Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What did you do?

Torches and the clang of steel. Bellows and whinnies.

Don’t wait for me.

The drum of hooves on dirt, the fading of healing magic in legs that felt like sticks.

Hush. Hush now, she’d soothed, her voice tense with fear and concern as her hands ran across skin stretched over bone, quieting his maddened babbling. They’d not had time for much more than that; they had to move, and her ministrations brought him enough strength to rise. His joints hurt. Oh, he hurt. He’d followed dumbly, desiring anything she desired, focused only on her. And when they’d stepped into the moonlit forest, when he’d smelled freedom for the first time in that long, torturous decade, his insanity and intensity had frightened her. Or perhaps it was his other half and the danger he now represented; he’d done something reprehensible, and she could never forget his cruelty.

She’d turned away.

She’d left him.

Go, run away now!

He ran.

He did not want to.

But she had said it, therefore it must be done. So the creature with a name long forgotten in the maddened whispers of his own mind, whose heart and magic had festered during his undeserved imprisonment, churned the legs he hated so much and fled. From the castle, from the human he’d so wanted to be, from the one person who had ever looked at him with something other than disgust or dismissal or thinly-veiled derision.

Later, he would vow to return. Later, he would show them just who they’d dared reject. But now he simply obeyed that frantic order, spoken by a woman who held his entire heart. He would obey her every word without hesitation, even if she had told him to end his life; even if she wished to end it herself.

And, were he in his right mind, he would have considered it. The Rift loomed in the distance and he knew it rested upon the edge of a great ravine. He could go there, toss himself off, end their miserable existence once and for all. But all that was in his mind was a blackness that held no name, leaving nothing but the empty desire to follow his love’s command. The magic holding his weakened body upright would not last forever. He only had so much time.

Still, his legs carried him to the Rift. There was nothing for him here, and if he lingered they would catch him again. He could go back home. Hide in the world he once himself dismissed as too silly, too colorful, too nonsensical. Oh, he ached for it, for the bright cheerful joy he had denied himself. He’d been in that horrendous cell for so long he’d forgotten what it even looked like. Rainbows. Smiles. Kind words. Song.

But then he breached the forest’s edge and beheld the town lit by the Rift, slowly winding down for the night, and hesitated.

He didn’t belong here, as a talking animal. He’d learned that quite quickly after the separation.

He didn’t belong there, either.

I belong nowhere, he’d said once, directly before the man had tried to kill him.

In another time, he would have made his decision in that split second of pause. He would have slipped into that town, darted past humans and centaurs alike and make his stand in the Rift itself, and the story would have continued and the ending would have been set. But this was not that time, and his hesitation lasted seconds, then minutes, and the longer he stood there the closer the soldiers came. His mind wandered, lost, and then his delicate elk ears swiveled to hear the pounding of metal-clad feet upon the forest floor.

He turned away from the light, casting his haunted gaze frantically around. There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere…

Prey instincts had him moving before his sluggish mind caught up. Someone was behind him and he had to move. Hooves once again hit the ground, clattering against stone and thudding against dirt. He stumbled; caught himself; kept going. Lungs unused to work burned. A heart that had until now lay sedentary hammered so hard and so fast he was sure it would give out. But the magic held, and for now he was faster than those behind him, and swiftly disappeared into the darkness.

He headed north.

~

Magic given in haste could only last so long. Legs as spindly as a spider’s collapsed finally, sending the beast rolling with the momentum of his frantic run. Until now he’d been completely void of all thought, and now it came crashing back down to him; he cried out in pain as bone no longer protected by muscle slammed into dirt and stone. He skidded and finally came to a halt and sobbed in air, shaking so hard he couldn’t tell if he were simply weak or currently experiencing a failure of the heart.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, or if he perhaps lost consciousness, but eventually his mind caught up. First things first, he needed to eat. There was nothing around; nothing at all except perhaps the odd patch of wild grass and clover, and though he’d once refused to eat such animalistic fare he now couldn’t get enough. He had to shuffle over on his knees, but that was barely a tick on the injustice of it all and didn’t even register. It went down easily enough. He barely tasted it. It gave the festering magic within the strength to take hold, and he moved easier after that.

Eventually, he could walk again. The pain from his fall ended up being nothing compared to what he’d endured, and it faded to the back of his mind as he forced his legs to work. All of it faded, until it was nothing but a buzz.

What didn’t was the cramps from the fresh grass he ate after so long having stale, watery hay and chaff that had been forced down his throat. They doubled him over, wracking him with so much pain as his body attempted to digest that he fell again. He shuddered and gasped and cried out, muscles that had not worked in so long tensing so hard the rest of his body gave up. The elk body he had couldn’t throw up, so he was stuck trying in vain to remember his own anatomy as his rumen attempted to work. Still, he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, inhaling the nearest patch of flowers with a voracity that long ago would have frightened him.

By the time he could get up again his suffering had drawn the attention of predators.

It took all his strength, all his higher brain function, all his ability to zigzag to outrun the bear. And then came the wolves, and he nearly fell to them, miraculously escaping without a single bite—only because he strayed close to a human settlement and they fell back, nervous of the proximity. And then he was sighted by said humans, and he ran again. He did not fear them, but he knew they would report to the most hated of them all, who would send soldiers to drag him back to that terrible place.

Don’t wait for me, her voice came again. Even turning her back on him, she had been so lovely, her eyes full of torment, the moonlight and shadows playing tricks upon her lavender hair. No, he would not wait for her. But someday, he would return for her, even though she was likely now reclining in the arms of the man who had done this to him.

His freedom did not occur to him— really occur, really set in—for some time after his initial escape. He did not know how long it had been. It didn’t matter. Time sped up and slowed down with no warning; sunsets and sunrises bled into one another. It all came into focus abruptly, and he realized he was standing in water. Running water. The cold pierced his thoughts and, slowly, he looked down, staring at the minnows darting under the surface; the artful swirls of sand and the peppering of rock. The man with no name lifted one hoof and stared at it, then placed it back down. His eyes focused on the rippling reflection staring back at him—gaunt, empty, hollow, broken, lifeless. A face he hated.

He screamed.

The elk voice bugled from his throat, and though he started out bellowing like a man it broke and rose to a high-pitched howl. Birds startled into flight. He screamed again, and again, pausing only when he ran out of breath and his vision faded. Then he only stopped to heave and look around at his serene surroundings, at a world uncaring of his predicament, and screamed again. His thoughts finally coalesced into actual words.

Someone help me.

There was no one.

Please, somebody care.

He’d gone through this before; at the very beginning stages of his imprisonment  he’d begged guards to look at him, look at him; when he sang and pleaded until they’d muzzled him, and eventually, he’d stopped trying. Until the darkness swallowed him and the realization that he was indeed no one, nothing but a beast to be caged until the end of time. Until his own thoughts drove him to insanity; until the hope that she’d finally come to him began to falter. Still, he’d waited. He’d waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited—

He screamed again.

She’d come to him finally, and then she’d left him.

His throat hurt. He choked and shuddered. He should have gone to the Rift. He’d thought about it during his incarceration; about the Key and the possibilities therein, but in those few minutes he’d hesitated, he’d lost his chance. How foolish—

He’d turned to follow the river in his thoughts, and there, right there, was a human. He didn’t even realize she was there at first; she was so still. He froze. She froze. She was bending over a rock, doing what he couldn’t tell and didn’t care, and her eyes widened. His delicate ears picked up her faint “oops,” then her voice rose to speak to him but the fear and rage and hatred took over— I am not an animal, you cannot calm me like one! —and then she was yelping and scrambling for cover.

It only took a split second for him to cross the distance, and that was as fast as it took for the smell of something delicious to travel from his nose to his brain. He skidded to a halt without even thinking about it, his thought process completely derailed. He looked down at the rock she’d been crouching next to.

Food.

It didn’t even enter into his mind that it was for him—perhaps the human had been in the middle of lunch and he’d interrupted. He hadn’t really been paying much attention. That had to be the reason, except none of it had been touched yet. He looked to where she’d darted—she was peeking around a tree warily, and gave a little wave. “That’s for you,” she called.

He sniffed the apple. The smell of fresh fruit overwhelmed his senses and he inhaled it, sweet-tart juices running down his chin. His deer teeth made short work of the bread next, and then the sharpness of the cheese bit his tongue. Only then did he realize the human was still talking and lifted his head to stare at her, bewildered.

“What?” she said, shrugging, “There’s a dude there who has a herd of reindeer. He loves them. You’d fit right in.”

Ah. She had no idea what he was. News of the escaped monster hadn’t reached this far, yet. 

 “I’m really sorry someone hurt you, sweetheart.” 

You wouldn’t be if you knew what I was. Oh, but her voice was so gentle.

“Us humans aren’t all bad, you know, I promise.”

Doubtful. He craved more.

She waved again, backed up a bit, swung her backpack up onto her shoulders and strode off.

Good riddance. No. Wait.

He was moving after her before he realized what he was doing. She’d looked at him. Really looked at him, and in that moment it didn’t matter that she thought he was nothing but an animal, he wanted to see that again. Needed to see it again. Not to mention she had, and was willing to share, food.

She stopped when she realized he was following, and turned to look at him again, eying him warily. “You’re not gonna gore me, are you?”

I might.

“Okay, well, I’ll enjoy your company if you wanna follow. Just be nice, okay?”

No promises. He stared hard at her. The woman shrugged and turned to keep walking, and he kept following.

And she kept talking. He didn’t really listen at first, ignoring the on and off chatter as he used to let the muffled sounds of the guards speaking fade out. He’d come to hate hearing anything in his cell; hating the thought that others were continuing their lives up above; hating the sobs of other prisoners and the uncaring guards sometimes laughing— laughing! —amongst one another, as if he wasn’t even there. Gradually, though, her voice—surprisingly low, given how small she was—trickled into his thoughts and he began to fade back in. She was speaking to him, not at him, not over him, and it was something he’d not experienced since his beloved had entered his life. Oh, Princess.

“...long you’ve been out here? I’m guessing not long. Wolves woulda done you in by now.”

They tried.

“ Man I hope whoever did this to ya gets their comeuppance, there’s no excuse for all…” she lifted a hand slightly to gesture at him, then thought better of it, “...this. What a bunch of pieces of shit.”

You have no idea.

When she stopped he stopped too, and then she surprised him by taking out more food. Some she ate and some she put on a rock for him. He inhaled every morsel and scraped the stone with his tongue. He’d lost any sense of shame when he’d had to go digging in peoples’ garbage for sustenance before… before. The woman waited for him to finish, then kept walking.

Lunch, he realized. He’d just had lunch. The sun was high in the sky. How odd, that he’d not realized it before. The sun was high and birds were chirping and trees rustled serenely, bringing the scent of pine. There was so much movement. So much sound. So much color. Grass brushed his legs and the breeze tickled his patchy fur, cold against exposed skin where the collar had been removed. He didn’t know what to make of all of it. Part of him wanted to make it stop, it was too much; another part reveled in simply being alive again. The two wrestled, leading him to a sort of mental standstill.

The woman kept up her on-and-off chitchat. When she fell quiet he lifted his head to make sure she was still there. Every once and a while she was standing a little ways away, waiting for him, and he’d realize his tired legs had stopped their plodding.

Sunset was another marvel. He couldn’t see it among the trees, but he lifted his head to watch the flames of shifting color through the leaves. The woman stopped walking when it was near dark and cheerfully told him she was camping for the night. “You’re welcome to stay,” she shrugged, and opened her pack again. He leaned forward eagerly for the fare she doubtless would provide, and provide she did, laying dinner out on a log before effortlessly swinging up into a tree. He twitched, startling a bit to the side at her ease of motion.

But now was the time for food, so he ate, and now that he wasn’t moving his muscles were seizing up, so he circled a few times before lying down. His tired, cracked hooves throbbed. His eyelids felt like stones had been sewn to them. His stomach churned and gurgled, trying to pass along what he’d swallowed. He was so, so tired; tired and afraid and angry and desperately trying to grasp the meaning of it all, but after a while, the thoughts echoing in that vast chasm of emptiness in his mind narrowed down to one desire: sleep.

Sleep he did, and dream.

~

He needed to find the elk. Maybe, maybe once he’d found it and put it in its place somewhere far away, somewhere his beloved could not find, she would talk to him again. He could explain. He did it for her, all for her, she had to understand!

But he was the elk.

His own disgust woke him. He shuddered and uncurled from where he lay, breathing hard. It was cold and dark still; the nighttime chill passed right through to his bones. A quick glance up showed that even though darkness reigned, the sky was in fact lightening and the human was still tucked safely up among the branches. Slowly, he worked his aching legs, rolling to his knees and gradually pushing up to his feet.

The first few steps he took nearly sent him crashing back to the forest floor, but he grit his teeth and bore it, forcing his aching limbs to do as they were told. He needed to find some water. There had to be something around.

By the time he returned, satisfied with the tiny bubbling spring he’d found, breakfast was laid upon the same log dinner had been, and, so distracted, he didn’t realize until he finished eating that she was no longer in the tree. She wasn’t on the ground, either. She was gone.

A fierce, unexpected terror froze his limbs and crawled through his chest; his heart pounded so fast he thought he was having some sort of attack, and he stumbled. She was gone. The human was gone. She’d left him. The elk felt a bugle rip from his throat and threw his head back, nostrils flaring to catch her scent, then he was moving, crashing through the underbrush until she appeared in front of him. She snapped around, eyes widening, and a split second before he ripped through her pathetic human skin she managed to dart around a tree.

How dare you, he wanted to scream, skidding to a halt; how DARE you!

“This is the thanks I get?” She yelled from the other side. “Real nice!”

You left me!

“Well I’m sorry,” she snapped back at him, as if she’d heard; for a moment he thought he’d actually said the words aloud. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t leave for good?”

He blinked. She glared. Her fearlessness actually made him stop and think. Well, that was… actually a good point. To add to his confusion, she was now looking at him with her head tilted, brow furrowed, and a slight smile. The smiling lips made more words and he had to refocus. “...make that mistake again, okay? Just… stop that.”

As soon as she knows, she’ll turn me in. But she didn’t, yet.

“...Elk?” She just wouldn’t stop talking. He stared flatly at her, clamping his teeth together to stop himself from answering. “And elk, then,” she continued blithely. “Sorry about that. I just spent a season on a reindeer farm.”

When she looked away he rolled his eyes, suppressing a sigh. The woman continued walking, talking, only glancing at him every once and a while. He didn’t know what to make of it. He’d tried to kill her, and yet there she was, continuing along as if nothing had happened. Did she not care? Did she not take him seriously?

That would be the worst insult of them all. He stamped a hoof. She darted a look over her shoulder warily. Ah, no, she was paying attention. Good.

They stopped for lunch. The woman sat on a downed tree a good meter in the air and let her legs dangle, handing the food down to him bit by bit. He considered biting her fingers off, especially when she let them linger on his jaw when he lifted his head to take another bite. But they were only there for a second, and her touch was so gentle, and though the elk refused to believe he enjoyed it even a little he decided to just ignore it the best he could.

It wasn’t half a day later, after all, when she fled behind a tree to avoid the deadly points of his antlers.

He’d completely blacked out. He’d been staring at a flower that had caught his interest. It was a small, simple thing, bright yellow and fluttering cheerfully in the slight autumn breeze. A patch of sunlight had filtered down from the treetops and it seemed to shine, catching his eye. Everything else blurred and faded out and, slowly, a roaring filled his ears, everything vibrating until he jerked his head up with a gasp and turned to stumble away—the woman was there, still making her way across the forest floor, and the sight of her back to him was the last thing he registered before he came to.

Her pinched, concerned face peered around the trunk at him. The elk heaved, ribs still aching and bruised expanding and contracting with great, shuddering breaths. The roaring slowly subsided and his fading vision came back to him bit by bit.

The woman didn’t say anything, just waited. He felt words fill his throat and growled low instead to keep them from escaping, then turned and bolted into the brush. He ran until he was sure she couldn’t hear or see him and then collapsed, gasping into the moss.

“I’m a man,” he croaked. You’re nothing.

“My name is… my name…” You have none.  

“I’m a person!”

You’re an animal, the darkness echoed back, and he choked on his scream, which would undoubtedly bring the woman running. He didn’t know how or why, but he knew it was the truth. Somehow, he knew the scruffy-looking traveler would come to him and he wasn’t ready for that, so he kept quiet, nose pressed into plush moss to muffle his sobs. He sucked air in slowly, trying to make his heart follow suit. He was okay. He was free and he’d never be put in that cell ever again. He’d kill anyone who tried, even himself. For now that was enough, at least until he’d recovered enough to figure out his next step.

Rejoining the woman was easy. She hadn’t gone far in his absence, and only paused to study him as he approached. To make sure he wasn’t going to attack her again, no doubt. The elk approved. Stay on your toes, little human. You’re not safe.

His murder attempt seemed not to faze her all that much, even so. She hummed cheerfully and continued her trek, chatting on and off once more, and despite himself he began tuning in more and more often. “Hey look,” she said at one point, breaking away and trotting off. “Chanterelles!”

What. He blinked as she rummaged around, taking a step towards her, curious despite himself. She stood and turned, holding a bunch of yellow mushrooms. “These are great,” she told him cheerfully, as if she knew he understood. She combed through her pack and came out with twine, which she used to string the fungi and hung them on the bag itself. “They’ll dry up nice in a few days,” she said. “Not many of ‘em, but they’re delicious.”

Oh, they were food. He tried to remember ever eating chanterelles. The elk watched the woman shrewdly, eyes narrowed, trying to figure her out. So far her behavior was… well frankly, he didn’t know what. Was she simple? Some people were street-smart but not smart-smart, maybe that was why she acted the way she did. She was odd, but he couldn’t put his metaphorical finger on why.  

He plodded alongside her, still tired from his outburst, though it seemed forever ago now. The human wasn’t important, as odd as she was. Eventually they would reach civilization and he’d have to do away with her, but for now, he could appreciate the feeling of being included.

“Chant,” the woman mumbled. “Chant, chant, chanterelles. Chant-er-elles. Ccchhhhhant.”

Simple, indeed.

~

“You know,” her voice pierced his thoughts once more, and he turned to accept a strip of salted fish from her, “these fish are from a river.”

He blinked at her. Where else would they be from?

“I’m so used to ocean fish,” she continued, popping a piece into her own mouth, “but I heard something interesting about them a while ago. The fish, I mean.” She hopped over a log and kicked a loose stone, watching it dart and bounce away. “Did you know.” Her voice lilted slightly, and he glanced over to see her struggling to contain a grin, “that they live in salt water because pepper makes them sneeze?”

It was so unexpected and so stupid that he choked down a laugh of his own and turned away so she couldn’t see him smile. The expression felt so out of place. The woman looked at him in the corner of her eye, then lost the battle and began giggling, slapping a tree in her mirth as they passed. Ridiculous, he thought, fighting his own amusement. Utterly ridiculous. He should have wanted to take her head off for that, but instead he found his lips curving up again. He’d never seen a human to be as silly as a centaur; their seriousness was what he’d longed for until the ghost of self-hatred had driven him to make that terrible decision so long ago.

But then there was this human, skipping along the forest floor, humming to herself and studying her surroundings with the same cheerful delight as any bouncy half-animal, half-man thing. The only time he saw anything other than airheaded joy was when he attacked her, and even then she hopped back out of her hiding spot as soon as he’d exhausted himself. He honestly didn’t know what to make of it.

It doesn't matter. But what if it did.

I'll have to kill her anyway. Just not now. Not now.

He needed to stop thinking such things; it was all bound to end. This human would never care for him, not really. She thought he was an animal and as soon as he revealed otherwise, she would shun him. Oh, but… the woman glanced back at him again, eyes crinkling into a warm smile. If only.

The thoughts hissed and the ghosts whispered and the pain wrenched, step by every step. He was drowning and the blackness inside festered like a hidden sore, like a fungus that spread its tendrils through his body and mind. The elk suppressed it as best he could, and lasted near a full day this time before it broke free just before sunset. The woman lifted her hand and let colorful autumn leaves slip through her fingers. She whistled a little ditty and it was so happy and silly and he realized that he hated it, that cheerful sound that pierced his ears, and felt them flatten to his head the instant before he blacked out.

He came to when his antlers caught ropes of vines and the spindly twigs of a bush, which the woman was using to hide behind. The beast yanked free and stumbled back, heaving, trying to figure out what he’d done, and her voice came to him quietly.

“If you hate me so much… why are you following me?”

He backed up a few more steps, panting and staring. The woman’s eyes weren’t distant and happy now; she studied him with the normal serious glint he’d come to expect from a human, then she allowed for a small, crooked smile. It lacked her usual mirth and, for once, she didn’t immediately snap back to her ditzy self. “I mean, I told you I don’t blame you, but jeez dude.”

The weight of those wretched antlers was suddenly too much to bear. The forest floor met his knees and he dropped his head. He didn’t know why, truly why, he’d attacked her. She’d done nothing but show him kindness and, even though that would surely end, the least he could do was show her some civility until they reached wherever she was traveling.

Her next words stopped his thoughts in their tracks. She approached, feet crunching on leaves, and then settled to her own knees in front of him. “Oh, honey,” she said softly, with such kindness and sincerity it almost seemed to come from a different person, “I’m so sorry.”

