toward the Pond, hoping to find someone there. Approaching, he could see the water wasn't quite what he remembered.

He stopped, staring in horror when he saw the water. The Pond was murky, and bones littered the shoreline - deer bones. Fledermaus was sick, and he could not stand to see the Pond in the condition it was in. Turning away, he ran toward Twin Gods' Hill. He wanted answers.

"Michael! Auriea!", Fledermaus cried out. The hill was coming more and more into view, and his hopes rose with each hoofbeat. Sliding, his hope sank in one moment. The stag collapsed, saying under his breath, "...no..."

The idols were completely destroyed. Bits of the Gods protruded from the ground, and thick weeds were already growing in the area. The Hill had never been unkempt.

"Fledermaus?", someone said nearby. The voice was familiar, but odd to his ears, and turning, he saw a zombie stag standing at the base of the hill. "Who...who are you?", Fledermaus questioned. The stag was nameless - their pictograms had vanished when the Twin Gods' magic left the Forest.

"It's me, Fled! It's Masque!", the Zombie said. "Masque? But...you're...", Fledermaus began to say, when the zombie nodded, "I know...and you need to become a zombie quickly. I'll take you to the Big Zombie Deer, you must submit to him, or...", he shook his head, "...or we'll have to kill you!"

"Masque, what do you mean by that?", Fledermaus questioned him.

After the rage, the indignance, the fear died out, Charlie was left with barefaced melancholy. The crew had never seen her thus. Her heart had not only been broken apart- it had smashed asunder. Some of the more bitter men agreed that this too would pass, and the wench that had been stolen aboard would be gone within a day. Stevens knew better though, and he was almost as pale as she was.
There were a few normal tells, that were missing, you see, that would mark this as a large, but petty spat. For one, Charlie usually paced and muttered, or did something physical to burn off the fire in her heart like tow the sails or jump to the capstan. Instead she manned the helm with a death grip from the moment they left port, only taking a short break to deal with the girl below deck and to sleep, quite alone, in her cabin. Second, she had for the first time in perhaps eight years of captaincy, Charlie had barked an actual order. Crew members were told to mind their own business, to cease chatting whilst working, to put their backs into the ropes. There was no singing to help aid the work. Her usual protocol when upset was to turn to her crew for advice, for solace, for an ear to belly ache to. She was the whiniest, most amusingly exuberant sailor they had ever encountered. Yet there was only a cold, dark tone to her very words. Surname basis, formal language as far as she could manage, and absolute silence besides. Even the wench came up upon the deck to try and comfort her- even she looked surprised to find she was shrugged off and turned away. For Charlie, there was only the helm, and the sheets of rain that she manned it through.
Rumours were wild.
General blame rested upon Bones’ shoulders- for surely, she must have done or said something to break Charlie so. Surely only the Scarlet Coat could have done this- perhaps she had turned upon them. Perhaps Charlie had killed her.