ground.

But he knew the other was too strong. Nacht soon swung his head and threw Huckleberry down the cliff.

"Goodbye, traitor!" Nacht roared into the dark.

"Fool," A cold, quiet, and chilling voice spoke next to Nacht. He turned sharply. A great buck stood, with white eyes. He was pure black, as if surrounded by fog of equal color. He knew the buck well. He was Death.

"Fool!" Shouted Nacht in return. "I help you! I bring you the dead!"
"You kill without my say," replied the figure. "One day that shall destroy you. And that is my will."

 --------------------------

Herla sat in the sun, trying to stay warm in the early Spring. His antlers had not come again yet. Things had changed though: he now saw things differently. Almost like a fawn. He had finally adjusted to the freedom, and the lack of antlers had seized their cumbersome worrying. Things had changed: He now remembered how. He remembered many things that had happened - he'd finally found it, a way to be useful. But it was then late in the season and bucks started shedding antlers. Then, Herla was convinced he had some number of months to prepare his herd.

His herd. Not Trar's. His. He belonged here. Herla felt warm. He sighed, remembering the moment he'd decided he was part of this herd.

He was loathing his luck, mourning his antlers when an awful yearling buck, his head only just coming in, had cantered up arrogantly. He had been amused by Herla's misfortune and even bothered kicking him, trying to show off. That was when Birch came up,  but Herla beat him to the punch. He sat up and bit the buck's ear on an impulse - quite hard, actually, and the ear bled heavily. The buck stood a moment before running off. When Birch approached, Herla had asked, "Who was that buck?"

"Leaf," Birch replied disdainfully. "Scum, if you ask me."

"Well," Herla had exclaimed, leaping up. "Give me a group of your most well-trained bucks, all body types you can think of. I've hit on it, Birch! I've found a way to keep fighting!"

And Herla had. He'd soon go on to train a few willing does through the Winter to fight.

But now it was Spring and all felt well. Not long into the Winter a buck named Gobo had appeared in the herd, having escaped Trar's tyrany. In fact, Herla recognized him, and was horrified when he heard the story of Ronno's murder. Faline had broken down all together. But at least her brother was there.

"Hey, Herla!" A small squirrel ran up. "I was told to tell you that Salvia's had her fawn!" Herla leaped up.

"Thank you!" he called to the rodent as he bounded off. He was excited. When he reached the thicket, Campion sat outside and shook his head. He looked as if all was well, and Herla understood. New fawn. Salvia wasn't a doe he wanted to mess with this early. Herla, disappointed, nodded. Faline had her fawn already, but having had the same response, Herla had left three days before. Now he wanted to see the little buck.

When he arrived, he saw the bone structure of Faline - no doubt. But the fur showed clearly who the father was, and Herla felt slight misgivings. He smiled all the same. "He's perfect, Faline," Herla murmured.

There was suddenly a great deal of thrashing and the fawn jumped. Faline stood up, her eyes wide. She nosed a scent. "That can't be," she whispered.

She charged out to see. The buck was one she recognized despite massively bad damage to his ears, chest, neck, and face.

"Ronno!"