And, just like that, the resolve to kill her evaporated. He leaned for her, desperate for acknowledgment, and she gave it to him. Her hands, calloused and firm but warm and tender, smoothed his cheeks and over his eyes and her voice continued in the same tone. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

I didn’t. I didn’t.

“I know you’re hurting.”

She sees me.

“I’m so sorry.”

It’s not your fault, and the ghosts subsided more than they ever had as he realized the truth. He pressed against her and breathed as she murmured to him, and bit by bit felt air come easier and easier and the rock-hard tenseness of his muscles begin to loosen. It’s not her fault. She’s just a person.

She was a person, though she couldn’t possibly know what he’d been through nor would she ever. She was human and therefore would always have somewhere she would belong. But she was looking at him— at him, not through him, not past him—and he realized in a moment of true awareness that shook him to his core that he didn’t know anything about her, either. She was a person with a life and she was choosing to use it to hum to him, cradling his head in her lap.

He closed his eyes and leaned one ear against her chest and just listened. The tune was slow and soothing and he recognized it impossibly as a lullaby. She stroked his cheeks and fondled his ears and no one had ever done that for him before; he never knew how pleasing it was. Would the Princess have done the same? How wonderful that would be. Maybe someday he’d be able to experience it.

Something herbal met his nostrils and he flared them in response, flicking an ear back to catch her rummaging around in the pack she’d dropped next to them. Then her fingers graced the patch of hairlessness the collar had left, leaving behind something cool and damp that instantly soothed the dry itching he’d learned to put in the back of his mind long ago. He sighed deeply and leaned in. Whatever she was doing, it was delightful.

When the light of early evening began to fade the woman shifted and grunted, stretching her legs, and informed him of her intention of sleeping on the forest floor with him this time. “But don’t trample or gore me,” she allowed for another small grin, “Deal?”

That seemed like a dangerous idea, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead he accepted dinner from her and listened to her talk about foraging. She stretched and he settled a little more into the earth, shifting till he was free of the root that was digging into his side.

And then, completely out of the blue, the human pushed her way up against him and snuggled right in. He froze, a thousand responses rushing to his head and thankfully sending him into standstill before he could actually do anything. She got comfortable despite his boniness and he swung his head around to blink widely down at her, alarmed and confused. So far their touches had been rather chaste and minute, reserved for head and neck only. This was far too personal, and—his back legs twitched—she was way too close to certain anatomy for his liking. Not that he had any desire to use any of it, but the old ghost of being indecent in the presence of humans reared its ugly head, and then he heard her say, “Chill.”

She put her head down on him. The elk continued to stare at the smaller body nestled against him before deciding that turnaround was fair play and rested his chin on her. She didn’t move. He pushed in a little further, realized that she was quite warm, and closed his eyes.

The ghosts, for once, could wait.

Chapter Text

If he thought she had been foraging before, it was nothing like now. It was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly her mindless chatter focused into a very particular subject and the elk found himself absolutely fascinated. He learned about mushrooms and bark, roots and leaves and flowers; she explained the differences between similar-looking fungi and what to leave alone until perfectly ripe. Her enthusiasm for the subject was something he could get behind, and he dove into it with a interest he didn't know he still had. He'd always loved learning things, he remembered, but that had been suddenly stopped the moment he'd been forced to live as an animal. If only he'd known such wonders existed in the outdoors before! He wouldn't have had to rummage through trash.

She made amazing meals out of what she pulled out of the earth. He helped by sniffing out things he could recognize and for the first time in a long time felt proud of his accomplishment when she cooked them.

The more he focused on her the more he noticed her differences from the humans he'd been used to. Her features and her skin tone pointed to a nation unbeknownst to this area. She spoke perfect English but her accent was not something he could put his finger on. His earlier assumption that she was an idiot turned out to be unfounded. Her words were concise and complex and he now saw that she could write, which pointed to at least some sort of higher education. She was, all in all, an utter mystery.

The violent episodes continued, but he did notice she no longer hid. The unconscious desire to kill her seemed to have abated, at least for now. The next time the elk felt the utter darkness and hopelessness and despair seize ahold of his thoughts he closed his eyes and breathed through them, and through massive effort managed to stay aware of his surroundings. Doing so made him capable of keeping himself from attacking her when it became too difficult to suppress his helpless fury.

But the woman continued to offer him comfort. The moment she'd placed hands on him the first time he realized he couldn't get enough. She seemed happy to acquiesce to his demands for attention and slept on the ground with him every night now. He didn't understand it. He was dangerous, but she'd apparently decided she didn't care.

In front of him, the woman was humming. She did that more often now; sometimes other tunes made their way in but for the most part it was that same lullaby she'd soothed him with. She hopped onto a freshly fallen tree and trotted up its trunk, higher and higher into the air, and suddenly the elk felt a weird twisting sensation in his gut and stopped to look up at her.

Then she jumped off. The twisting became a stab and he jerked forward, why he didn’t know, but she caught a branch and swung easily to the ground, realized he wasn’t following and turned to look at him. She cocked a brow, grinning. “What? C’mon!”

Her teeth. Something clicked into place and he stared another moment before moving to catch up. They were pearly white and straight and healthy, so unlike most of the humans he’d seen; they’d always be missing one or be crooked or were just plain gross. The only ones with teeth like that were those with money: royalty, or merchants, or high scholars. His beloved Princess had perfect pearly whites too, and her smile was so brilliant… he marinated on the first time they’d met; the way she’d leaned towards him and how her pale lips curved. The memory overtook him, and he floated on that cloud until his snout smacked into rough bark and he snorted, shaking his head.

Thankfully, the woman didn't notice, trotting along ahead of him. He came alongside her and nudged her bag, his stomach grumbling.

"It ain't lunch time, stoppit," she said in reply, waving him away. Irritated, the elk stomped a hoof and nudged her harder. "Hey! I know we had a small breakfast but we gotta ration. We'll hit the road soon and then I can barter."

The road? He paused midstep. The road. Civilization. Humans. He eyed her back warily, frowning. He knew this all had to end, but he wasn't ready…

"The river should be up yonder," she interrupted his thought process, "and I need water anyway. We'll eat then, okay?"

Fine, then. He caught up again and slowed to walk alongside. She glanced over and smiled, then reached up and rubbed along his neck. The elk pushed against her hand. Kind touch was something he'd never take for granted ever again, whether or not she thought she was just petting an animal.

They did in fact reach the river sometime after midday. She replenished her supply and rinsed off a few things that had gotten grody. Then she took off her socks and shoes and rolled up her pant legs and splashed into the river. "C'mere," she called, beckoning.

He stared at her from the shore. The only time he'd been near a human and a body of water at the same time said human had tried to drown him. It took him a moment of wrestling with his thoughts but he slowly sloshed through the current over to her.

And she… washed him. Clumps of fur floated away and she took care to pick dead skin off the ring around his neck, rubbing more of that salve in. Afterwards she dunked her own head into the water and scrubbed her scalp with sand, and when she flipped her short mane back her shirt stuck to her skin and he saw something on her chest that made no sense.

They rested along the bank and she made good on her promise of food before continuing on. 

Some nights later he awoke and saw nothing but darkness. It gnawed at him from the inside, the fears both old and new tangling together until it was as if the magic that had festered and rotted throughout the years had become a different being entirely. He rose as quietly as he could, glancing over at the woman, who had in her sleep flopped over on her back. A patch of moonlight filtered from near-naked trees onto her prone form and he was careful not to block it, moving to stand over her.

He could kill her now. Bash her skull in and break her neck for good measure. She’d never know. It would be virtually painless. This blossoming relationship they had could never last. There might not be another chance before they reached civilization. The elk peered at her slumbering form and his eye caught on a peek of what he’d seen on her chest earlier; he squinted and lowered the hoof he didn’t even remember raising. Carefully, he pulled the shirt down just a bit to unveil the silvery sheen of scar tissue.

It was a perfectly formed Y-shaped scar, so impeccably made it seemed almost surgical. This wasn’t the mark of someone who’d been attacked; it had been made on purpose. The elk tilted his head to watch the light play over her skin, trying to figure it out, and then she shifted and mumbled “What’s up, man?”

He yanked his hoof away and the sight of her blinking blearily up at him instantly caused the thoughts of death to scatter. What was he thinking? Here was the first person since the Princess to treat him with any degree of respect and he was going to murder her in cold blood? He took a step back, and to hide his expression he turned around and settled down with his back to her. After a second the warmth of her smaller body pressed up against him; he hoped she didn’t feel the fierce hammering of his heart.

Not long after, along the path she forged, he picked up the sound of rattling wheels. His muscles instantly seized up and forced all air out of his lungs. The woman glanced at him and frowned; she patted his shoulder. “Hey, chill big guy, this means we can get some real food!”

He tried to swallow his heart back down and she trotted ahead, ducking through brush, and the only reason the elk didn’t lunge and stop her was because he found himself entirely unable to move. Fortunately, she wasn’t gone long, and returned to him carrying a loaf of bread and a few eggs. “Turns out they needed some rope,” she chuckled, “good thing you can literally make rope out of anything. Fancy some bullseyes?”

They ate their score right then and there. It had been so long since he’d had bread he decided he wanted all of it right now immediately and the woman giggled and shoved the leftovers in her bag before he could inhale it. “Stoppit! We need it for later!” And suddenly her darting away elicited the strangest reaction he’d ever had: a fluttering in his chest—probably brought on by the relief after his deerlike instinct to freeze—and he darted after her. She leaped out of reach and he followed, prancing around her, his hooves lighter than they had been since he could remember. She laughed again. He had to stop himself from responding. Laughter. It felt wrong to even have that urge.

She danced away and he followed. She leaped over a log and he hopped behind her. She circled a tree and he went the other way, nudging her off-balance. He had to reel in his recovering strength, but no matter how much he roughhoused she just giggled and rolled and goaded him on.

Playing, he realized. They were playing. The light of their interactions drove away the dark, just a little. He felt new again, like his old self, like he was a young buck running with his childhood friends. Where were they now, he wondered, effortlessly avoiding hands that grabbed at his fur. He’d been so happy before he’d gotten into all his machines and experimentation and had taken a job at the Rift. His parents had been so proud. Their faces swam tauntingly from his memory. Had he ever sent word to them, that he was all right, either before or after his split? Downright shameful if he hadn’t.

Eventually she ran out of breath and collapsed against a rock, flapping a hand at him. He wasn’t very far behind her; his endurance had been forced to recover but it wasn’t quite up to what it used to be yet. The urge to hug this silly little woman overwhelmed him and he pushed his head and neck up on her, silently demanding what he knew she’d give him. And of course she did, running her hands over his face and through his ruff and he twitched his antlers out of her grip. She shrugged and kissed his nose.

It was so quick and so much an afterthought he didn’t register it at first. Warmth lingered where her lips had touched him. It had been swift and chaste and not the touch of a lover, no; it was the casual, sweet gesture of a friend pecking another on the cheek. Already they were walking again and she clearly wasn’t thinking anything of it. The elk leaned over and nudged his muzzle against her temple. She smiled at him.

Friends, they were friends. He couldn’t think of any other word for it. She didn’t act like he was a pet. She still thought he was just an animal, surely, but she had never spoken down to him in the way he was used to being a centaur. She’d never ordered him around, never baby-talked him; had never acted as if he were less than she. It was more than he’d ever done to himself and better than he’d ever seen the man—or any other human—respond to animals. He was suddenly nearly overcome with the desire to ask her what she thought about centaurs and bit his tongue to keep from speaking.

He’d known he would have to eventually, either that or kill her, and it looked like that window was swiftly drawing to a close. He had to make a decision soon.

As nervous as the road made him he couldn’t deny the results of her bartering. While the fare she’d provided had been delicious, being able to taste real human food was next-level. Pretty soon the clopping of a horse and the rattling of wheels no longer meant danger; the very sound caused his mouth to water as he waited for his friend to return with more delightful meals. He didn’t even realize their encounters were becoming more and more commonplace or that the dirt road was getting wider and clearer.

Until one late afternoon when they topped a rise and the sight of a town sprawled over the next few hills seized his muscles into a standstill. The elk planted his feet and stared, sunlight reflecting off tile burning his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. His human started down without a care in the world.

Now. Now. The decision was now. He wasn’t ready. He had to—he had—

He had to kill her.

No.

Their friendship had to end. He had known this was looming on the horizon and had procrastinated. The elk worked his tongue, which stubbornly cleaved to the top of his mouth, and swallowed hard, taking a stilted step forward. The choices were kill her, leave her, or…

Or…

“Wait,” the word forced past his knotted tongue. The woman froze. “Please. I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Slowly, she turned around and stared intently at him, brow furrowed. “Don’t leave,” he croaked, every nerve on fire, every limb trembling.

Don’t leave me. Don’t run.

She didn’t. Against all odds, in the face of what he was certain she would do, she stayed; she held her arms out for him and held him as fear and relief and all the words he’d been holding back bubbled up and out of his throat. She stroked his face and listened—really listened —to his pathetic babbling, though he knew he made no sense. She shrugged off the pure unfettered weirdness of the situation and hummed to him that gentle lullaby until his rattled mind began to calm and they sat snuggled against one another after moving from the road.

And then he told her the one thing he was sure would turn her off—the General was a powerful man; he held the entirety of the royal army in the palm of his hand, but she dismissed him with a casualness that struck the elk dumb. She clearly didn’t know what she was getting into, but he was so relieved and grateful he didn’t dare argue.

“Elk” he introduced himself, having no other moniker. “Vagabond” she responded, with the same callousness with which he named himself. And when she made her way down to the town and he followed just outside it, terrified, just knowing she was going to alert the guards, she surprised him again by doing exactly as she’d promised.

He curled around her tightly on the mattress she’d made sure he could also enjoy, after buying a meal big enough to fill even his stomach. She drifted into sleep and he rested his head on her, belly and heart full. He couldn’t remember ever being so comfortable. How, in all the world, did he find someone like this strange woman randomly in the forest? How could she treat him with such respect and kindness, after he’d tried to kill her what must have been a thousand times? It felt like fate. Already they were bantering like old friends, the camaraderie as foreign as the laughter had felt the first time he’d buried the urge.

Joy swelled in his chest until a sigh of contentment burst from his nostrils, and he closed his eyes. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like singing.

~

There wasn’t much to do when Vagabond was working. The walls of the room were unbearable when she was gone, so he sneaked out, and it only took a few tries to learn how to duck his head at the exact right moment so he didn’t knock his antlers against the window frame. Now that he bedded in a warm room with another person, the air outside seemed extra cold, and he fluffed his fur against the onslaught.

He walked up the hill to the treeline and looked down. People were going along their daily lives—shopping; talking; in the distance he could see them out in the fields of their farms. In the town square he could see them put up some sort of banner, but he couldn’t read what it said. Watching humans so happy and content and secure in their knowledge that they belonged exactly where they were was just too much. Unbidden his lips curled in a snarl and he tried to distract himself by looking for Vagabond. Nothing doing. She was working at the jeweler’s today.  

He shook himself off and turned away, trotting into the forest. All the activity, even from afar, had him sinking into the same desolation as before. His stint in the dungeons had irreversibly damaged his mind and he knew he’d fractured into shards of his former self, even further than the simple split between him and the man. Most of the time he yearned for company, and his heart leapt when Vagabond walked through the door. But at the same time…

At the same time, he wanted nothing more than the silence and darkness he’d come accustomed to. It wasn’t possible outside of the dungeons, but still the sights and sounds overwhelmed him; all the movement and the sunlight and the distant chatter outside of their room just wouldn’t stop and he wanted to make them stop, make them silent, make them feel that existential terror of utter isolation.

Elk froze midstep, heaving in air, and a flock of migrating birds took that moment to gossip amongst one another. The cacophony slammed into his senses and he reared up, swinging his antlers at the limbs above. “Quiet!”

They took off and he dropped to all fours, squeezing his eyes shut. That had been utterly unnecessary and he knew it and the loss of control sent a wave of anger and all-too-familiar self-hatred through him. There was nothing he could do about it though and decided to take a page out of Vagabond’s book, exploding into a run to try and elude the hissing of his own mind.

The trail he'd been exploring the other day wasn't far, and he trotted along it idly, trying to name the plants he came across as he did so. Most were going into hibernation and it was a lot harder now, but it kept him occupied. Voices sounded up ahead and he started to move off the trail, then stopped. Why did he have to move? He was allowed to use the trail.

Because whoever it was would likely mention a weird black elk to the wrong person and get him captured. He felt a growl bubble up in his throat and stalked to the side, slipping among the trees just before they topped the hill.

It was a boy and his father. They were on horses and looked exhausted, and on the back of the boy's horse flopped a dead deer. Elk stared at them as they passed. He felt nothing for the animal, but it did serve as a reminder about just how close he always was to being shot full of arrows and trussed up like one. He was prey.

No, he thought, clenching his teeth. I'm not, and I will never be again.

He explored a little more before returning. Vagabond had a short day today and would be working at the inn for a few hours, which meant she'd be close by and would be able to slip him extra food. The thought put a little pep into his step on his way back and urged his stomach into rumbling. The window was cracked and he made sure not to be seen creeping down the hill. It reminded him of sneaking around the human town desperately searching for something to eat, but at least this time food would be laid out just for him. And it was: a bowl of soup, bread and an apple were next to the mattress along with a note. He inhaled the food as his eyes scanned the words.

Hey man! There's a festival next week and I'm helping to put up some decorations. Don't wait up! Or, actually, do. I don't wanna know what happens if I startle you awake, ha ha. -V. PS I'll bring you some dessert if I can find some. You sugar fiend.

He read it over and over again, licking the bowl clean, and felt himself smile. It came easier nowadays. Making sure there were absolutely no crumbs on the floor, he rolled onto his side and put his head down. Soup wasn't enough to tide him over for long but it was a far cry to what he was used to, so he couldn't complain.

It was near midnight when she came back. Despite Elk's attempt to stay awake he jerked upright at the sound of the doorknob, unable to stop his heart from pounding. But in came his scruffy friend, red-faced from the late night chill and carrying a bag. Circles hung low under her eyes and she shut the door, leaning against it wearily, pressing one palm to her face.

She looked terrible and concern made him rise. "Vagabond?"

Her hand dropped and she grinned over at him. "Eyyyy. Gotcha some spiced rum cake." She brandished the bag at him. A wonderful smell wafted from inside and for a moment his brain blanked out and he had to swallow his drool. "And when I mean some, I mean like, an entire cake."

"Ohhhh." He licked his lips. "All for me?"

"All for you." She dragged herself over to the mattress and he was reminded she wasn't feeling well. Worried, he hovered over her until she kicked her shoes off and looked up at him. "I'm fine, dude, just got a headache."

"Are you sure? Do you need anything?"

"Someone's makin' some medicated tea." She unwrapped the cake from the paper and set it out, thus scattering his mind all over again. He threw himself back down on the mattress. "Have at it. I won that damn thing at beer pong, so ya better enjoy it."

"Oh, I will." Elk wiped his cloven hooves off and sandwiched the cake between them, shoving as much as he could into his mouth at once. The taste overwhelmed him and he groaned through the mouthful. He’d thought once that he’d get used to tasting good food again, but it seemed like it was something he’d never get over, not after the horrid fare he’d been forced to consume. “So,” he mumbled, spraying crumbs and not caring, “beer pong, huh?”

“Mmg, yeah.” She sat there with her eyes closed wearily. “‘S a game where—”

“I know what it is.” He swallowed to make room for more and to drown the jealousy that formed in the pit of his stomach.

“‘S why I’m so late. I saw the prize and had to get it for ya.” With a groan of her own, she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. Elk paused, staring at her with cheeks bulging. For him. She’d done that for him. “Shoulda quit when I started hurting, but y’know. Whatever.”

He swallowed again to respond, but there was a knock at the door, and Vagabond heaved herself up and over. She didn’t open it enough for him to see out—or for the person to see in—but he heard her thank whoever it was and then she closed the door and returned with a large mug of steaming tea. She placed it on the floor to cool and dug in her bag, producing her journal and a pen, and flipped to a blank page.

Elk peeked over and saw the jagged edge that matched the paper she’d used to write the note. “Hey,” he said thickly, “can you put the note you wrote in there? For safekeeping?”

He instantly felt silly for asking, but Vagabond didn’t even question it. “Yeah, sure.” She plucked the paper from the floor and tucked it inside the book, then hovered the pen over the blank page. Elk watched her scratch at the paper, slowly consuming the rest of the cake. She was clearly struggling to focus; her eyes were red and she rubbed them constantly, sipping at her tea. By the time he finished she’d nearly given up, sitting there with eyes shut and pen lying limply in her hand.

“Hey,” he said finally, concern rising once again, and nudged her. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmph.” She blinked wearily and lifted her head. “M’just tryin’a… write.”

“And it’s not working, so. Sleep.” He flipped the journal shut with a hoof and she made a low grumbly sound in protest. “Don’t argue. Besides, it’s dark, you’re just straining your eyes.”

“Yeah, well…”

“No, you’re done.” Her obstinance made him smile, even as he shoved her onto her back. She squeaked and flailed. “Good night.”

“H-Hey—” He shuffled over and dropped his head onto her chest, knocking all air out of her lungs. Vagabond wheezed. “Whyyyyy.”

“Because apparently, I have to force you to do something you should be doing anyway.” He waited until she relaxed before picking his head up slightly to look down at her. She looked back up at him through her eyelashes, then lifted one hand to smooth over his forehead and play with his ear. He relaxed into the touch and tucked his muzzle against the crook of her shoulder.

He was mostly asleep, himself, when she mumbled, “That feels nice.”

Elk’s eyes flew open and he jolted awake. There was something in his mouth. He spat it out, confused, then realized it was her hair. He’d been, what, chewing on her hair? What the goose?

Vagabond had one arm flopped over his neck, so he couldn’t move without disturbing her. She sighed contentedly and pushed her face against his, drifting back into slumber. Elk remained frozen, blinking widely into the dark. He could smell his saliva in her hair. He wasn’t an animal. People didn’t groom one another with their mouths. That was disgusting.

He turned his head to one side so he was faced away from her and closed his eyes. There wasn’t much more he could do other than settle back down, so he did, and despite everything drifted back into sleep.

~

Why wouldn’t she talk to him? She was his wife. They’d been married for ten years, damn it! They’d always been able to talk things out. He needed to explain himself to her. She had to listen!

Where. Was. The ELK?!

Laughter.

Elk’s eyes snapped open. The guards were making those infernal noises again, laughing, chatting amongst themselves as he lay in tortuous agony in a cell not even big enough to—

No. He lay on a mattress. His sides did not touch the walls with each inhale; light filtered in from the shuttered window and the hearth was crackling again, stirred back to life undoubtedly by his human companion. She wasn’t in the room. He rose slowly to his feet and pushed the window open, refusing to look at the hoof attached to him. Cold morning air and the sight of silvery frost helped calm and ground him, and he took a deep breath before slowly letting it out and watching it float lazily out the window.

The voices outside the door sharpened into a familiar tone: Vagabond was just outside, saying her good-mornings to her server buddies. After a moment the knob clicked and turned and he swung his head to see her slip in. Her face was kissed by the cold once again; she’d already been outside. She looked at him and brightened, and he felt warmth do away with the stony silence in his heart. He smiled back. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” She held up the bag she’d reused from last night. “Decided to head out to a diner instead of getting it here. Ya know, variety and all that.”

“Ohh,” and his stomach chose that moment to complain loudly. She giggled, but this time he didn't mind. “What did you get?”

“Wait till you see,” she teased, and he was not disappointed; hotcakes with apples and cinnamon and pecans and butter were spread out on the floor and he fell upon the meal with gusto. Typical of her own self, Vagabond nibbled like a bird, causing him to shove the last hotcake over to her. She flapped a hand for him to take it. “Don’t look at me like that, you need more than I do.”

“With as many calories as you spend in a day,” he huffed back, “you should be eating way more than you do.”

“I’m fiiiiine,” she pushed the plate back over to him. “Been eating like this for years.”

“How have you not disappeared,” but he couldn’t resist, sucking it down and licking the plate clean. Vagabond just grinned and propped her back against the bed frame, stretching her legs out in front of her. Something occurred to him and he frowned. "Didn't all this cost money?"

"Yeah?"

Elk furrowed his brow further at the now-empty plates. "I thought you said we're on a budget?"

"Sure, but we save a lot by working where we stay." She shrugged. He appreciated the use of "we," despite that he was in fact useless. "Besides, this time of year, money kinda reaches a standstill, so I’ve been bartering most things. We can afford a treat."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. "... Aren't you working today?"

"Called out. Head's better but I'm still achy." She lolled said head to the side and smiled at him. "'Sides, I'd rather spend my day with you. What d'you wanna do?"

He stared. With him. She preferred to spend time with him. Suddenly, the morning darkness seemed paltry. Someone wanted to spend time with him.  "O-oh." Shuffling over, he rested his chin on her shoulder and her hands automatically came up to rub his long face. "Well if you're not feeling well, you should rest. I could stand to, u-um, cuddle or something—" He instantly felt like an idiot and bit the words off, his ears going hot, but Vagabond hugged him tightly.

He could hear the smile in her next words. "I like cuddles. But let’s go outside.”

They took a walk. The temperature rose slightly as the day went on and they found a patch of moss where the sun was warm. Vagabond brought a snack for lunch and they hung out there all day, idly chatting on and off. The feeling of her smaller body curled up to him was something Elk was beginning to treasure, and he tightened up around her as she rested. She looked so relaxed… peaceful… maybe he could…

“Vagabond?” he asked softly.

“Mm-hm.”

“Where are you from?”

“Mmnot here.”

“Obviously,” he huffed. “I’ve never seen someone who looked like you. Or acted like you.”

“I get that a lot.”

He pushed down the flicker of frustration. “Did you ever go to school?”

A pause. He felt the soft flutter of her sigh in his fur. “Took a few classes here’n’there.” She tucked her nose up against the back of his front leg, hiding her face. “Why you askin’?”

“Just curious.” He curved his neck and rested his chin on her again, thinking. Vagabond was sealed up enough that she automatically gave those irritatingly vague responses even with her guard down. Low and slow, he reminded himself. “Have you… ever had any other friends?”

“Mhm. Lots of friends. All over. Don’t really travel with ‘em, though.” She shifted and extended her legs for a moment, twisting to pop her back. “No one really…”

He nudged her when she trailed off. “Really what?”

She shrugged and roused herself, sitting up fully and stretching her arms out in front of her with a yawn and a pop of her shoulders. He was about to poke fun when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a wicked glint. “It takes a special kind of crazy to hang with me.”

He blinked, opened his mouth, got what she was saying and immediately reached up a hoof to shove her over. Vagabond laughed and let herself roll. “Calling me crazy now, are you.” But his own laugh sounded forced even to his ears. If only you knew.

“Come on,” she replied, hopping to her feet, “let’s see what we can find out here.”

Elk swallowed his protest, got up and followed.

By the time they returned, ice was creeping along the ground and chasing away any lingering warmth of day. The inn was in the full swing of a party, voices and laughter booming through the walls. Elk stared down the hill at the dance of light flickering from the windows and felt the monster of hatred rear its ugly head in his chest. He glanced at Vagabond, who also looked down the hill and was smiling, and hatred turned to jealousy. You promised today to me, the monster hissed, you said you wanted to spend time with me. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, a little more loudly than he usually dared, and she blinked and looked over at him.

“Depends on what they’re having,” she replied cheerfully. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“Let’s read together after,” he went on, injecting a bit of force into his voice. Already heading down the hill, Vagabond tossed a glance over her shoulder. He couldn’t help it; he hovered close, his chest practically touching her back.

“Sure thing, bud,” she replied after a several second pause. “We can settle down with some tea.” She swung open the shutters of their window. “I’m sure people think I’m fuckin' half the town at this rate,” she added after she’d climbed in, tapping a finger to her lip, then grinned. Elk yanked his hind leg through and closed the shutters. “I keep bringing way too much food for one person in here.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “sorry.”

She giggled. “Don’t be! It’s funny. Not the first time I’ve made that impression.” Tossing her bag onto the floor, Vagabond winked at him. “I’ll get us dinner and some tea, be back in a sec.”

He smiled back, relieved. “Okay.”

She made good on her word, just as she always did, but somehow, he was still surprised. Humans, he’d found, were all liars; even his own self had become sly and untrustworthy the second they’d separated. Princess excluded, of course. He tried not to remember all the things that had led up to this point, even though simultaneously her faded image lingered like a specter in the back of his mind. What a perfect, beautiful, wonderful angel. His last memory of her, of her horror and pity and disgust and fear as she looked at him… he’d bear that again, if only she’d lay her eyes upon him one more time. What was she doing now? She wasn't talking to her husband, but surely that was only temporary. She'd go back to him eventually. If not… he wasn’t sure what he'd do with that information.

“Ready?” Vagabond put a candle next to the mattress and propped open their book.

Elk dragged himself back to the present. He’d speak to the Princess again, he was sure of it. For now, he had someone on his side, and she was currently raising an eyebrow at him. “Ready.”

He needed to figure out what he was going to do. Continuing as he was forever wasn’t an option. Either he and the General would fuse back together… or they’d die together.

Whichever came first.

~

They just kept getting louder.

Music pervaded the building at all hours of the day and night. It pounded through his skull. Strings of lights hung around the town. They reminded him of the wedding he now wished he’d crashed. He watched from the forest, from outside the windows; it reminded him of the way his breath steamed the glass while staring at his love through them, watching her wave away a moletaur with a careless hand. Each memory that came was the worst of them all and he strove to push them back, back, back until they oozed and seethed behind the door he desperately tried to keep shut.

His head throbbed. His heart wouldn't stop its maddened race and thundered against his ribs as if he were in a fight. And the noise and laughter and joy continued as if he didn't even exist.

Vagabond could obviously tell something was wrong, and he compensated her concern by forcing his emotions further and further back. She'd come back late and he hated the way she would smile—she'd been out having fun, without him, and that above all caused everything he kept pushing back to claw for an escape. She tried to stay with him but the very knowledge that she wanted to go enjoy herself made it worse, and then the guilt for feeling that way made him push it all back again, and on and on until the vicious cycle forced him into a corner.

Sleep brought no respite. He was himself, but he was also the General, trying to figure out where his other half was and trying to get his wife to speak with him. Part of Elk rejoiced at the distress the man felt. The other part was the man. It drove him deeper and deeper into madness and even Vagabond couldn't help, though he knew she was trying.

It all came to a head one night, at the height of the winter celebration. His scruffy friend sat with him, leaning against a shoulder that was no longer merely skin taut over bone, as he shook with anger and hatred and a desperate longing brought to a boil by lack of sleep. Vagabond tried to distract him and he appreciated the attempt but could only focus on the vibrating in his skull.

She put her head down on him and the exhaustion in her voice broke the haze, if only a little. Elk looked down at her and noticed—for the first time, to his chagrin—that she looked as tired as he felt. That wasn't right, and he said so, and Vagabond shrugged. "I didn’t survive this long by not waking up when something changes," she said, then a wicked glint caught in her eye. "So every time you move, every time you tense up, I wake up. You’re a big guy, and let’s not forget you’ve tried to gore me before."

Ah. That made sense. He remembered a night where he'd almost ended her life. "But you never woke up, before," he replied slowly, furrowing his brow as he thought back. She'd been out of it that night, only waking when he'd touched her, surely having no idea what had gone through his mind.

Her next words almost entirely distracted him from the current goings-on. "Oh, I have. Every time you move."

He stared at her, blinking, then it hit him and his eyes widened.

"Every time."

"Every," he stammered, looking down at her again and meeting her deadpan stare. She’d been—but he hadn't even realized; did she know how close she'd been to dying? Oh, he hoped not, that would shatter her trust in him and he couldn't bear to start from the ground up—"O-Oh."

"I shoulda guessed you were a man the night you looked down my shirt," she went on, and it took him a good few seconds to catch up before he became painfully aware of the only other reason someone would pull a woman's shirt down. He hadn't even been thinking sexually that night. Or ever, when it came to Vagabond. Elk felt his ears burn and choked on his words, not sure whether to feel horrified or relieved at her confession. He covered his eyes and groaned and blurted out what he'd been looking at.

Even though he tactfully didn't mention his thoughts of murder, Vagabond looked like she'd seen a ghost the second he mentioned her scars. Elk knew instantly that while she wanted the truth, it was the wrong thing to say. She stiffened and pulled away from him, one hand pressed to her chest as if he could see them through her layers.

Desperate to regain her good graces, he all but squeaked, "Are you… really mad?"

She sputtered. “Mad? I, uh, no, I guess not. Just. I didn't realize you were looking at… those," and in that moment the look in her eyes was real and raw and vulnerable, and Elk gave into his innate curiosity and the cruel desire of the darkness inside to exploit that vulnerability.

He leaned forward and though he knew better, he knew he shouldn't push and that she would avoid the question, he asked eagerly, "What are they from?"

In an instant everything shuttered closed. She smiled, the vulnerability vanishing in favor of that cheerful, airy, vacant expression. She stood and fled, both verbally and physically, out the door as he scrambled to his feet, too slow, cursing the heavy body he’d been stuck with. He cried out after her, unable to turn around in time as the door slammed shut, leaving him alone.

Gone. She was gone, the click of the latch echoing for what seemed like forever in his ears, and Elk felt his entire chest turn into stone. His lungs screamed for air and his heart constricted; his vision blurring, he stumbled for the door and reached a hand out—but no, how could he be so stupid, he didn’t have hands. A low, wretched, guttural sound tore from his throat, disappearing in the cacophony of merry-making outside. Vagabond had left him. She’d left him. She’d left him.

Blackness boiled and cracked the stone of his chest, seeping into his thoughts. Elk staggered, falling to his knees and desperately trying to breathe. Panic froze his mind; he clawed desperately to surface against the tide, then numbed legs bruised against the floor as he surged upright, spinning with the same difficulty as before towards the window. He was outside before he knew it, his antlered crown crashing through the shutters and brute-forcing his way through the opening.

The cold brought at least a little bit of sense to him. Finally able to breathe, he did just that, trying to gather his thoughts, then leaped over the stone wall and up the hill, whipping around on his back legs to look back down. People were milling about, and he searched wildly for Vagabond among the dancing merrymakers.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but when his legs finally began to move again they cramped from being locked for so long. The music and singing and laughter only got louder, and louder, and Elk’s throat seized as the door he’d been struggling to keep shut was finally forced open, spilling forth a wave of blackened rage. Vagabond had left him.

She’d left him.

No. No. No. She couldn't leave him. She couldn't, she couldn't, she was all he had, she couldn't leave—

How dare she.

Chapter Text

Hooves hit cobblestone. Elk charged through the edges of the crowd, faces of the populace a blur and their screams drowned out by his own. Someone scrambled to get out of the way too slowly; he shouldered them aside, not even feeling their body against his. Blood pounded wildly in his ears, his skull; fury and terror and pain and hatred was all he felt, clouding his vision, singing in his veins, blocking out sound.

How dare she, the monster hissed; the only thing he could hear. How dare she!

Someone fell in his path. He leaped over them, though that was only due to his desire not to trip. The light of torches and the movement of hundreds of people confused him; he spun, wildly seeking the only face he recognized, and slammed another person out of his way. Where. Where. Where. Where.

There.

Vagabond’s face was red and dazed and she stared blankly across the way at him, blinking as if only mildly confused about his appearance. His vision tunneled. Her head cocked to one side and she squinted as he charged.

And then she frowned, turned, and ran.

He hated the beastly screams that came from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop them, and howled in rage at her disappearing back. Elk leaped over a table, and then his prey-driven eyes picked up the glint of a weapon and instinct took over. Only a toss of his antlers saved him from the spear; it ricocheted off the tines, sending a ripple of vibration buzzing down its length to his head. Elk snarled and turned to teach whoever threw it a lesson, but someone else had a bow and arrow, and he was forced to leap away again to avoid its deadly point—barely; the wind from its passing ruffled his fur. Vagabond was still running and he was reminded of the reason he was here in the first place; he stretched himself out, legs churning. She made a beeline for the edge of town.

Another person got in his way. This one had an axe. Elk skidded and reared, narrowly avoiding the blade, and lashed out a hoof, clipping the man in the shoulder. The force of it spun him around and the only reason Elk didn’t finish the job was because he had to dance to one side to keep from being caught by a lasso. The terrifying memory of the last time he’d been face to face with the hated man seized his heart, then the ice melted and turned into flame. He roared, launching at one who’d thrown it; the man tossed a chair in the way, which caught on Elk’s legs and made him stumble.

Too many people had weapons now. Elk kicked the chair aside and reared again, looking over their heads and spinning to catch a glimpse of Vagabond. She had gone.

Don't leave me!

He was too out of breath at this point to call for her, and she wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway, so he crashed to the ground and, head lowered, charged in the direction he’d seen her go. The only thing pounding in his head was the desire—no, the need —to find her. She was all he had in this uncaring world, and he wasn’t going to lose her no matter how far she ran.

They tried to cut him off. He simply ran through them, and they either had to get out of the way or be trampled. It was sheer luck, or perhaps the opposite in his case, that he did not feel any flesh tear as he galloped through the thinning crowd. They must have realized he was trying to escape because a man suddenly bellowed "Let the beast go!" and just like that the way was clear. Elk leaped over the town's border and fled into the frigid night.

It took a few minutes for the blood to stop pumping through his ears, and gradually the blessed silence of the midwinter forest took over. Elk slowed to a halt, swiveling his head, trying to pinpoint any noise that didn't belong. All he heard was the creaking of bare limbs above and the occasional rustle as a breeze stirred dead leaves.

Elk closed his eyes, trying to focus past the burning anger and fear and took a deep inhale. She'd been here. "Vagabond," he called, following the scent. The barren earth was thankfully devoid of life, and his friend's scent hung in the air. "I smell you," he went on, his feet picking up. She couldn't hide from him. "Where are you?"

The barest of sounds met his ears, but he couldn't make it out. He stopped, straining his senses, heart pounding. Nothing. He stomped a hoof. "Where are you?"

"...Here."

It was low and weak but the silence carried it through the trees. Elk's heart leapt and he bounded forward, dating over logs, and skidded to a halt at the prone form huddled against a large oak. If he wasn't an elk he wouldn't have seen her; the moon was a sliver and barely any light came through the naked creaking trees. Her breath steamed the frigid cold. She smelled terrible; of vomit and sweat and alcohol, and he wrinkled his nose against the onslaught. He opened his mouth to tear into her, furious—

"There you are," she said, and her hand on his leg instantly stopped the words from emerging. "I thought you were following."

He blinked. What? No, she'd run from him. "They cut me off before I could get to the wall," he replied shortly, hanging onto his anger. "They tried to kill me. You left me. Why did you leave me? Why did you run?”

Her hand dropped from him and she curled into a ball, whispering her response, and he felt the rage waver and collapse. There was a split second and then it came back full force as something he didn't expect: shame. The memory of her sudden vulnerability came to life; the shuttering in her eyes and vacant smile as she backed away. She knew he didn't do well when left alone, but—and he would always take responsibility for his actions, he wasn't that man —he knew she hated being pried into. He babbled an apology before his mind caught up, then cut himself off and fell to his knees to allow her access to his body’s warmth.

She snuggled against him, shaking. Her smaller form against his triggered something deep inside that he had only caught a glimpse of before; he swung his head around and nudged her closer, tucking his muzzle into her limbs so his warm breath heated her core. For now she relied on him and it felt good to be relied on, especially by someone who was so fiercely independent. "Get on," he said after her shivering had slowed a little, then cut off her protest sharply, "don't argue with me."

She obeyed instantly, and Elk realized something that he as a centaur never knew about himself: control. He had control. The General reveled in it, and Elk had thought that was only situational, given that he had acquired it through the army and marrying a member of the royal family. But no, it was a fundamental character trait for the both of them. Elk understood it now personally, and it was as delicious as it was dangerous.

He walked back to town, his friend hanging tightly onto his back. He wasn't fully recovered and his spine cramped from the pressure, but he'd put on weight in muscle rather quickly. He would endure. As the night lamps came into view he saw people working on restoring what he'd destroyed, and as he emerged from the night those people started calling out to one another and running to cut him off. Elk paused to wrestle down his fight response, then slowly turned to the side.

The sight of a human clinging to a creature they'd just had to stop from rampaging stilled their hands. Elk took advantage of their brief confusion and said, unable to keep the hateful growl from his voice, "Take care of her."

They recoiled in shock. Elk felt his mouth twist into a snarl, baring his teeth in an expression that should have come from a predator as their voices flew amongst themselves. "What."

"Oh my gods."

"It's talking."

"It's talking."

"That's right," he hissed, "I'm talking. And you’re going to take care of her, and make her better, or this crazy magical monster is going to make you regret everything in life." He tilted his head slowly at them, flashing his eyes over to one of the young men raising his spear, silently daring him to make a move. The man froze. "Do you want to find out what else I'm capable of?"

He counted on the fact that these people didn't have much in the way of traffic and didn't know much about the magical world of centaurs. They did not, in fact, know what he was capable of; to be honest, he didn't either. Magic coursed through him but it had never done any good; if it had, he would've been able to escape the prison himself. Instead it had lain dormant for so long it had decomposed and drowned out all light and warmth.

Vagabond interrupted his thoughts as one human dared to timidly approach. "Elk…"

He held himself completely still as the man neared. "Hush," he murmured back. She fell quiet and was gently pulled from him by her fellow human with trembling hands. He fumbled momentarily with her and shrank back at the anger that flashed through the beast’s eyes. "If she comes to harm under your watch," Elk breathed, his voice soft enough to keep Vagabond from distress, "I will kill you all."

He hadn't meant to say it like that. The words dripped from his mouth with the insidious hatred that roiled inside of him and he found they tasted good on his tongue. The way the townsfolk recoiled made the hatred burn even brighter while simultaneously bringing him a pleasure that should have been horrifying. He felt his lips stretch into a smile instead. Vagabond lay barely conscious in the man’s arms and he followed them, keeping his ears moving to catch any possible movement that might signal a betrayal. People shrank away before him and whispers flew and it felt incredible; he arched his neck to accentuate his deadly antlers, the points sweeping toward anyone who spoke too loudly or came too close. Pathetic, small-minded creatures. Not long ago they'd been secure in their knowledge that, as humans, they were above him. Now their precious hierarchy had been turned on its head and they didn't know what to make of it.

Not knowing where else to put her, they brought Vagabond back to the inn. Elk watched intently as two of the ladies carefully removed her filthy clothes and wiped her shivering body down with warm water.

"You," he said to one, a young thing who flinched at his attention, "stay."

Her eyes darted around for help. Typical of humans, the cowards left her in his presence, only glad to save their own skins. He sneered in disgust. "You will sleep at the inn tonight," he said, relishing in his power, "and tend to Vagabond should she need it. In the morning you will bring us both food and water. Understand?"

Too afraid to say anything, she nodded. Elk dismissed her and settled down next to the bed finally with a sigh, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress. They'd put it back into the bedframe to free up floor space. Vagabond was sound asleep, her face haggard and shadowed in the dying firelight.

"I'll take care of you," Elk murmured to her prone form, fighting off sleep as adrenaline finally began to fade. It wouldn't do to close his eyes. The humans would try to take him by surprise, he was sure of it. "I'll keep you safe."

She grumbled in her sleep and turned her head towards him, just a little, and he smiled again, this time with genuine warmth. Her hand, lying upon the covers, twitched, and he tucked his nose under it, the memory of the moment the Princess had come and touched him at last blossoming in his mind. He'd gone so long starved of attention beyond the myriad of force-feedings that her soft fingers were so intense it had been almost painful. Now Vagabond touched him whenever he wanted and he would never give that up.

Night passed slowly, painfully. Elk twitched at each creak of the floorboard; each click of a latch. 

He nodded off despite himself, only once.

Normally a report of wolves wouldn't give him much pause. Sometimes when food was scarce they lingered near a town, hoping for scraps or a lost lone goat. But this time…

The haunted, emaciated black elk had only been seen for a second, but it was enough for one of his soldiers to take note and send it up the ladder. He'd made sure to praise the man profusely, even as he called in one of his Lieutenants to send scouts north.

The beast was out there, and he would find it. He'd find it and seal it away and everything would be right again.

Elk's head slid off the mattress and dropped to the floor, his chin hitting wood with a hard thump. He was awake instantly with a hiss of pain, but the fury drowned it out and he jerked upright, gnashing his teeth. One leg rose in preparation to claw up the floorboards, but he stopped himself; Vagabond deserved to rest undisturbed. Instead he stood the rest of the night, tending to the fire and standing near the window to get some fresh air.

When he deemed it late enough in the morning and heard the low murmur of voices in the dining room down the hall, he quietly but firmly rapped on the wall between the two rooms. The young woman who slept adjacent got the point after a few repetitions; she cracked the door open and tremblingly inched in with two bowls of porridge.

“Does she have a fever?” Elk asked shortly, though he couldn’t stop himself from leaning eagerly towards the tray. The combination of oats, honey, butter and dried blueberries was mouth-wateringly tempting. And, oh, there was coffee.

His unwilling servant hesitated at the foot of the bed for a moment before a glare sent her to Vagabond’s side. “N-No,” she whispered, feeling her forehead. “Sh-She’s a little, um, warm, but not f-feverish.” She paused a moment more before steeling herself and walking to the window, opening it a crack. “Fresh air will help,” she added, a touch stronger. “It’s a little stuffy in here.”

“Mm.” Elk eyed her. She’d turned to look back at Vagabond, who was stirring, then reached over to push the covers down a bit. She seemed genuinely concerned, and it made him a little jealous, the knowledge that Vagabond knew and was friendly with probably half the town at this point. The jealousy made him stamp a hoof, and the young woman jumped. “Wake her,” he said coldly. “Make sure she eats.”

Vagabond didn’t wake fully, but she was just conscious enough to refuse her meal, groaning at the smell and pushing the offending spoon away. Elk had been selfishly hoping that would be the case, and when the woman left he downed the leftovers—and the coffee. After that all he could do was wait. Vagabond slumbered on, only moving to sleepily paw at the blankets. He took the hint and opened the windows a bit more. It helped his paranoia, too.

Eventually he couldn’t stay cooped up in the room anymore. Elk went to jump out the window before realizing he didn’t have to, and knocked on the door until someone opened it. It wasn’t the young woman this time; an adolescent boy stared up at him wide-eyed before scrambling out of the way as the beast walked forwards with no intention of slowing down. The voices down the hall hushed as his slow, heavy step filled the air. The front room was silent by the time he passed through. It was blessed relief upon his sensitive ears, and he couldn’t help but feel a pleasure he knew was wrong at their terrified reverence. 

He took a walk. It was short, and he kept close to the inn, but he relished the ability to simply stroll through town as if he owned the place. And, for however short a time it would be, he did. It was marvelous.

A high-pitched voice squeaked out and he snapped his gaze downwards. A wide-eyed child, perhaps three or four years old, stared up at him from the threshold of their home. They reached a little hand up to him and his nostrils flared to catch their scent. Children. Once upon a time, he'd wanted a family. He'd always wondered what their children would look like; him and the Princess. They would have been beautiful together. But to his knowledge she and the General hadn't even tried. Elk wracked his mind, trying to remember if they'd even had that conversation, and came up with nothing.

Fingers graced his nose. Elk held very still, watching the child in fascination as the child did the same to him, and they studied one another with grave interest. Then there was movement and he jerked his head up to see the kid's father snatch them away, swinging them into his arms and backing up, clutching the now whining toddler in a tight, protective embrace.

Elk stared coldly at the man and he froze in the beast's hateful stare, unwilling to trigger it further. After a moment, Elk decided they weren't worth it and snorted his dismissal, turning away. The father took the hint and slammed the door as Elk made his way back to the inn.

Vagabond was awake, though clearly still out of it, and she smiled faintly at his return. The ice in his chest melted and he smiled back, approaching her bedside. "How do you feel?" 

She grunted and reached for the water on the bedside table. "Hurts."

"What does?"

"Everything." She squinted at him over the glass. "Everyone's terrified. Y'wanna tell me why?"

He attempted to look innocent. "How would I know?" 

"Ass," she accused.

"Yes, you're quite the pain in one." His lips pulled back when she searched around for something to throw at him. "Running off into the winter night like that."

"I was trying," she grumbled, giving up, “to get you outta danger.”

“And instead put yourself in danger,” his voice lowered into a scold. Vagabond’s mouth opened to protest, face turning red, then she busied herself with more water. “That’s what I thought.”

She put the cup back down with a shaking hand and grimaced, pressing the heel of the other to her head. Elk reached out and gently pushed against her chest, forcing her to sink back into the pillow. “Go to sleep, dearheart. You can rib me when you’re better.”

“Mmph. Fine.” She blinked heavy eyelids. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

He didn’t answer, watching her steadily as she failed to stay awake. He didn’t trust himself to. He felt as if he were teetering on top of a cliff with a river raging below—and he didn't even have hands to hold on with. Vagabond had managed to pull him from being swept away immediately but the threat was still there, haunting him. There was a core of emptiness inside, guarded by the monster of hatred and fury, and it was only a matter of time until it broke free.

Elk took a deep breath and settled on the floor, letting it out slowly, and stared down at himself. His legs were no longer sticks. His skin no longer itched and fur was growing back on his hocks. There was actual muscle on his sides and chest. He was getting stronger, thanks to his friend’s attention. He could protect her for real now; Vagabond acted tough and blasé but Elk was beginning to see the fragility of her true self behind all of the casual cheer he’d once written off as airheadedness.

You see, my love? He thought, hoping beyond hope that somehow the Princess could hear. I can love and protect you just as much as he can. I’ll show you. I’ll keep her safe and I’ll cherish her and you’ll see I’m just like him and you’ll forgive me and we’ll join again. We’ll be the centaur you were falling for and were too stupid to see.

Vagabond saw. She forced him to look back on his own actions, though much of them swam behind the curtain of madness that had befallen him through his incarceration. She’d seen right through his pathetic attempts to justify himself, and he was stronger and more focused because of it. He could think more clearly now because of her. He had to return the favor. He couldn’t let anyone take her from him, not again. She had to stay with him. She had to stay with him.

At one point during his silent watch someone creaked open the door a crack, and a worried face peered in. One ear swiveled to listen, then the beast’s head turned just slightly. The eye that stared back at the door was wide and vacant in an emptiness the young man had never seen in a living creature before. The flickering fire caused the antlers to dance into twisted shapes upon the opposite wall. Elk’s lips stretched back, further and further, into a snarl that could only have come from a predator.

The boy lost his nerve and quickly shut the door, leaving the monster to its thoughts.

~

“Nooo come on, lemme up,” she kicked her legs uselessly as he leaned against her chest. Elk couldn’t help his grin; it was frankly hilarious how helpless she was against him. “I need to moooove.”

“What are you, a cowtaur?” He let up just a little to give her hope, then leaned down the moment she tried to make a break for it. “Do you normally not give yourself any time to heal, or is this stubbornness just for me?”

She glared up at him as best she could from her position, but he could see the way her eyelids drooped that she still felt terrible. He couldn’t help it; he booped her on the nose with his own and her scowl lightened considerably, though she stuck her tongue out in lieu of the smile he saw forming. It encouraged him to snuggle closer. It was so nice to have someone who gave without thought; someone who he could satisfy his need for closeness after his stint of complete isolation. He remembered his distaste for it immediately upon his escape. Touch-starved for so long, everything had been all so much that physical sensation other than pain sent his senses ablaze. But now…

The small woman sighed and he returned to the present, then froze. His muzzle was in her hair, teeth gently scraping her scalp and working through the strands. Sudden deep embarrassment drove him back—and Vagabond threw her free arm around his neck to stop him. “Listen,” she began, though he stiffened with sudden anger and disgust, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But like… why d’you keep doing that if you hate it so much?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, shoving away so she was forced to drop her arm. “Some stupid, ridiculous animal instinct—”

“You mean how I like to comb your fur out?”

He faltered.

“Or take out burrs?” Vagabond held out a hand, beckoning; her tired eyes were just as much kind as they were mischievous. “Or pick your feet when there’s a rock, or scratch your ears, or clean your eyes in the morning, or—”

“All right, all right,” he groused, stomping a hoof and trying to hold onto his anger. “You’ve made your point.”

“Then get over here, you stubborn mule.”

“I am not a,” he began, but Vagabond suddenly sat up and tossed the blankets to one side, preparing to swing her legs out. Elk growled his frustration and instantly hopped up, which in hindsight was exactly what she wanted, to push her down. Vagabond flopped back easily with a smirk, wrapping her arms around his neck once more. “...Oh you squirrelly little…”

She giggled and this time he didn’t resist as she snuggled him close and put her face against his neck. “Not a squirrel,” she mocked, muffled through his fur.

“You might as well be.” His anger didn’t stand a chance. The darkness that attempted to rise with his little outburst collapsed back inside. “Little rodent, darting up and down trees. Crazy, jumpy, flighty,” he put his nose in her hair again, “wild, foolish little thing. Do you bury your food and forget where it is, too?”

“Hmmm,” she relaxed, running her fingertips over his ears, “I’ve done that before.”

“Why am I not surprised.” He leaned his cheek against hers and inhaled the scent of the earth and wind. He’d never had someone like this; a human who not only didn’t recoil at his advances but actively encouraged them. He couldn’t even remember the Princess getting this close to his animalistic parts, though as he’d told the man, they hadn’t asked how she felt about it, or even tried. He wasn’t sure which was worse, that she’d ended up proving them right by marrying the man, or, as Vagabond had pointed out some days ago, she had been falling for him and they just… hadn’t realized it. How did Vagabond even know? Could she really tell, from his disjointed version of events that he wasn’t even sure were entirely real, that the Princess would have loved him as he was, whole?

He was grooming the scruffy woman again, he realized, and she was relaxing into his touch. Hesitantly, he settled into the routine. He couldn’t possibly imagine wanting someone basically slobbering all over them, but there she was, her breath deepening into the hum he’d come to enjoy and the lullaby he now associated with calm. And, slowly, Elk began to relax and accept.

Someone who cared was with him. She’d tried to leave him, but he wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let her, no matter how upset she became or how much his anger and hatred took over. The vagabond wasn’t the princess, but she was a good stand-in for now. Perhaps someday they’d all be able to hang out together, once he’d somehow gotten the General to join up with him and they begged their beloved’s forgiveness. She had to forgive him, right? It had been a mistake but they’d done it for a life with her. And despite Elk’s torture he knew she’d been wonderfully, horribly happy during that ten years of companionship and isolation and betrayal and love and darkness and light and comfort and pain…

Human and elk lay that way for a long time. The tangle of memories, cruel in a wonderfulness he’d never been able to partake, were gradually wrestled into compliance and shoved back behind the curtain. Elk’s eyes drifted shut and he allowed himself a brief rest, knowing he’d be forcing another sleepless night later.

By the time the woman opened the door, a bowl of soup in her trembling hands, Vagabond was stirring again and he was gratified to see the brightness back in her eyes. He wasn’t so gratified when she smiled warmly at the woman, who perked up a bit and crossed the room with slightly less fear. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly, as if Elk wasn’t even there, as if he hadn’t been taking care of her. He felt his ears pin to the sides and he lowered his head, automatically arching his neck to brandish his antlers. She was a threat, then. Vagabond glanced over at him and he didn’t miss the furrow of her brow, but didn’t care. “I’m fine,” she replied. “Really, there’s no need to fuss over me.” Her eyes met his again, briefly, but enough to know she may have been talking in the other woman’s direction, but she was damn well referring to him. “I’m used to my brain not working.”

“You are?” he, and the woman, both said at the same time. She froze. He scowled and lifted one hoof; she flinched as if he was about to strike her and bolted for the door.

Vagabond sighed and briefly closed her eyes. “Right, okay.” Picking up the spoon, she dipped it into the soup in lieu of further argument and began to eat. Despite the fact that was exactly what he wanted her to do he found himself shuffling his feet, tapping them on the wooden floor in both irritation and anxiety. He couldn’t help being possessive. Surely she understood; he nearly lost her. What would have happened, if he hadn’t followed her out into the woods? What would have happened if he hadn’t gone to find her in the first place?

“We should probably head out as soon as I’m better,” she spoke up, nearing the bottom of the bowl. She was ignoring his distress, but at least she seemed to be able to actually stomach the food this time. “It’s only a matter of time until they get out the torches and pitchforks.”

He winced at the memory.

“Why,” she sighed, putting the spoon down in favor of reaching for the water on the bedside table, “couldn’t you have just… had a conversation like a normal person, huh?”

Elk raised an eyebrow and snorted, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Instead of threatening them?”

She still didn’t understand. Of course she wouldn’t; she never would. That wasn’t her fault, he just had to make her see. “It wouldn’t have mattered. They would still hate me,” he explained, staring at the near-empty bowl. Oh that smelled so good. He could see remnants of squash and winter greens.

“It’s not hatred, Elk. It’s fear of the unknown.”

“The end result is the same,” he replied with strained patience, and accepted the bite she offered. It tasted as good as it had smelled, and the flavor tried to distract him from the conversation. He wouldn’t put it past her that it was on purpose, and strove to focus. “Fear, hate, they’d want me dead anyway. You wouldn’t understand.”

For a split second she went very still, staring down at the bowl. Elk recognized that expression. It was the same one that had driven him to push too hard just a few nights ago. Vulnerable. He hesitated, then gently prodded, “Or would you?”

It didn’t work, of course. She avoided, and changed the subject, and then finally flat-out told him no despite his frustration. Elk pressed his lips together and let out an irritated snort, but said irritation failed in the face of her next words.

“I wanna think about you ,” she told him softly. “And how we’re gonna help you.”

Oh, guilt. He faltered, staring. How could anyone be so selfless? Did she not care about herself at all? He supposed, in a moment of rare empathy, he could understand that she didn’t want to think or talk about her past. He didn’t want to, either.

So he relented. They settled down together and though Vagabond's head wasn't well enough to read to him they were still able to just enjoy each other's quiet presence. He managed to convince her to stay near him under the guise of her weakness—well. He had to admit that the only reason she agreed was because he confessed that he was afraid of her being taken away. “There, see?” she’d murmured as they drifted off to sleep together. “Honesty’s the best policy."

He had to agree. All of his experiences thus far had brought him to hate liars. But none of that mattered, because he heard something in his sleep, and before he woke fully he knew what it was. They’d come for him just as he knew they would; the damned humans must have betrayed him the moment he showed himself.

He didn’t have to wake her. Vagabond knew the instant he sat up straight. She didn’t even ask, only threw off her covers and grabbed her things. “Vagabond,” he hissed, the ugliness of hatred rearing its head inside, bubbling under his skin like a thing possessed. “They’re here.”

She launched herself out into the dark and he followed. He didn’t miss the wildness in her eyes; the bared teeth of her grin. She loved this, and he was caught up in her energy; they bolted for the stone wall as quietly as they could and hid behind it. Elk crouched on the ground, teeth clenched as Vagabond peeked through the cracks to watch the soldiers. The General had to know that he’d never let himself be caught again. He had to know that his other half would lash out like any cornered animal—that was all he was to him, an animal, after all—and kill anyone who tried.

And yet, try he did anyway. It was useless and would forever be useless, but he would never stop trying. Long ago, Elk would have never thought he had such cruelty inside of him, but as he and his friend hid from prowling guards, their armor a faint gleam in the night, he knew his other half wasn’t the only one.

The man would try anything to suppress the beast and the beast would forever be lashing out back at the man. This connection they had was only making things worse. Elk let out a slow, growling breath.

Vagabond was staring at him, ready to dart up the hill and into the trees, but he didn’t want to. “We can take them,” he ground out finally.

She snorted. “We sure as hell can’t.” One hand shoved at his shoulder. He didn’t move. “And you mean you.”

He tried to keep his anger in check, if only for her. “You won’t fight them with me?” He couldn’t stop his voice from echoing his disappointment.

“I think you’re crazy,” she replied, tugging at his fur. “There’s no way we can fight fully-armored soldiers. And I don’t fight, anyway.”

He blinked. Don’t… what? Elk turned to look at her fully. Vagabond was shifting restlessly in one place, clearly itching to run. She didn’t fight? At all? “But you defend yourself, don’t you?” he asked, bewildered. Of course she did, she had to.

“I don’t fight ,” she huffed, exasperated, and avoided his eyes. “At all. Ever. Pacifist.”

Pacifist. He tried to remember ever seeing her retaliate against a threat, and came up empty. Of course, the only threat she’d had until now was… him. “How,” he replied, slowly, brow furrowed, “have you survived this long?”

Vagabond turned towards the hill, as always avoiding. “I told you, I run. Which is what we’re gonna do. C’mon.” She started up and he bit back his irritation, fighting against her logic and what he really wanted to do, and reluctantly followed.

And they were spotted.

Cries of alarm pierced the night. It was as if the great goose in the sky was giving Elk permission to do things his way. “Get on!” he snapped at his companion.

She obeyed without arguing for once, snuggling into his fur and grabbing onto his ruff. His back cramped, the long spinous processes compressing under her, and she wiggled down to make him more comfortable. As soon as she was secure Elk spun away from the forest, ignoring her startled yell, and charged right back down the hill at the enemy. 

If anything, they weren't expecting that. The soldiers were still trying to regroup when he launched himself over the wall and scattered them, laughter bubbling out of his throat. Ah, now he knew what Vagabond was all about! The human yelped and lurched as he leaned forward and lashed out with both back feet, slamming into one of them with such force his teeth rattled. It was amazing; he laughed again, darting through their ranks and charging through the silent town; it took only minutes to get to the other side and vanish into the forest.

He felt alive again. His heart sang. His friend clung to his back and this time they laughed together, joining in their adrenaline and free as the frigid wind. As they danced through the trees, easily losing the heavier warhorses and their masters, Elk finally realized the truth of a murmured promise from her to him as he guarded her, head on her chest.

I’m not gonna leave you, she’d said.

His breath steamed in the air.

I’ll always come back.

Vagabond giggled in delightful abandonment, and he realized he didn’t even mind her laughter; not even if she was laughing at him. She was with him, and she wouldn’t leave his side.

He’d make sure of it.

Chapter Text

It was better when they were alone. Quieter. Happier. It was as if he’d been forced to endure an invisible yolk which had been finally removed; Elk could feel his lungs expand easier as his muscles calmed the further they got from civilization.

They galloped wildly that first night, silent save for bouts of laughter brought on by adrenaline. Eventually as their excitement settled and flattened out on came the soreness from carrying a weight, no matter how light; Vagabond slid from his back and gave him a peck on the cheek with icy lips. He felt a little guilty then. He was built for the cold; she was not. Tally one for inhabiting the body of a deer. Elk didn’t say that, though. She’d only gloat.

Though tired, they did not stop come morning, wary of being caught unaware. Being human didn’t seem to faze his companion when it came to nonstop travel, though; she continued at a steady pace and did not pause until the next nightfall. Food was consumed on the run. He noticed she was once again handing larger portions to him and though the temptation was great, he only ate half.

She only commented on it once, when going through what she’d stored in her backpack. Elk had made his decision by then, and gently told her he could stand a bit of hunger; to go ahead and eat. He knew she was shocked at his gracious offer, and it warmed him—even more so when she simply thanked him, with genuine gratitude. Vagabond had done so much for him. It felt good to give back.

The woman was back in her foraging mode. Her on-and-off chatter had become so second nature when they’d first met that he found he truly didn’t mind. It meant she was focused on him, just as it should be.

“Juniper has needles and hawthorne has leaves,” he deadpanned when she showed him the two. “Looks pretty obvious to me, the difference. If they're both edible what does it matter?”

She huffed and bopped him with one of the twigs. “So what if it's obvious! Juniper can be dangerous in large amounts and hawthorne is best in a tonic. You should know the difference!" A pause. "Though I dunno if it makes a difference for a deer stomach—don't get cranky, I know you're not a deer."

He bit back the retort that had been forming. It was an innocent enough statement, but he still had to push away the indignation. “My stomach,” he replied slowly, turning to continue up the trail, “is pretty much the same since… before. I’ve always had to be careful with how fast I changed my diet. Bad indigestion if I didn’t.” A memory cropped up, unbidden, and he wrinkled his nose at the thought of liquid buttery cheese. “So… I’m not sure if it’s changed at all. I don’t want to think about all that,” he bit out abruptly, shaking his head to try and dislodge the unwelcome thoughts.

“Okay.” She rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. "Hmm… you have any friends back in Centaurworld we can trust?"

"No." He considered that for a moment. "What about you? You said you have lots of friends. All over, your exact words."

"I do, but I never uh… stayed over there for very long." She kept her gaze averted. "Pity, really. I like your world."

"It's not my world," he couldn't stop the bitter words from emerging. "I don't belong there."

Vagabond fell quiet. It was an uncomfortable silence this time, and, nervous, he glanced over at her. There was an odd look in her eyes; distant and familiar in a way that made him uneasy in turn. For a time they walked without conversation as Elk wracked his brain for what to say. "It's not a bad place," he blurted finally, when he could no longer take the quiet fretting. "Just… stupid. Ridiculous. No one ever took anything seriously."

"Yeah, I've been," she reminded him after a moment. "I liked that no one took anything seriously. It was so freeing. Y'know, not having to worry about stuff. Magic just took care of everything." She reached up to rub her head absently, still looking away, and though she seemed to want to continue, fell silent. Elk glanced over at her. She didn’t return his gaze and he was sent back into fretting. Vagabond was somewhere else and it didn’t involve him and he didn’t like it.

“I wish I had known you,” he said, and seeing that he’d earned her attention, babbled on. “Before the split. Maybe… maybe we would’ve met in the middle. Maybe you would’ve told me off for thinking about doing something so stupid.” His hooves slowed, then stopped briefly as he stared down at the ground. “Maybe I wouldn’t have even thought about it, if I’d had a friend. A real friend. Like you.”

They stood there for several minutes silently, neither of them knowing what to say. Movement caught the corner of his eye and he glanced over to see her raising her hand, slow and unsure. Her fingers met his shoulder and she stared away, into a memory he could not see.

"I know what it's like," she said, simply.

He felt his breath catch. "But you've had friends."

"If I'd had one, someone who understood," she replied, "back… then… I wouldn't be here either." Her fingers tightened. "But for what it's worth, I'm glad that I am."

Elk leaned into her touch. Her eyes were still distant in an expression that triggered a memory of himself looking in a mirror. "So am I," he said, "and I'm glad you answered my call."

She smiled and dropped her hand and they continued on. The tension eased the moment they'd made up, but he fretted even so. Vagabond was still quiet, her mind far away, and Elk did not like it. She just kept running from it all, refusing to even acknowledge anything, and it was so close to how the General had treated him that he had to fight the urge to beat the truth out of her. No, she didn't deserve that. Low and slow. She'd been on her own probably longer than he had, and had long since learned to keep things quiet—whatever those things were.

Eventually a soft sound met his ears. Vagabond was relaxing and coming back from wherever she'd gone, the quiet lullaby floating in the air as she did so. They walked in silence for a while save the song, and he found his own muscles loosening up as well. She wasn't mad at him. It was safe.

He enjoyed the peace for a while. Months ago he would have lashed out at her for the constant noise, but now he just appreciated the reminder that he had a friend at his side, though he did wonder if she would ever break into song as they would in Centaurworld. But no, she never did. Humming, humming, always humming; never anything more. Something deep inside him stirred in response, and he recognized it as the magic that had rotted over the decade of imprisonment; it tugged at his mind insistently and demanded more. He wrestled with the desire for a few more minutes before he gave up; he couldn't hold it in anymore. "Do you ever sing?"

He wanted to sing. And he wanted her to join him. He'd always dreamed of his voice in perfect tandem with another person, but he'd never gotten the chance—a memory blossomed, of a voice that came from his soul but was not his entwining with that of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen dressed in white. He'd joined them then from the trees, and briefly all three harmonized in a song of love and loss and joy and heartbreak. But the moment had been achingly fleeting and soon he had found himself alone once more.

The lullaby faded. Vagabond blinked rapidly. "No, don't stop," Elk came to and turned to look at her, worried. "I like it."

She didn't look at him. "I prefer not to."

"Why not?"

"Draws attention," she replied flatly; he raised his brow. What, was she some sort of savant and her voice made the goose itself weep? "Are you keeping secrets from me again," he drawled, and her cheeky response made him roll his eyes and shove her over. Fine, then, but he would make her crack.

"If you won't sing," he said, pursing his lips against a grin as Vagabond sputtered and flailed against her backpack, "I will. And you can hum along with me."

She grumbled at him, but he ignored it and fell quiet as he searched for his inner centaur. He'd attempted to sing in the dungeons, but they'd muzzled him, and eventually silence and darkness had prevailed. Not anymore. No one would ever silence him again. He ran a few scales to himself for a moment before opening his mouth and letting his pain coalesce into lyrics, deliberately straying from Vagabond's preferred tune.

He sang about the Princess, about isolation, about the terror of not knowing when or if he would ever see the sky again. He sang about waiting and knowing and hoping and madness, and softly, hesitantly, his friend joined in.

She didn't sing. She wasn't a centaur and her magic didn't tell her what lyrics were next, nor did music appear out of nowhere. But there was something extra gratifying about her listening and adapting to him; of magic not just taking care of everything as she had put it.

That was until he realized his words and tune had morphed. Her mother's lullaby echoed between them. The song netted him like a dreamcatcher and tangled with his latent rotten magic, spinning and weaving, and the world responded.

The vibration in Vagabond's throat pressed into his ears and something shifted up above. Elk let his singing fade and looked up. The sky rippled as if it were made of wet cloth; for a moment it seemed as if it would tear. Vagabond made a small choking sound and stumbled a little, and Elk darted his gaze to her. She avoided his eyes and increased her stride, wide-eyed and babbling about air pressure.

It wasn't the air pressure, of course. Elk trotted alongside her easily. Reality settled back down and he watched Vagabond closely. He wasn't very good at empathy—something he was loathe to admit, but it was there; if he'd been any better in times past he wouldn't be in this predicament—but he knew fear when he saw it. She reeked of it. The more he followed, the faster she walked and the more she babbled, running without running. She wouldn’t tire anytime soon, either; she could walk for likely days before stopping. 

Her name calmly spoken was all it took to silence her. He trotted ahead and stopped short, forcing her to halt in turn. “Calm down,” he murmured. Vagabond was panting, eyes glazed and overly bright as she stared over his back at the trail. It reminded him of…

"Look at me," he said, and felt the thrill of near-malicious delight when she reluctantly obeyed, wide-eyed and nostrils flared like captured prey. The tables were turning, he decided. She had thus far been calling the shots, but soon he would take over, and almost instinctively his little friend was backing down.  "Why are you running," he continued, then cut off her babbled response; “no. Why are you running from me.”

She faltered, then let out a single breathless bark of laughter, cut short in her throat. She tore her gaze from his—not without difficulty, he noticed, and the thrill passed through him again—and replied, her voice forcibly bright and cheerful, “Like I’d run from you.”

He raised a brow and despite her averted eyes she seemed to notice. “Except that one time,” she added, fidgeting, “but that was one time.”

He stared at her. She stared at the sky. Thoughts churned in his head, gradually taking shape and settling into a cohesive pattern. Every little interaction they’d had so far, her instinctive elusiveness, this new bombshell. He didn’t recognize the brand of magic she wielded. Considering her skittishness the moment it reared its head, it was likely magic in this world was far more scarce than the saturated land of the centaurs. Which made her… potentially something of an anomaly. Elk stepped forward, a rush of kinship warming his chest, and leaned in to press his cheek to hers.

Vagabond trembled. Her breath sucked in sharply. And she returned his lean. Her trembling slowed. Her breathing deepened. She swallowed hard. Yes, Elk thought, smiling with genuine fondness; she felt it too. They understood one another.

He’d get it out of her. It would take some time, but she’d break. Elk touched a kiss to her cheek and backed away to swing around and start back up the trail. After a moment her footsteps restarted to follow, and the air lost its heaviness, and all was right with the world.

~

The trail was treacherous. Vagabond moved faster than he would have liked; her swift pace didn’t leave much room for mistakes. She slipped in the wet snow enough to make his heart jolt. What concerned him even more was that she didn’t even really seem to notice; when he called attention to her poor footing she just blinked at him. “Well yeah, it’s wet,” she said, as if he wasn’t aware. “I’m gonna slip.” Elk snorted in irritation.

“You’re going to slip right off a cliff. Won’t you get on my back?” he beseeched for the umpteenth time.

“Naw, man, I’m fine, really,” she shook her head and turned back to the trail. “Haven’t seen me fall yet, have you?”

“It only takes once,” he retorted, but she waved him off. He really wanted to shove her and prove his point, but refrained; if he did that she truly would get hurt.

They made good time despite her terrifying blasé disregard for her own safety, something he’d come to expect from her but still caused an incredible amount of anxiety. Vagabond could walk at a powerful pace nonstop, and Elk even had to stop singing to save his breath. When he caught glimpse of her face he could tell she’d completely zoned out, her mind going wherever it did when she was traveling alone. He didn’t like that—she wasn’t alone, he was here—but refrained from calling attention to it. It would only serve as a distraction. Still, he couldn’t help but bump his nose against her shoulder every once and a while, just to see her twitch with recognition and feel her fingers graze his muzzle in acknowledgement.

The trail widened and vanished into thin air. Elk faltered, startled out of his own zone-out, as the brilliant light of the Rift vanished into the sky above. And then they topped the rise, and it became clear that they had reached the beginning of the trail’s descent.

The lights of the main city and various towns surrounding it would have been a comforting glow to anyone else. It must have been to Vagabond. In the middle, a dark castle rose high into the air, carved into a mountain itself; cheery pinpricks of light shone out its windows. A bastion of an empire growing and expanding with resources and power.

Elk felt his breath vanish. His chest turned to ice.

Vagabond sniffled loudly, wiping her nose. She said something, but it was muffled in the sudden ringing in his ears.

“Elk?”

There it was, the place he’d found love. There it was, the place he’d found torment.

“You okay man?”

He stood at the top of the castle as the prince-consort and gazed across the night towards the mountains. He stood on the top of the cliff as the castaway and gazed across the night towards the city. A city he’d helped build. A city that should have been his.

The elk released his breath suddenly; he’d been holding it and his chest had begun to hurt. He became suddenly aware of his friend’s presence once more, and glanced her way. She was awkwardly off to the side now, watching him warily; the fog of her own breath was faint and quick. She was afraid. He studied her a moment as her words finally connected with his brain. “I’m okay,” he replied, the automatic response filtering from his lips with zero conviction.

“You, uh…” she fidgeted, clearly not believing him. “...You sure?”

“Let’s go.” He injected as much command as he could into his voice and moved forward, forcing her to move as well. She obeyed, slowly at first, then gradually into a trot as they headed downhill. Soon after, he realized why she suddenly had so much pep in her step: a cabin was tucked into a grove of trees off to the side, hidden by cast shadows. He vaguely remembered her mentioning caches along trails such as these. To be fair there hadn’t been much space to put one until now.

He tried to get rid of the icy stone in his heart, if only for his friend’s sake, but the frigid cold of the mountains didn’t help. Eventually he had to give up and follow his friend inside, where she’d already gotten a fire going. The click of the latch echoed in his bones. It sent a shudder through his body, and he took a deep shaky breath. So closed up, the little cabin quickly warmed from the fire.

The smell of food roused him a little, and he came to enough to gulp down the meager soup his friend prepared. It helped distract him from the walls of the enclosure, which seemed much closer than they had when they’d entered. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing for a minute until the sound of Vagabond scraping around brought him back. She was tugging at the mattress. Her movements were sluggish and slow, and her eyes drooped with dark circles.

“No,” Elk murmured, reaching forward with a hoof and resting it on her arm. She blinked up at him blearily. “It’s okay. Go ahead.”

She didn’t insist; a rarity. She didn’t change clothes either, merely kicked off her boots and flopped on top of the covers. Elk stared down at her. He couldn’t even think about sleeping right now. His mind had disconnected from his brain, the two creating an empty, yawning chasm where the monster lurked below.

Everything was quiet. Dark.

The door is there, he reminded himself, over and over, like a mantra. The door is right there. He turned to face it with difficulty given the small space. It didn’t help.

The door is there. You can leave.

The sound of the latch continued to echo on down the chasm. The darkness responded, stirring in irritation at the noise; bubbling forth and clawing its way up to the forefront. It was dark. It was quiet. He didn’t mind the dark. He didn’t mind the quiet.

He minded the door.

You can leave any time, he forced the thought again, but this time, the terrible reminder that he had no hands to turn the handle answered. The door was there, but he couldn’t leave. She’d latched it. She’d locked it. It may as well have been a solid wall, because he had no hands, and the monster of utter self-loathing writhed from the crevasse of despair.

The fire died.

The walls fell in. He was alone, completely alone, left to rot below a castle where half of him lay with the woman of his dreams. And the dreams would bring no respite, because that half refused to acknowledge them; block every horrible nightmare of being trapped upon waking. Elk hated the human version of himself almost as much as he hated his current condition.

He couldn’t have expected that the animal part was just as much him as the rest. He’d expected all his intelligence and higher brain power to have come from the human half. He didn’t realize, in all his watching of the humans lord over their lower counterparts, that there was no separation between animal and man. He’d wanted to cut away the detestable parts of him. Now he was that part. And now he languished in a cell too small, shoved away into the dark, in a cruelty he had never expected he was capable of as less and less air came into his lungs.

He needed out. Out. Out. Out. OUT.

His throat hurt. He was screaming. His antlers hit the ceiling. The door was there, the door was there, but it wouldn’t open no matter how hard he crashed into the solid wood. He screamed again, his vision clouded with black, and suddenly frigid air hit his face and he charged forward, slamming his way through the frame, ignoring the cries of the guard, the sky opening above him and the icy air tearing at his lungs, running and wild and free, free, free.

~

He came to slowly.

Bits and pieces of memory caught up with his maddened flight. Hooves clattered against stone and ice. The cold bit at the ring of missing fur around his neck every time his fur shifted. The elk stumbled to a walk, heaving in the early-morning frost, and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Mountains. He was in the mountains. He’d fled the castle and was making his way north. His legs shook with exertion; it was only a matter of time until…

…Until he met Vagabond, and headed back towards the castle. Elk stopped, blinking heavily down at the ground, then lowered his head further to take in his hooves. His legs. They were not the sticks he remembered. His bones did not feel like they would snap any second; his ribs were no longer brittle and expanded steadily with each inhale under a layer of muscle covered with a thick coat of fur. Something was wrong. He’d already met Vagabond.

He’d met her, and they were traveling this trail together. She’d taught him how to forage. They’d just topped the mountain and were on their way down to the other side when they… when they…

The cabin. Elk sucked in a sharp breath, the cold a spear to the back of his throat and nose. She’d fallen asleep. The dark had taken over and the walls had closed in and he’d forced his way out. The door opened inward. How had he opened the door?

The image of a shadowed figure clawing at the latch jumped to the forefront of his mind. He’d shoved her aside violently, and, as the memory became sharper, the hiss of pain and the tug at his antlers as he’d rushed by made much more sense. Elk gasped and shuddered, his knees weak, stumbling and nearly falling off the edge of a cliff. Rocks clattered from under him and echoed their way down. He pulled away from the edge, heaving, then reared up and slammed his long head into the nearest stone. His elk skull wasn’t built to take that much impact, and the blow sent him reeling and nearly following the rocks down the cliff. Bones vibrating, it was all he could do to stagger away from the edge.

He had something to live for now. And she was injured somewhere. Trembling, exhausted both mentally and physically, Elk began to walk.

Animal senses aside, he had no idea where he was. He’d been charging around in the dark for long enough that his own scent criss-crossed over and over again, leading him around in circles; nothing looked familiar. The beam of light from the Rift was essentially the only directional reminder he had. Elk trudged on, surrendering back into the emptiness that yawned inside, completely drained, ears buzzing, his mind floating somewhere outside of his body. He simply couldn’t cope with the possibility of returning to the cabin and finding his only friend gone.

Just before dawn, he found the trail. At first light, he stood on a snow-dusted peak and looked down. And very much alive and waiting was a small woman staring back up at him.

Exhaustion muffled his relief. He made his way down slowly, and she lurched forward, her own tiredness evident in her movements. Perhaps because of it, she didn’t even try to meet him, just waited for him to descend, the hand holding a torch trembling as he did. Elk stopped before her, unsure how to even begin and not daring to meet her eyes. His knees bent as if from their own accord and he knelt, pressing his nose to the snow. “I hurt you,” he whispered, the awful memory once again plaguing the inside of his eyelids.

She interrupted whatever else he was going to say, tossing the torch aside and throwing herself to the ground before him, trying to lift his head. Her words were a babbled mess and he only caught the first few before he cut her off. She had to know he wouldn’t do that again. Ever again. She would never feel pain at his nonexistent hands again, and the resolution was an iron hand in his heart, so powerful he was suddenly absolutely sure the elktaur in his entirety knew of it. The ragged half of a soul whispered his conviction to the vagabond, pressing his forehead to hers so she would hear and listen.

“Forgive me,” he added, a plea; Vagabond would never know just how deep it went. The darkness inside would never be satiated as long as he was torn apart. His friend didn’t understand and perhaps never would. He didn’t want her to. He didn’t want her to see the ugliness of his festering hate for as long as possible.

“I forgive you,” she replied, and urged him inside. He let her wipe him down, head hanging as the heat from the fire dried his coat. She cleaned his muddied hooves and dragged the mattress off the cot and tugged at his fur until he obeyed, settling down and tucking his feet under himself.

He let her dote on him that day; he didn’t understand why, but despite the fact that he’d hurt her (and loudly yelled at her about it, which he immediately regretted) it seemed to make her feel better. She kept herself busy while he rested, and when his muscles stiffened with disuse she opened the door for him and he stretched his legs outside.

Vagabond just kept doing that for him; open doors. For every one that slammed in his face she offered another—not only that, but she cheerfully entered it with him. She and the princess were so alike—

—This door you should not have come through—

Elk shuddered and tossed his head, rearing up and slamming his hooves against the frozen earth to dislodge the memory of silver and lavender, of hope and emptiness. And then again, and again, and again, harder and harder, until the impact shook his bones and he had to trot around to regain feeling from under the pins and needles. With each pass he became more aware of Vagabond, standing quietly by the open door, leaning against the frame and watching him with strained, worried eyes. Finally he stopped in front of her.

They stared at each other a moment while he searched for words. She moved first, reaching for him, sliding her hands up his muzzle to his ears, which she gently ran her fingers over until he relaxed and lowered his head to her shoulder. He imagined himself a centaur again, melding himself to her and tucking his face into the crook of her neck like a fearful child seeking shelter. Vagabond was a chaotic, ridiculous, irritating little thing, but she was the only tether to the last shreds of sanity he had.

"How old are you?" He startled himself with his own question, slipping through his lips without thought.

Her hands stilled and he could feel her thinking. Her fingers tightened momentarily in reflexive stress at the question before she took a breath and, in a voice as cheery as it was strained, "Man, at this point, only the gods know."

Elk groaned and shouldered her aside to enter the cabin, shaking his head. "You're lucky I love you."

He settled into the mattress and shifted his weight to the side so his friend could cuddle. Vagabond disappeared outside for a moment, then re-entered lugging a rock. Elk raised a brow and watched, mystified, as she thunked it down and busied herself with the door without explanation. After a few moments she stood up and brushed her hands off, turning back to trot to him with a pleased air. “...What were you doing?”

Vagabond kicked off her boots and stirred the fire. “Cracked the door open.” She pointed, and he peered closer: indeed, there was a sliver of dying light between it and the frame. “See, you can open it now if you need out.” Getting comfortable against him, she propped her chin in her hand and smiled at him before leaning up. Elk obediently tilted his head towards her and she dropped a kiss onto his cheek. “Love you too.”

It was only then that he realized what he’d said. He stared down at her, feeling as if his eyes would bug right out of his head. Vagabond snuggled in further, tucking her nose into his ruff and sighing contentedly as if he hadn’t become a maddened beast the night before. Love? He didn’t love her, why had he said that? Love was what he felt for the Princess. He’d fallen the second he’d seen her: vibrant; stunning; beautiful; she’d looked at him, the first human to ever do so; her breath smelled of honey. He’d wanted instantly to touch her, but dared not; he’d wanted to cherish and take care of her and talk with her and lie with her at night. He’d learned since then that love was nothing but pain. He’d suffered for his Princess. He couldn’t love Vagabond; he did not feel the same longing, the same wrenching ache.

“I love being with you,” he corrected abruptly.

Vagabond made a contented buzzing sound against his fur. “Mmlove bein’ with you, too.”

Flonk. He’d made it worse. Elk opened his mouth to explain further, then thought better of it. Instead he put his chin on her, careful to avoid her re-injured shoulder, and closed his eyes. His mind whirled with confusion and chagrin. That little interaction ping-ponged back and forth as he wrestled with the meaning of it all, trying to make it make sense. Eventually he had to let go of the thought as the past day’s events wore him down; with a sigh he paced back and forth, hands balled into tight fists. The goose-damned thorn in his side was running amok and terrorizing villages; it had somehow tricked a woman into helping it and now had kidnapped her in its flight from his men. Meanwhile his wife still wasn’t talking to him and her servants had iced him out; they wouldn’t tell him what room she was staying in or what she was doing…

“Elk. Buddy. You’re dreaming.”

He wasn’t dreaming. He knew exactly what was going on. He was losing control and he needed to regain it. First things first, his soldiers knew where—

“Don’t go crazy again, huh? Here, the door’s open.”

—that animal would pop up next—

“C’mon, we gotta get going. Been here long enough.”

—and they had until it started—

“It’s gonna start snowing today, I’m pretty sure. Smells like it anyway. Elk! Come on, I’ll even make coffee. Chop-chop!”

Elk blinked awake. It felt like he’d only been asleep for seconds. He rubbed his face on the blanket to clear his eyes and coughed a little to get his voice back. An icy breeze tickled his fur behind him; in front, the heat of the fire fought a mighty battle halfway across his body. Vagabond was busying herself with said fire. She was already packed up and set to leave. Elk pushed up and stretched his forelegs and neck with a groan.

“That was loud,” Vagabond remarked as his neck popped. Elk blinked at her, then smirked and twisted his head back and forth. The sounds rivaled the fire. Vagabond glanced over her shoulder at him and wrinkled her nose. “Weirdo. Sounds like you’re stiff as hell, man. I’ll give you a massage next time we’re settled.”

He stopped and perked his ears, desire to gross her out forgotten. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She smiled slightly and turned back to whatever she was doing, and that whatever turned into a bowl in each hand as she got up and made her way over to set them in front of him. One held some sort of grain porridge, and the other— coffee.

He barely let her put them down before he shoved his muzzle at the delightful aroma, ignoring his friend’s warning about the heat and subsequently burning his tongue. Yelping, he jerked his head back and stuck his tongue out towards the cold winter air coming in through the door. Vagabond snickered and retrieved her own breakfast. “Told ya.”

Elk grumbled, but didn’t have a comeback. Fortunately his food cooled quickly and they both settled into silence as they ate. He licked his bowl clean and she practically did the same before bringing their dishes outside to scrub with snow. He followed her out, peeking over her shoulder at the remainders of her own drink. She’d placed the mug next to her feet, and he leaned over as she crouched there, sneakily lapping at the now-lukewarm drink. She didn’t notice at first, then yelped “Hey!” and batted him away, snatching the mug out of his reach. “You ass!”

“I regret nothing,” he replied haughtily, but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. Vagabond apparently had the same problem, because she fought her own grin before losing the battle and tried to save face by rolling her eyes.

"I gave you so much coffee," she grumbled, downed the rest of it, cleaned the mug and extinguished the fire. "Okay, let's go. Thief.”

"Something tells me you're much more of a thief than I am," he replied drily as they started out once more.

She sniffed, echoing his earlier haughtiness. "You’ve never seen me steal a damn thing.”

"I don't hear you denying it, though." The banter came naturally and had an immediate calming effect on Elk's strained emotions. “Now get on my back.”

She argued, of course. But he was determined to win; he’d seen how gingerly she settled her pack to her shoulders, and eventually she acquiesced. Despite how nonconfrontational the little woman was it seemed she was as determined to refuse help for her own pain as she was adamant he seek help for his. What an odd duck.

He was coming to find out just why she was obsessed with travel, however. Simply walking along in the wide open wilderness was cathartic in a way he would have never expected. If it weren’t for the nagging connection in the back of his mind, the knowledge of a man far away pacing and unable to sleep, he could lose himself out here the same way she did. The monster inside was quiet. The darkness was still. The elk and the vagabond chatted and joked and walked; he told her of his ideas and she told him how the mountains had formed long ago. There was, in his heart, as close to peace as he could find.

Both the peace and the trail were eventually doomed to end. Snow was whispering over the rocks and the tops of the trees below were gradually rising to meet them when they turned a bend, and froze, their breath in unison catching as they beheld a wooden bridge held securely together by thick rope. The soldiers on the other side had risen and already prepared to meet them as soon as the echoes of their footfalls betrayed their approach.

Vagabond’s casual quip to this unfortunate turn of events was almost as infuriating as the presence of the soldiers. “Well. That’s a problem.”

The monster snarled.

Oh, hatred, his old friend. It was easy to forget the pit that reached up with hands of black to drag him down while he and his human traveled without a care in the world. Elk stepped forward, his vision tunneling. He heard Vagabond gasp; felt her try to hold him back.

You’ll know what they’ll do to you…

I do.

This time, he would not run. This time, he would show them. He spoke to Vagabond, his voice a low growl, but his mind was not with his words. He would protect her, but his only thought was to go through his opponents. He would fight. He would prevail. His fury rose as he neared; the soldiers were faceless and helmeted and the enemy and he would kill them, bash them aside and leave them to be eaten by the animals they disdained.

“Elk,” his friend whispered, “wait.”

No. No waiting. He’d waited long enough. “This isn’t the time to run,” he grated, and cut off her next sentence, “we can’t turn around.”

He stepped forward. And again. He could see their weapons of choice now. Nets. Ropes. A bolas. The memory of a weight spinning around his antlers and throwing him to the ground; his legs being hobbled, his cries to uncaring ears until they wrapped ropes tight enough to chafe around his muzzle. Not again. Not again. Never. Never. Never.

Vagabond hissed something. He paused at her words, the meaning piercing the thick darkness that had risen from his depths. “What,” he began, “are you…”

Reality cracked.

Like before higher upon the mountain, when she’d slipped a little, he felt a sharp tug to his inner self; the part that was still magical. It was as if something tightly and carefully wound was suddenly spinning free, and space and time heaved at the release. Something taut snapped and sent a vibration humming through his bones. Vagabond staggered and whimpered, softly; Elk snapped his head around to look as she sagged against him, blood trickling freely from her nose. “Strings,” she gasped.

“Vagabond.”

No response. Her whole body shook. The soldiers cried out, stumbling in confusion.

“Vagabond!”

She grabbed onto him. He grit his teeth and led her across into the snow that was suddenly flowing down the mountainside and onto the soldiers, who couldn’t seem to keep their feet. Elk paused at the end of the bridge and forced her to sit; she obeyed, panting heavily with tears streaming down her cheeks. He stepped away from her, a blossom of understanding sending a smile to his face. His friend had caused a distraction. Unable to fight, she did the next best thing, and he wouldn’t disappoint.

He lunged, and the air soon filled with screams.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?!”

The ground was slick under his hooves.

“Stop!”

Copper intermingled with the taste of snow. Elk turned, smiling back at the woman struggling towards him. His sweet friend. His only friend. He trotted for her, picking his feet up high to pull free of blood and viscera, stepping over the dead and dying. There had been a horse too, but it had fallen off the cliff in all the confusion, thank goose. “Getting rid of them,” he replied gently, reaching her as she stumbled to her feet. “I don’t know what you did,” he went on, moving to block her line of sight, “but it gave us enough of an edge to—”

“To run!” She collapsed again, her face a striped scene of blanched skin and dark blood. Her eyes were bloodshot and the pupils were blown; Elk leaned down to peer at her closely. She didn’t seem otherwise injured. “I…I gave us an opening t-to get away!”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. Elk gave her a peck on the cheek, concern mixing with light amusement and chagrin. Of course she was freaked out. Pacifist, she’d told him, pointing to herself; all of this must have been too much for her more delicate senses, especially since she apparently thought they could have run away on this dangerous outcrop of stone and snow. With how shaky she was from activating whatever magic flowed in her veins, there was no way she could have held on as he galloped down a narrow, ice-covered trail alongside a cliff. He told her exactly that and Vagabond pressed her face to her hands, heaving in a way that he knew meant she had a migraine.

“Look at me,” he tried. She shook her head slightly, teeth grit against the pain. No wonder she didn’t perform magic that often, if this was what happened. People with a natural affinity for magic should be able to perform it as easily as breathing. Something inside her was as broken as he was if she couldn’t.  “It’s okay, I know this is hard for you—”

Metal dragged against stone. Softly; muffled by snow and fear. Elk swung his antlered head around to see a young man, helmet askew, eyes glazed and face slack in dazed horror. He must have been knocked about either when the snow fell or when Elk first hit them like a rolling boulder, and stared blankly around at the carnage of his fellow soldiers. That wouldn’t do. “Hold on,” he told Vagabond, his voice tightening.

He knew it was wrong, but the absolute terror that grew in the man’s gaze as he began to stalk for him filled him with such joy—and then a weight dropped against him, and Vagabond’s arms wrapped around one back leg. Elk sighed, glancing back at her and striving to keep his voice level. “Let go.”

“No,” she breathed, “leave him alone.”

Elk took in a deep breath, counted to five, and let it out. “I can’t let him live,” he replied calmly, “he’ll attack us when our backs are turned.” After everything she’d endured—or at least, he was starting to suspect she’d endured—she should know that by now. But his friend only tightened her grip, her voice softly pleading. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand, how could she possibly not understand.

But she persisted. His mouth moved and he wasn’t attached, and Vagabond whispered back to him, soothing his fears, shaking hands tugging at his fur and stroking his legs and urging him back against the tide of insanity. And finally he acquiesced. It would have been so easy—killing them had been so easy! —but very well… for her, he would allow this. Just this once.

Vagabond was so sick. She shook violently as she did as told, tying the young man’s hands, and afterwards collapsed in the tent at his insistence. The snow was picking up, whirling past and settling on the bodies of the damned, covering the violence that had transpired. Elk was okay with that, if only because it would hurt his friend to see it.

He positioned himself on the outskirts of the light and warmth of the fire. On the other side of him, the darkness and ice of the storm; he straddled them, in-between as always, teetering on the edge of monstrous thoughts. He was falling. He was drowning. He needed to be whole again; he needed to find the man and force him into the presence of the Key once more. They’d made a mistake. The experiment was as much a failure as the success the man claimed it was.

He turned his head towards the abyss, breathing in the icy wind. Darkness yawned for what seemed like an eternity. He swung back to face the fire. The wooden ties rattled but the door remained firmly shut, keeping its precious cargo nice and warm.

Thinking about Vagabond again served as weights to drag him back into the present, and his actions slowly crept up on him; the screams of terror, the feel of bone crunching under hooves and the squelch of ripping flesh. The expression in her eyes. Her pleading. Her magic. It tugged at whatever was left of his own Centaurworld origins; stagnant and rotten energy responding to the forces that were alien to him. Like many, he’d assumed the human world was virtually magicless; any that formed was a byproduct of the connection to Centaurworld. Vagabond’s mere existence upended so many theories of the Rift itself. Elk’s desire to learn, to dissect, to experiment, made him tap his hooves excitedly for a moment before he stilled. She was like a wary little squirrel, that one; it would do no good to frighten her with intense scrutiny.

He’d have to make up for scaring her as it was, already. Nervousness churned in his stomach and chest. Her horror at what he’d done was beginning to sink in. He didn’t care about the soldiers, no; they’d deserved to die for what they wanted to do with him. The violence he was apparently capable of didn’t scare him, either. He’d decided long ago that bloodshed was necessary if he wanted to remain a free man. Animal. Monster. Thing.

Elk moved to scratch his nose against one leg and paused when his fur pulled at his skin. Blood had caked and dried all over him, he realized, and set about scraping as much as he could off until he couldn’t reach. And then he just stood quietly, as lost in thought as he could be without taking his attention off the man they’d captured, until the tent opened.

Vagabond looked terrible. She kept her ashen face averted, staring into the abyss beyond him. Elk’s throat tightened and he whispered her name, taking a hesitant step for her and silently praying she wouldn’t retreat. But she ignored him, rummaging through her bag. “Please,” he said softly, as if she were to bolt without notice—he wouldn’t put it past her. “Look at me.”

The split second before she did felt like an eternity of possible rejection. He swallowed hard at the haunted look she gave him, and couldn’t help asking, voice trembling,  “Do you hate me?”

Vagabond’s response was immediate. “No,” she said, letting out her breath at the same time, and put her hands up to rub at her face. “I-I understand why you… felt you had to do that.”

Elk nearly collapsed with relief. Vagabond’s reaction to his actions went far beyond what he’d expected; from bits and pieces of information he’d gathered it seemed she’d seen violence before. But it had sickened her, horrified her; he had the sneaking suspicion that her current weakness was just as much due to emotional exhaustion as a magical one.

But it made no sense. She had to know this was the only way. Not everything was running and hiding, goose knew he’d had enough of that. And then her quiet, querulous voice trembled up to meet his sensitive ears, and he sucked in a breath.

“Do you hate me?”

He pulled her tightly into an embrace, both shocked and relieved at her question and confession. “What?! No, I would never.” He only wanted answers, and said so, and he didn’t miss the choked tone of her voice when she asked if she’d scared him—how laughable. Vagabond was one of the least dangerous beings he’d ever met, in that she was apparently incapable of even self-defense.

But even more so than his vague amusement at the absurd suggestion was a sudden jolt of understanding. This wild little woman, in all her pacifism, was used to being feared as soon as people got too close. Which meant…

Which meant what she'd done to distract the soldiers was nothing compared to what she could do. Elk leaned forward and pressed her close and she let him, burying her face in his thick ruff. “You’re my friend, Vagabond,” he told her softly, “and let’s not forget… I’ve seen some crazy shit too.”

She let out a strained garbled laugh and pulled away, rummaging through her bag once more; Elk gladly let her clean his face and forwardmost tines, and then they ate together—she fed the damn soldier, but he refrained from remarking on it. His friend was still withdrawn and shaky; he tried to joke a little, but was met only with a blank stare. He tapped his toes rapidly on stone, apprehensive of what was going on behind those glassy eyes, until he couldn’t take it anymore. “So… did you study in Centaurworld?”

Vagabond’s lips thinned and her jaw clenched. She stared past him again, towards the emptiness of beyond, and his patience slipped and he barked at her, slapping a hoof against the ground to get her attention. It worked.

Her small, lithe body lunged past him faster than he could even stand, abruptly reminding him that she was built for running and surviving. It was easy to forget when she was swinging upside-down from a branch or tripping on a root. As it was she clearly was not thinking; Elk cried out in a panic as she dove mindlessly for a deadly drop. But once on all fours it only took a single bound to cut her off and he spun on slick snow, shoving her back with a shoulder while panic became anger became a rare moment of compassion for her broken sobbing. “You’re okay—you’re all right—”

“It’s not all right!” she screamed her words, causing him to pin his ears, gasping and sobbing and clawing at his neck to try and escape. This wouldn’t do. He had to regain control, and quick, or she would hurt herself. How in the world had she survived until she met him?! Elk raised his voice and interrupted her babbling, roaring right in her face. She didn’t understand, and he had to make her understand.

“What would you have me do!”

Vagabond faltered. He bowed his head low, using his great branching antlers as a cage, and with a final shove knocked her over. She wheezed and he used the momentary pause to lean forward and stare into her face, injecting as much command into his voice as he could. “Listen to me,” he ordered, stamping a hoof to make sure she was paying attention. “Listen.”

She obeyed with glazed eyes, chest heaving with sobbing breaths. After a moment it seemed she was finally coming back to herself, and he knelt down, maintaining his stare. Vagabond looked away, swallowing hard. “I didn’t,” he began carefully, “know what it meant to you.”

It took some time to calm her down. The violence clearly had rattled her past rational thought, enough that Elk was frankly mystified. He was right, though—she was far more like him than he’d originally thought; her magic kept her a stranger to her own kind, her only companion constant loneliness as she fled whatever transpired when she stayed in one place too long. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps only her own thoughts, like him; maybe they seethed and bubbled the way he couldn’t escape when the soldier came into his line of sight.

He watched over her while she slept, once he’d soothed her to rest. He watched, and he remembered thinking about the tables turning for him. Things had very nearly flipped now. He knew the eagerness for control was wrong, but that somehow made it even more tantalizing for him, and every time he snarled at the soldier the hate was so very delicious. Elk glanced over at the man, who sat frightened and quiet on the other side of the fire, before leaning towards his slumbering friend through the now-open tent flap. His voice was so soft he knew even she wouldn’t wake. “I’ll follow you now,” he murmured, “but there will come a time where you must follow me.” He touched his lips to her forehead; she roused just slightly, eyelids twitching and searching for danger, then sank back under when there was none. “Hang on just a little while longer. I’ll get stronger and then you won’t have to worry about anything. I promise.”

Vagabond sighed and rolled onto her side. He smiled fondly. Then the soldier moved, trying to get comfortable, and the black took over so fast and so smoothly he was standing next to him before he even realized. His captive’s mouth opened as if to scream, but the icy cold in the elk’s eyes hushed the sound to a whimpered gasp. For a moment that surely felt like an eternity they stared at one another, then Elk returned to the other side of the fire, leaving him to collapse in released tension.

He would get no respite that night. The beast’s eyeshine gleamed unwaveringly at him, even when he shook himself awake from freezing, uncomfortable, fitful sleep plagued with nightmares of the monster his General had warned them all about. And then the nightmare would turn out to be real and that monster stared at him not far from the bodies of his slaughtered fellows.

Elk could not care any less about what the soldier was thinking. Leaving him alive was almost too great a strain to bear. He imagined bashing the man’s head in. He imagined bringing ruin upon the rest of the General’s armies and taking the castle by storm. He imagined kneeling at the feet of his love for her judgment and forcing his other to do the same. Anything to see her again. All it would take was one more life, right here, right now. But just a meter or so away lay the only source of light left in his world, a light that he’d made a promise to—and so he stood, and stared, and waited, and held himself back.

The night crawled on in the flat, dead silence only snow could bring; the wind was the only sound as it wooshed past the overhang until eventually that, too, died.

Elk preferred this silence. It was peaceful. Heavy. Absolute. Eternal. The kind of silence he’d once prayed for, kneeling in his own filth, trying to avoid dreams of another life.

Time was at once endless and ticked on. The sky lightened, almost imperceptibly past the drift of flakes still falling. Vagabond once again emerged from her slumber to tend to the fire, her eyes sunken and haunted. She busied herself with breakfast. Only then did Elk’s mind rouse from the hole he had fallen into, and he blinked heavily, exhaustion suddenly taking him.

She made some meager fare. Elk ate his portion and she split hers with the soldier, which just made him feel bad, but considering how uninterested she seemed in her own food he ended up just being glad she nibbled on something. He tried nuzzling her, but she didn’t reciprocate with nearly as much enthusiasm as she normally did. This was upsetting, but the fog of fatigue had clouded his mind to the point that he couldn’t think too deeply about it.

“Go ahead and rest,” his friend spoke up suddenly. Even not paying attention she was trying to take care of him.

Elk hesitated, not wanting to essentially leave her alone with the bound man in the corner, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. So he slid behind Vagabond and curled tightly around her, gave one last glare at the equally tired-looking soldier, and closed his eyes. The peaceful silence lulled him almost immediately, and just as he surrendered to slumber, Vagabond leaned back against him and placed a hand on his knee.

He missed that. He missed the way his beloved would idly rest a hand there, gently sweeping her thumb across his knee as the other lifted tea to her lips. The distracted, idle motion one did countless times when they expected another to always be by their side.

His side was cold now from the absence of a body that once fit so perfectly against him. He’d slept in their bed for months, hoping to wake one day to find her once again next to him—angry, perhaps, but willing to listen. Eventually he couldn’t anymore; the cold won, and the lack of her presence in the bed that held so many wonderful memories drove him away. He found himself once again ending up in the main barracks, trying to keep himself together. His men were concerned for him, and he was able to at least take some solace in their company while he searched for his wife.

Maybe she’d gone looking for the Elk. She’d come back after her initial realization, but maybe she’d changed her mind. Her servants certainly either didn’t know or weren’t willing to talk, no matter how much he cajoled and pleaded and threatened.

At least he had his beloved friend—

—his friend—

—Elk’s friend—

No. He couldn’t have her. Elk yanked his mind out of the memories of the one he hated more than life itself. His side wasn’t cold. It was warm with the presence of someone who stayed by him no matter what. She was virtually stuck against him; he’d pinched her between all his legs and laid his head across her lap. Carefully, he raised said head up, rolling to one side to avoid poking Vagabond with a tine. She was awake and staring across the way, studiously ignoring the snow-covered bodies.

“Vagabond?” he murmured, suddenly feeling hesitant. She blinked and turned her head very slightly towards him.

“Yeah,” she replied after a moment. “‘M here.”

“Are you?”

She turned back towards the void. It wasn’t snowing anymore. “Just waiting for you. We should get moving soon.”

“You could’ve woken me,” he grumbled, unfolding himself and pulling away from her. She stretched her legs out in front of her and shrugged.

“Yeah,” she repeated, then used his leg to haul herself to her feet. He bent his knee and pushed up helpfully, and she thanked him distractedly before gathering her things and repacking her bag. “I’ll make some lunch.”

“Oh, good,” he said brightly, “you can probably find some rations in their pockets too.”

He set about kicking the snow off the ledge, making sure to keep an ear trained in the living soldier’s direction. The bodies had frozen during the night and blood had solidified them to the rocks; he had to use his hooves to chip away at the crimson ice. He hummed as he did so, feeling quite proud of himself. Vagabond’s distress aside, he knew he’d done the right thing. He’d successfully defended the both of them and even though it had taken incredible violence he felt good , especially after a restful sleep. The sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds and it was promising to be a nice sunny day, if he was putting anything he’d learned from his friend to good use.

“I’m sorry,” his ears picked up. He glanced over his shoulder. Vagabond was packing up the tent, but her face was turned very slightly towards the soldier. The man was staring blankly at what Elk was doing. He didn’t respond at all to her whispered apology.

Elk held in a snort, a little annoyed despite himself. If her outburst last night was any indication she was clearly unhappy with any sort of bloodshed. Quite adamant about it, in fact. But she’d also hinted that it wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, so why did she freak out so badly? It didn’t make any sense. Just another mystery.

He went back to work, mulling it over. Strings, she’d mumbled under her breath, right before everything went haywire. He’d have to ask later.

The sun was now blazing; the snow beginning to melt. Elk stepped back when Vagabond approached, turning to watch the soldier. Said soldier was in turn watching Vagabond, his expression twisted as she carefully picked through his comrades’ clothing and bags. He didn’t respond to the elk’s scrutiny. After a moment, Elk returned his attention to his friend.

He’d been right, he realized with a flicker of satisfaction. There were in fact plenty of resources in and among the dead. And, clearly, Vagabond had indeed done this sort of thing before; she rifled through them with a deftness that suggested experience. Once her backpack was sufficiently full she stood and turned to Elk, took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until the rocks dry a bit in the sun?” he replied, concerned. Everything was so wet and slippery right now.

Vagabond hesitated and half-glanced back at the four men he’d slaughtered. The frozen blood was turning into slush now. “Normally yeah, but with melting snow comes avalanches, and this isn’t a proper cave. If snow comes down here we’ll be buried.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t lift his shoulders in a shrug, so dipped his head instead to mimic one. “Okay.”

“C’mon,” she called over to the soldier, and picked her way over to help him up. “We gotta head out. I’m really sorry.”

Elk felt his heart pound once and darted over before she could crouch down, shouldering her away. “Stay away from him,” he snapped, herding her away, “he can get up on his own.”

“Hey!”

“I don’t trust him."

“I have to at least untie his legs,” she argued, trying to get around him.

“He can untie himself. Go on,” he snapped.

Swallowing hard, the young man obeyed, reaching bound hands down to his ankles and fumbling with frozen fingers at the icy knot. Belatedly, Elk realized a sheen of ice had formed around the rope and, tucked into the shade as he was, it wasn’t able to thaw in the sun.

“Why don’t we just leave him here,” Vagabond added abruptly, tapping his hindquarters. Elk glanced back at her. “It’ll take him a while to get that off—”

“No.” That would be foolish. She should know better. He aimed a disapproving frown at her. “It would be safer to just kill him. We can’t let him be free behind us.”

“We are not killing him—”

“Not like this,” the whisper cut her off as surely as a shout would have. The soldier didn’t dare look up from the knot around his ankles. Vagabond quieted and leaned forward to hear. “We can’t leave them like this. Not where they fell. Please.”

A savage, sadistic, black thought bubbled from inside. Throw them over the cliff, the monster hissed. Make him watch.

No. He wasn’t that depraved.

Aren’t I?

No.

He deserves it.

No. Enough.

“I’m sorry." He dragged his attention back to the present; to Vagabond, who spoke gently to their captive. “I’ll rearrange them as best I can. What’s your custom?”

He told her softly and she set to work, this time with far less hesitation than when she was rooting through their clothes, and fairly soon all four were lying side by side with their arms crossed over their chests—as much as she could manage, anyway, given the horrific injuries. She lay a hand on their bloody helms, one by one, and spoke in a language he did not recognize. A blessing, perhaps.

Her hands were bloody when she was done. She scrubbed them with snow. At that point the soldier had managed to loosen the knot and wiggled his feet, trying to get feeling back.

“Get up,” Elk growled, patience wearing thin; the young man obeyed nervously, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast in fear. He stumbled a bit and shook his legs out again. “Stay in front of me. Vagabond, you go first.”

“Aight,” she replied simply, adjusted her pack and turned towards the trail.

“Wait—” Elk stopped, frowning, switching them over and over in his head. If Vagabond went first and there was loose footing, or fragile snow piles, she could be hurt. Best to have the man go first. But if he went first and he turned and tried to grab her, thinking he could get away with it, and Elk couldn’t get to him because of a narrow path… “Wait, hm.”

“Make up your mind,” Vagabond said, and he was gratified to hear a hint of exasperated affection back in her voice. He smiled at her. She was looking at him sideways, and one corner of her lip twitched.

“You first,” he told the soldier. Swallowing hard, eyes darting, his prisoner obeyed, inching by the murderous elk’s bulk and stumbling towards the trail.

They walked.

The further they got from the ledge the calmer Vagabond became. He could feel it in the air, in the looseness of her movements, the way lightness crept back into her voice. It wasn’t enough, and they would have to talk about it later, but for now it would have to do. At least she was back in survivor mode, and adeptly maneuvered them down the mountain across ice and slush and loose rock.

It was a beautiful day. As his friend relaxed so did he, and had to keep himself from kicking up his heels on the narrow mountain path. Vagabond was concentrating, but he couldn't help but bug her with his chatting.

"You're in a good mood," she said drily once.

"Karma for all your chit chat when we first met," he shot back. She gave a little giggle and he felt himself warm at the sound. Not quite there, but close, he thought victoriously. 

She was still paying way too much attention to the soldier, though. A touch here, a quietly murmured word of encouragement there. He didn't like it. He was her friend, not this bastard. The thought of her against all odds finding something in this young man and then striking up a relationship, no matter how impossible given the situation, just wouldn't leave him alone. He tried hard to keep her attention off the other with his talk and antics, leaning forward and draping his head over her shoulder once when she reached out to steady the man as he teetered on a loose stone.

It was ridiculous and he had no right to be jealous; he knew that, but didn't care. There were so many things he used to care about that didn't seem that important anymore, to be honest…

Eventually even he had to save his breath. He let his mind wander a bit when the trail leveled out. Before they'd run into the troop he'd been thinking about what his next step would be, and their conversation had been interrupted before they could finish. A goal isn't a plan, his friend had argued. She had a point.

He was reminded of the Key.

More magic than even I know…

He had been so eager. So innocent. So disgustingly naive. And then he’d opened his eyes, and he was staring at the man he should have been and his body was even more grotesque and dysmorphic than before. Goose, he should have run to the Key right then and forced them back together. But he’d listened to his own honeyed lies; lies he’d always told himself and believed could come real. It was a difficult lesson, being forced to look in the mirror and know just how horrible you really were as a person.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Elk blinked down at his friend, who was glancing over her shoulder at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve been paying attention,” he promised with a smile, though he flicked his eyes at their captive as a warning. They were level with the trees now, and only a few hundred meters from the bottom of the mountain. It was a welcome sight. He’d enjoyed their time together in the frigid silence, but he was ready to get off the goose-forsaken rock.

He wanted to be rid of the intruding soldier, but Vagabond’s suggestion to wait till morning was a good one; they were all tired, and if they released the man now the chances of him sending his brethren to catch them were high. Once again, Elk thought about leading him off in the woods and doing away with him in the night, but once again, he stayed his metaphorical hand. Being in the other’s presence was like an itch he couldn’t get rid of. The ugly malice only served to feed the monster festering in his heart, and it was exhausting.

Camp was a small clearing dotted with boulders. Vagabond used one to make a fire and he chose another that was higher up so as to keep an eye on everything. She was in a much better mood now, chatting to both him and the soldier, moving with the energy that he’d come to expect from her. He began to relax, content with the familiar banter. She teased him and made dinner and crawled up to snuggle against his side as they ate, and without a care in the world said, in response to his concern about not sleeping in the tent, “You’re more comfy, and you’re warmer, and you smell nice.”

Elk’s brain screeched to a halt. He couldn’t make sense of those words.

“And that smell. Sorry. That centaur smell—”

His first reaction was that she was mocking him. He took a deep breath, and repeated quietly, as if he hadn’t quite heard her right, “I smell nice?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I haven’t taken a bath in some time,” he said, and meant it as a joke, but it came out flat and somewhat cold. “I doubt I smell nice.”

A short silence. He glanced back at her where she leaned against his side. Vagabond’s head was tilted and she was staring at him, a slight frown creasing her brow. After a moment of studying his face she replied, softly, “No one’s ever told you that, huh.”

He jerked his head back around. The buttered bread lay on his hooves. He took a big bite to avoid answering.

“Well,” she continued in the same tone, and he swallowed hard at the gentleness of it, “I’m sorry. I should have said that earlier. I mean,” he heard the grin in her voice, “I figured you knew that. Based on the fact that I kept, like, practically inhaling your fur.” Her elbow dug into his side, and then she jumped down to take the mushrooms out of the pot she was using to soak them.

Elk continued to wrack his brain. Nothing of what she just said made any sense. Sure, she was always nuzzling into him, huddling against him, doing everything she could to be close—same thing he did. It didn’t seem natural for them to be together without touching. But she couldn’t possibly be doing that because he smelled good. “I always thought it was because I was warm,” he said finally, after they were all finished eating.

She cocked her head at him, blinking. “Wh—me? Your fur?”

He nodded once.

“Sure, you’re warm,” Vagabond shrugged with such casualness that he couldn’t find any crack or indication she was joking or mocking him. “But that’s just an added bonus.”

She returned her attention to the soldier, and Elk scowled at the reminder of their unwilling guest. Vagabond glanced over at him and rolled her eyes, dismissing his grumbling, before crawling back up next to him and got comfortable. He automatically shifted to mold his body around her.

“You do smell nice,” she repeated firmly. “And you’re smart.” Elk blinked and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “And you’ve got a good sense of humor.” He turned away from the prisoner to stare at her. She stared back, eyes crinkling and voice firm and affectionate. “And you’re cute.” A heat began in his chest and worked its way through his body. This was what she saw when she looked at him? Not a dangerous, broken beast, not a violent monster? She’d praised him before, called his resume impressive when he listed his work experience, but this was the first time anyone had pointed out his desirable character traits. It was a rare moment where he was glad he no longer had a humanoid face; his ears burned in bashful delight.

“And that’s after you fucked around and found out,” Vagabond finished impishly. “So I’m not surprised she fell for you. It’s too bad you didn’t see it!” Reaching out a hand, she winked and tapped the chin that was draping open. “Close that. G’night!”

Elk watched her turn her back in dumb shock. Clearly she meant for him to take first watch, and he did not mind at all. Slowly, he faced forward again and stared across the fire to the soldier just beyond, wrapped in a blanket Vagabond had given him. Eyes darted nervously up to his face, then down again. Elk ignored him. The fear that Vagabond was falling in love with him fought with the compliments pinging around in his mind. He’d have to talk to her later, even so, and dreaded it.

Smart. Good sense of humor. Cute. He’d never, ever heard nor considered those words in relation to him. Not since he was an innocent fawn, soaking up his parents’ adoration.

Goose. He’d fallen so far.

The darkness inside stirred, begging to be fed. It twisted and writhed and silently promised that despite how far he thought he’d gone, there was no way he’d reached the bottom of that masochistic chasm. And it was a long, long way down.

Chapter Text

They were, thankfully, rid of the soldier the next day. Not so thankfully, it went far more dramatically than they’d hoped—the man had called out to a troop of his comrades at the very last minute, causing them to have to flee. Rage at his boldness fed Elk’s legs as he charged away into the snowy forest, the giggling Vagabond upon his back, urging him on.

It rankled him, her easygoing nature, sometimes. He’d compare her inability to take matters seriously to the free spirited centaurs if he wasn’t aware of the hidden trauma causing such ridiculous behavior. He let his anger blow over. It wasn’t worth yelling at her. She’d only avoid it and there was already something between their relationship; a rift of their own. He’d sensed it before, but she’d done an excellent job of hiding it while they catered to their soldier captive.

It was there again, though; he sensed it as she slid off his back despite her cheer. She headed off and he followed, glancing uneasily at his friend. She either didn’t notice or ignored him. Vagabond seemed determined to get them to the other side of the city walls in record time and it became apparent quite quickly the reason why. Snow began to fall again, the danger drifting in silent waves upon their shoulders.

There was nothing to do but walk, so he let his mind wander. Having the young soldier around had had an unexpected use, one that Elk had to admit he was actually grateful for. His tactless blurting out about the woman and beast having some sort of romantic relationship had actually brought them closer together despite their vehement denial. And, now that he thought about it, Elk’s ears burned a bit in bashful pleasure. Somehow the fact that his friend wasn’t romantically interested made all those compliments even better. And even though there was some weird disappointment alongside his relief, the delight at her honest opinion sent his heart fluttering and drowned out the strange uneasiness in his stomach.

But that was before. Now that the soldier was gone, so was the camaraderie. The more they walked, keeping silent to save breath, the more distance Elk sensed between them. There wasn’t much he could do about that at the moment, so he focused on moving. He was tired and she was probably doubly tired. That had to be it. She'd be back to her usual self once she'd had some actual, unbroken rest.

It was dark and the snow had picked up by the time the dim lights of a town settled against the city walls came into view. Elk hung back reluctantly as Vagabond made a vague "wait here" motion and headed in. The fear of watching her back grow smaller as she walked on almost made him break; he grit his teeth and planted his hooves into the frozen earth to keep from lunging after her.

The few minutes he was alone in the cold and the dark expanded into a terrifying eternity. In a moment Elk was sure he'd never see his beloved friend again and his heart pounded and his lungs seized, leaving him gasping the knives of icy air. He was alone, forever alone, and suddenly he was standing just outside an ancient sewer once more.

Don't wait for me, the most beautiful, haunting voice came to him, so real it was tangible, and a pathetic sort of whimper squeaked from his throat. Elk took a stumbling step forward, the crushing weight of abandonment like lead in his hooves, but then a familiar silhouette appeared in the dim lights beyond and Vagabond waved for him to approach.

He was too tired and too relieved to run to her. Instead he plodded, sagging with relief, up to the stable and she shut the winter night beyond the sliding door and directed him to a stall. They both collapsed in the warm dry straw and Elk turned around while she changed out of her soaking wet clothes. He stretched and snuggled down, rolling halfway onto his side in preparation for her curling against him… except she didn’t.

Vagabond handed him some dried meat and fruit, then settled down with her back against the wall. She’d forgotten to rip the jerky into small pieces for his teeth, but Elk gnawed at it anyway, as always self-conscious. Conversation was limited, and he kept waiting for her to crawl over to him, but she turned away and curled up on her own.

He swallowed hard. She hadn’t even eaten. It was exhaustion, just exhaustion, she’d been acting fine and nothing had changed and she’d be better tomorrow. He shuffled over a little and hesitantly leaned his chin against her knee. He couldn’t even think about eating her dinner, though his stomach rumbled. He wanted to push her over and put his head on her chest and listen to her heartbeat until he fell asleep, but something held him back. Vagabond didn’t want him right now. He’d get to the bottom of it tomorrow. Tomorrow. Everything would be back to normal tomorrow.

He didn’t want to sleep. Closing his eyes only meant he’d see through his other’s. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to know.

It was inevitable of course; his eyelids grew heavier as the past few days’ events weighed them down. It didn’t matter how much he struggled to keep them open. Dimly, he felt Vagabond slump over, knocking his head off her lap. And then, without warning, he was awake.

He blinked rapidly, lifting his eyes to the sliver of light coming through the closed window. It was morning. He hadn’t dreamed at all. It had been one of those rare moments the two halves had slept at the same time, allowing regular dreams to permeate their shared consciousness and leaving Elk actually rested and relieved. Slowly, he looked around; Vagabond for once wasn’t already up and about, the shadows under her eyes making her face appear gaunt. She was curled into a tight ball in the corner of the stall burrowed into the straw for warmth. Instead of tucking against him.

Moving his stiff body did the trick. She shifted the instant he got up, eyes snapping open and peering up at him. Elk gave her a hesitant smile. She squinted blearily and rolled onto her back, then sat up and rubbed her face. 

Worry gnawed at his insides. "Good morning," he tried.

"Mng," was her response.

"Did you… um… sleep well?"

She stretched and got up slowly, then began testing the clothes she'd hung up to dry. "Sure. I'm gonna go," a big yawn interrupted her words, "...go find a job. You staying in or out?"

"Oh!" He shuffled his feet against the straw covered floor. "I… guess stay in. It's still nasty out there right? There shouldn't be anyone around."

“It stopped snowing, but yeah everyone should still be inside.” Her voice was weary and flat. She sat down again and pulled her boots out, fingering the soaked leather worn to near-uselessness with a frown. Elk watched quietly. She was still so distant and it was starting to scare him. She’d slept well, why wasn’t she acting normal?

“How… how do you know it’s stopped snowing?” he asked finally, just to get her talking.

She pointed upwards briefly, stuffing straw into her boots. “Can’t hear it, can you.”

Elk tried to move, to pace, but was reminded of the walls. He raised a hoof to claw at the floor, but that would make too much noise, so he forced himself to still. Vagabond carefully pushed the door open. It squeaked a little too loud for his liking, but perhaps that was just his sensitive ears. A horse somewhere whinnied, but otherwise everything was quiet. The barn aisle seemed clean; when he squinted he could see the scrapes of a broom. Stablehands had already come through and finished chores. Elk pulled back into the stall and sat down, unsure of what to do.

“Here,” Vagabond’s voice sounded again and he turned, hopeful and eager. She’d put the food she hadn’t eaten together the previous night, then unwrapped some pressed nut bars. “It’s not much but at least it’s something. We still gotta ration until I get a steady source of income.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. Vagabond put her bag back together and ducked under his neck to head out. He poked at the food. “Um, aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yeah, sure, when I get back.”

“You didn’t eat last night either.”

Vagabond paused, sighed, then shoved half a bar into her mouth. She raised an eyebrow at him, made a thumbs-up, and stepped out of the stall.

Elk listened to the slap of wet leather make its way down the aisle before he slumped to the floor, dragging his breakfast over. It tasted like ash, even the honey in the grain bars. He curled up tightly and tucked his nose under his legs and forced himself to lay there in the wrongness of not having a torso. His body seemed to be a disjointed pile of parts, even more so now that Vagabond wasn’t there to distract him.

He’d never gotten used to it. But at least he felt a little okay when she was around.

It was a stark contrast to the wretchedness of his and the Princess’ reunion. In the darkness and cold of the cell, he’d obsessively thought about the moment she came back to him. But by the time she had, just as he knew she would, his mind had been so far gone there had been no hope. If only they could meet again, when he was more sane—or, at least, able to mask it better—he could work with her to make things right. He just had to find her.

Elk took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes, trying to keep himself calm. Vagabond would come back. She always came back. She had to come back. It was okay. He just had to trust. And, anyway, it was too late for him to leave. People were coming back in now, haltering horses and chatting amongst themselves. Elk kept his head down to avoid his antlers poking above the stall windows and just lay there, counting the seconds.

It was torture, lying there alone, and memories began to claw at the edges of his thoughts. Memories of loneliness and madness that hurt; memories of better times that hurt even more. He couldn’t look back, only forward. A plan, not a goal. A plan, not a goal. Thoughts skittered just as disjointedly as his limbs; he felt them twitching under him and clenched his teeth. They ground together, painfully harsh in a face that was far too long. It was wrong, everything was wrong, and what was worse, no one understood just how it felt to be wrong except perhaps Vagabond and even she was human; even she could walk without a care among those outside.

The stable was heated only by an iron stove at the end of the aisle, and icy air floated in through the window. It was far more spacious than the claustrophobic cell he’d been forced in, but he was still trapped. He kept his head down and listened to the comings and goings of workers and whinnies of horses and remembered the flight from this very city months ago. Now he was back and he had no idea what to do about it.

Plan, not a goal.

A goal was easy. Get to the Princess. Beg her forgiveness. Or, at least, beg her to help him undo what he’d done. He even knew how to get in the castle, unless that bastard had gone and locked down all the ancient tunnels they’d used to escape. But once in the castle? He had no idea where the Princess was. It was unlikely anyone there would want to talk to him anyway…

Vagabond was good at talking her way into things. And out of things. She would do anything he asked her to, wouldn’t she? To help him. She was always doing things to help him. She would. She had to.

But his other half knew of her. Vagabond didn’t quite understand the implications of having a soul share two bodies and Elk didn’t really feel like trying to explain. He knew everything that man knew, and the opposite was also true; they were still, at the very core, one single person, no matter how much his other half lied to their wife and lied to his men and lied to himself. And though the elktaur would never physically harm the only true friend they’d ever had, the human-fronting part of him would undoubtedly lie to her. No, he could never send Vagabond in there alone. She would at best be captured, and at worst convinced.

Thinking about Vagabond made him nervous. How long had it been? Had the sliver of sun on the wall moved at all?

He couldn’t panic. She would come back. She would come back and he had to talk to her. She would avoid, as always, but it only meant he had to be the serious one and force the conversation. He had to take control again. Slowly but surely their dynamic was changing and he preferred that, the way she would capitulate now when he stood his ground.

Perhaps that was how it had to be. He was the serious one in this relationship; the adult one. And if he had to be the one making the difficult decisions to keep them both safe, then so be it.

That was the energy with which he confronted her after she’d come back. It was late in the afternoon, tactfully when she was relaxing on the floor of the stall with her journal on her lap, when he confronted her. She wasn’t writing anyway. The problem hung in the air between them and Elk took a deep breath and stood over her, forcing her attention and tackling it the only way he knew how: head-on. “You’re still upset,” he said bluntly. Startled, the woman jerked her head up and repeated the word as if confused, but he continued. “About what I did.”

She quickly went back to the journal entry that wouldn’t write, doing everything she could to avoid his looming presence. He gave her a little bit of respite, just enough to get used to the idea, then returned with everything he had. Pleading. Confronting. Pressure, then release. More pressure, until she cracked. Just a little bit. Just enough for him to see that vulnerability once more. And then he drove through like a bull, clutching at her with a fierceness he knew scared her until she broke, until she whispered to him a promise he knew she would never break.

He rewarded her by letting her escape. She fled and, lightheaded with his triumph, he too decided he needed some time outside. So he sneaked out, peeking into each stall as he passed to make sure no one was staring out at a random deer walking through a closed stable. The only person he saw was someone bundled up against the cold and curled up against the side of a horse.

That gave him pause, and Elk struggled to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. Vagabond had hugged him and held onto him when his madness had risen and he’d lost control of his thoughts and emotions—but she had yet to snuggle him like she used to. It had only been a couple of days since they’d gotten rid of the soldier, but it felt like an eternity. And the young human looked so calm and peaceful there, so trusting of the enormous animal they rested against that could kill them in an instant. The horse turned its head to look at him with its big dumb equine eyes and flared its nostrils and Elk moved away, feeling suddenly queasy.

It was tempting to just bolt outside and to hell with whoever saw him, but Vagabond had worked so hard on finding them a place they would be safe for a while and it felt disrespectful to ruin all of that. Fortunately the weather, while sunny, was still cold as hell and most people remained inside with the windows shut. Anyone who was outside was either focused on the job they were stuck doing or focused on getting back inside, so it was fairly easy to avoid everyone’s gaze.

He’d frightened her. Her heart had been beating so fast; her breathing quick and shallow. Their relationship was at a crucial point and only time would tell if it would heal, but he forced himself to admit that he could wait. He’d been waiting for so long. He was good at waiting.

But oh, he couldn’t help but savor that moment. You wanna know another thing about me? she’d asked, and he’d learned something so very important.

I can’t leave you. I promised.

Can’t. Can’t, she’d said. Can’t. Can’t, as if impossible. It had struck him then and the more he thought about it the deeper the strike became. Its use had triggered something powerful and protective in him, just like when he’d promised to never hurt her up on the mountaintop. She’d used the word before. Sparingly, but perhaps he needed to start seeing that word in a new light.

Elk walked and wracked his brain until it hurt, and only when the air’s chill hurt his lungs did he realize the winter sun had completed its ridiculously short trek across the horizon. He trotted back the way he came, grimacing at the perfectly formed footprints in the snow, preserved by a rapidly freezing top crust.

He had to wait a bit once the stable came back into view, once everyone had fled back to their quarters. The tack door was locked, but the front creaked open when he approached. A rush of delicious smells met his nose, effectively canceling out all of his concerned thoughts, and Vagabond’s relieved grin when he mentioned them served to calm the concern he’d had when she’d fled that afternoon. Elk threw himself down onto the nice dry straw and eagerly tore at the packaging.

Once the initial delight and frenzy wore off Elk was glad to realize she, too, was partaking in the meal; she was calm enough to eat now, at least. And she’d even bought wine, an unnecessary purchase, but one that would only serve to settle whatever nerves were left. And she even cracked a joke, one that he rolled his eyes at in affectionate exasperation.

Vagabond cleaned up and he settled back, feeling much more relaxed. And then, to his immense delight and relief, she pushed her way past his legs to curl up against his side where she was supposed to be. He curled his neck to look down at her, feeling a warm smile on his face as everything clicked back into place. “Hey,” he said gently.

She mumbled back a response, not looking at him, and he felt a stab of nervousness once again. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he blurted, “please forgive me.”

“It’s okay,” she responded immediately, wriggling around until she could reach his head, and Elk leaned in gratefully as she ran her palms across his face. He’d never get enough of that. She avoided his gaze and he curled around her as she continued hesitantly. “I, it’s, I-I’ve never had anyone be that protective over me.”

Elk’s heart broke a little, hearing that. Along with the wrenching sensation was another wave of that rare and uncomfortable sensation of empathy. He’d never had anyone be protective of him, either. He gave her cheek a gentle peck as she went on and she pushed up against him, her voice wary and uncertain. “I’m not used to your intensity, I guess.”

“I meant every word, you know.” He wiggled a little to bury himself more into the straw, and put his head down. Vagabond combed his fur with her fingers.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “I know,” and he couldn’t tell what that tone of voice meant. But she pressed up against him and everything was right in the world, at least for now, and eventually his eyes closed.

Until they shot open. There was a commotion. Whispered voices in the hall. He’d been to enough battles that the slightest sound woke him. The soldiers snapped to attention the moment he opened the door. One was young and disheveled and dirty, and his eyes widened and he fumbled with a salute.

“Sir,” the young man stammered before the other two could speak, “I met the monster.”

Any vestiges of sleep still clinging to his mind fled. He straightened sharply and gestured for the young soldier to enter and tell him everything. The boy was exhausted and powerfully relieved to be home and the combination made his voice shake, especially as he described the brutal way his fellows had been slaughtered.

He made sure to praise the kid profusely and squeeze his shoulder when relieved tears made their appearance. Before he was sent off for a hot meal, bath and rest, the man begged his General to allow him to be a part of the search party for the monstrous elk. That wish was granted, of course, and then the General was alone with his churning thoughts.

The creature was coming back. And it had help. Who knew what it planned. Even when he caught a glimpse of its mind, its thoughts were so full of madness and fragmented memories it was hard to determine—not that he wanted to know.

He had to find his wife.

He had to find his Princess.

Elk blinked awake. Sun shone through the cracks of the shutters and his friend was a warm weight on his side. For a while he just lay there, thinking about what had just transpired. He’d just been considering the fact that they were still of one mind, yet his other half was refusing to acknowledge the fact that he had a free line of sight right into his enemy’s thought process. Goose, he couldn’t be that stupid. Elk had to admit he—they—had made some pretty dumb decisions, but all in all they were smart.

The dumbest smart person I know, Vagabond had said once, and he sighed heavily. That was apparently truer than he’d thought, much to his chagrin.

“Whatcha sighin’ about?” his friend mumbled. Of course she was awake.

“I was thinking about my Princess,” he allowed.

“Oh.” She stretched and sat up, rubbing her eyes and combing straw out of her hair with her fingers. Elk watched fondly. “Well, how we gonna find her?”

The warmth of her body made its way into his heart. Elk flopped his head against her chest, pinning her right back against his side. “I’m glad we’re back to normal,” he said.

“Me too,” she wheezed, not even trying to shove him off. He felt the start of another sentence, but didn’t follow through. After a moment, he nudged her.

“Thank you,” she said finally.

“For what?”

A short silence. He glanced up at her face to see her staring up at the ceiling, her eyes overbright. “For,” she murmured, swallowed, and smiled with the telltale I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-this vacancy. “For saying you’ll protect me. Keep me safe.”

Elk raised his head to look down at her fully. She avoided his gaze. Oh, that made something stir inside of him; that submission and that confession only fed the ever-growing, gnawing black in his mind, and he took a deep breath.

The moment was abruptly ruined by his stomach loudly demanding breakfast. Vagabond clapped a hand over her mouth in desperation to keep her sputtering cackle to a minimum, and Elk sighed and flopped over to hide his relief, antlers thumping against the wall.

Vagabond got herself under control and elbowed him. “Dramatic much?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and she giggled before pulling on her coat and still-damp boots. 

“I’ll be back in a bit with some breakfast. Hey, try saying that three times fast. Be back in a bit with breakfast.” Elk groaned softly and shook his head, and she stuck her tongue out as she made her way to the door. He sat up to stretch.

“Make sure to get something for you, too,” he ordered. “You haven’t been eating well lately.”

“I told you, I’ve been eating this way for years—”

“Well, it’s not enough, and you will waste away if you don’t start eating properly.” He made sure to lock eyes with her, and she wrinkled her nose and glanced away, but didn’t have a comeback. “That’s what I thought. Get some coffee too.”

“Yes, sir, ” she stuck her tongue out. “I’ll be back soon.”

She slipped out but was true to her word, returning with her thermos full of steaming nectar from the goose itself. Elk, a little chagrined he’d essentially haughtily ordered the person he relied on most to fetch him food, refrained from stealing her coffee. Despite her grumbling, she followed his demand to eat a full meal.

He licked the remnants of coffee out of her empty mug when she wasn’t looking.

“I got asked out yesterday,” she told him when they were done and relaxing. Elk swung his head around and stared down at her, startled. “Told him I’m already taking care of someone, I don’t need another dude to baby.”

She winked at him and he felt his ears go hot, but he deserved that dig, so he let it slide. “Well,” he grumbled instead, “fine, then.”

It was a lame comeback. But Vagabond grinned anyway and went on blithely, “I thought about havin’ a night with him—”

“Do I really have to hear about your booty calls?”

“—but then I thought about you coming through the window trying to find me and like, get to see us all sorts of indecent—”

“Goose, please, no more.”

“—and I figured getting interrupted is way worse than not getting any at all, so whatever.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” he groaned, pinning his ears. “I don’t want to hear this.” Other than the obvious discomfort of picturing his friend in mid-coitus, something in his mind hissed against the very idea that Vagabond was his . She was not allowed to go out there and get with anyone she wanted without a care in the world. Just like any other human he’d met. Just like him.

“Hey.” Vagabond nudged him and he twitched. “I’m only teasing, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

Elk forced himself to swallow the possessive rage, counted to five, just breathed. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’m just being…” he trailed off, not sure what the correct words might be.

“It’s a sore subject. I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was leading up to, and then I got two things of coffee and they started asking where my man was so. It’s only a matter of time till we gotta move.” Leaning back against his flank, she drew her knees up to her chest. The genuine apology undid the stress in his muscles and Elk shoved his nose between her knees and stomach. “I’m gonna work pretty extensively until I can replace some equipment, then we should start thinking about our next step.” He could hear the smile in her voice. It warmed him. “Which reminds me, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Mm?”

“How are we gonna find her?”

Elk inhaled again, this time taking in her soothingly familiar scent of woods and wind, and exhaled deeply into her shirt. “I have some ideas, but they haven’t formed a cohesive plan yet,” he admitted. “It’s… hard.”

“Okay. Let me know when you do.” Her voice was light, but he wasn’t sure if it was because she was avoiding something again or because she was letting it go. He wondered if she knew just how shattered his mind was. Knee-jerk reaction was to say no, but she’d demonstrated somehow knowing how his emotions worked more than he did at times, so he wouldn’t put it past her.

Vagabond patted his knee after a few minutes of lying there. “Hey buddy, I’m sorry, I’d stay here all day, but I gotta head out to work. I think I can afford new boots if I take an all-day shift.” A pause. “Maybe one and a half, I dunno. I’ll come back at lunchtime.”

“Okay.” He raised his head to release her, and she once more got ready to leave; as she rolled the door open to peer out, a certain scent hit his nostrils and an idea occurred. “Wait,” he added, and she glanced back. “I bet I can steal some of the horse’s sweet feed. Doesn’t smell too bad, anyway.”

Vagabond blinked. “Well, you can if you want, but I can buy something.”

“You’re saving for boots. Just go to work. And eat a full meal,” he added, making sure to scowl.

His friend rolled her eyes, grumbled something along the lines of “Yeah, whatever,” and waved before disappearing from the window.

Elk put his head back down. The stablehands would be done with their chores soon, and he’d go to the grain room. There was no way the feed there was any worse than the slop they’d forced down his throat in the dungeons.

“Be back in a bit with breakfast,” he muttered. “Be back innabit with breakfast. Beback innabib wid brekkast— flonk.”

~

A note was tucked under his hoof one day, and it crinkled when he shifted. At first Elk’s heart pounded when he realized she wasn’t there, but the words caught his eye.

Hey bud! Don’t panic, I went to get some extra cash. It’s supposed to be busy at the bar. I’ll see you later. Love ya! - V

Elk breathed a sigh of relief and lifted his head to check the time. The sun filtering through the closed window was a deep gold broken by late afternoon shadows. He put his head back down, nose on the note, and just waited. She’d be back, likely with food. The small piece of paper helped ground him and kept his mind from spiraling. Vagabond was good at that. She was good at a lot of things.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and the light from the window faded. He read the note again. The last few words caught his eye and he mulled them over.

Love again. They’d long determined that neither of them wanted the other in such a sense, but it still confused him. It wasn’t the same. Elk tried to think about other ways he’d loved, but the glory of his Princess was so bright he could see nothing other than her.

That thought process was deep enough to keep him occupied, at least, as the temperature cooled and evening took over. The days were warmer now, but the nights were still frigid. Elk shifted and stretched and dared to get up and circle before lying back down. He couldn’t wait to leave this purgatory.

There was no way to tell exactly how much time passed, but presently his large ears picked up on Vagabond’s telltale footsteps. The door rolled open and she dragged herself inside. “Hey,” she said, her eyes overbright despite the heavy bags under them. He could tell the way her hands shook that she was in pain, but she was smiling and flopped down onto the straw and stuck her feet out. Before he could say anything she spread her hands to indicate her feet, waving them excitedly. “Boooots. Look, Elk, boooooots.”

Peering closer, he realized that she indeed had new shoes on. “Ah, I see.”

“Took forever, look at my booooots.”

“They are very nice boots.”

“My feet are gonna be dryyyyy.”

“Praise the goose.”

“You have no idea,” she peeled one off, then flopped on her back and pressed the clean leather to her face, taking a deep sniff. “Ugh they smell so good. I think the dude felt bad for my shitty shoes too. He gave me a deal, so!” She held up her foot, which was adorned in thick cloth “I could buy socks!”

“Okay, I get it,” Elk drawled, not sure whether to continue to be happy for his friend or insulted. “You have feet.”

“Trust me dude, having feet is nothing to be jealous of.” She dropped the shoe and kicked off the other one, then chucked it at him. It thumped against his shoulder. He stared down at her deadpan while she continued, “We basically have little fingers down there that can freeze off and cause all sorts of problems and don’t you dare get pissy at me because I’m happy about something out of my control or yours.”

Elk blinked as she shoved a finger in his face, wagging it back and forth and scowling. She was right, of course, and his irritation immediately collapsed into embarrassment, shoving away the seething resentment. Of all things, he was worried about feet? “Ah… right. Sorry.”

“‘Sides,” she mumbled, sitting up again with a grimace, “you have shoes permanently attached to your feet. Hey, lemme look at ‘em.”

“I—what—” But she was already grabbing his legs, rolling onto her side to peer at the underside of his hooves, and he flailed a little before stopping himself, afraid he’d hurt her. “Hey!”

“Hm, yes, some good-looking hoof horn ya got here…”

“Let go of my feet!” Elk shifted, tucking said feet under him. Vagabond giggled, wheezing a bit and pressing a hand to her forehead, but refused to stop and tugged at his leg. Not wanting to make too much noise despite the late hour, he just sighed, then rose and effortlessly gained the upper hand by flopping his heavy head and neck atop her, restraining her completely. “Stop it,” he snapped, “you’re going to make yourself sick.”

The woman finally got herself under control, gasping as tears streamed from her eyes. Her laughter slowly became soft groans of pain. Eventually he shifted off her, allowing her up, and she curled into a ball, panting. After a few minutes she managed to sit up again and remove her outer layers. The piece of paper she’d written the note on was half-buried in the straw by all their moving around, and Elk glanced at it. Before he could even ask Vagabond pulled her journal out of her bag and tucked the note into it before slumping against his side.

Both appreciative and concerned, he nudged her. She raised a shaky hand to stroke his nose and fondle one ear. He sighed, gently pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was blazing hot. If she didn’t rest, she really would make herself sick, and he’d fail in keeping her safe. Elk nuzzled her to lean against him and began to carefully run his lower incisors through her hair.

Vagabond relaxed immediately, slumping her head to his shoulder. Pleased, he continued until a quiet vibration began in her throat, deepening into her chest, and he pressed his ear against her to listen to the repetitive melody. Her magic stirred, and even though he knew he knew better, the monster that was always there stirred along with it. Festering. Waiting. Hating. 

She tensed under him. The faintest scent of fear graced his nostrils, but he didn’t shy from it. To him, it smelled more like respect. And he liked that. He liked that very, very much.

The lullaby soothed the scar he knew lingered underneath. Whatever it represented carved its way into her psyche the same way his own did, covered in fur or not. Magic whispered in tune. He wanted to sing along, but not only would that alert others of his presence, it would likely drag his own magic into the open and act out as it had before.

He’d tried to activate latent magic during his incarceration. He’d never been very good at it, and his time in the human world working on the Rift had only served to suppress any natural abilities. That had suited him just fine back then; he preferred to work with his now-nonexistent hands, anyway. Any power he had left over after the split had refused to make an appearance in what he thought was the magicless human world. And, as he lay there in his own filth, the despair turned rage turned hatred turned utter madness had warped whatever was left.

He hadn’t expected Vagabond’s unique brand of magic to act as a conduit. That’s what it had done, he thought as the lullaby trailed off and she drifted to sleep. While whatever was left inside of him was mostly suppressed and dormant, the moment his strange little friend activated her abilities it pulled at his rotten core.

There was a long silence as Vagabond fell into pained, restless slumber. He felt her go through all stages, finally exiting the dream-state and settling into deep sleep. Only then did Elk give in to the urge, and he whisper-sang, “Well my friend, our fate is insecure…”

She twitched and mumbled, half-rousing, and he paused until she settled. Her heart slowed and he kept his voice low and soothing. “But with you, I’ve never been so sure.”

Her head lolled to the side and she tucked her nose against his crown between his antlers. Her magic rippled. How could he not have seen that before? It was so clear now. “Surely you can see, you can help me be with She…” 

The weather outside was still frightfully cold, but in here, with the moonlight now filtering in through the cracks in the shutters and curled up with his beloved friend, he was for now content. Elk smiled, and the darkness inside crooned the last words. “...Because there’s more power here than even I know.”

Chapter Text

By the time spring rolled around they were long gone, neither of them wanting to spend a single moment more than was necessary cooped up in a stable. Vagabond needed a break and Elk was only happy to oblige, considering how hard she worked, but it wasn’t very long before she was itching for something to do. He could appreciate the feeling, and was delighted with the next job she took. Working in the fields as a farmhand meant they could spend more time together and he could actually contribute to the work.

Even then, despite the camaraderie and the laughter and the distractions, no matter where he stood the castle towered above, its very existence a looming reminder of his failures. Creating a plan was harder than he’d thought; ideas bounced around with no strong attachment to any particular one of them.

On the other end he could practically feel the man’s stress mounting as more and more time went by with no word from his beloved wife. His sleepless nights meant disruption on Elk’s end too, and though the delight he felt at the man’s distress helped him mask it, he knew Vagabond was concerned.

He was worried, too. They were going for months without seeing her. She could absolutely be in the castle, given she’d grown up there and spent her childhood slipping away from guards. 

The weather grew warmer. More people joined the farm, pushing them further out in the field, but neither of them minded. Their afternoon unwinding place was just inside the forest line, on a grassy knoll in the warm sun right after lunch. He found that he dissociated less if he was touching her, and detested any moment they were apart. She didn’t complain, and would stroke his head and ears and neck and shower him with compliments and hum, hum, hum. He’d keep his eyes closed and pretend his beloved wife was whispering sweet nothings into his ear. It helped drown out the screaming.

His fur began to shed in preparation for the summer months, leaving his body smooth and sleek. How odd, that some of his body changed and some did not. His shedding only served to expose the ring of scar tissue around his neck from that heavy yolk he’d been forced to wear in the dungeons. No longer hidden from the elements by his shaggy coat, he could feel every tickle of breeze against bare skin. His antlers never fell, never grew velvet; only grew and expanded. How cruelly appropriate.

The beginning of spring marked the end of their isolation in the fields. There were now too many people and too much movement to avoid being spotted, and he was driven back into the forest. Vagabond’s workmates were mostly big, handsome men who worked with their shirts off and he could only imagine what they were trying to achieve when they leaned flirtatiously against the fence posts. Elk could only take so much and after he caught her smiling at them he left to clear his head.

When he returned, she was sitting on a log at their regular meeting place and turned only slightly as he approached. Even he could sense the tenseness, and stopped just behind her, suddenly unsure, and remained there until she spoke first. Her voice was very quiet. “Where have you been?”

What an odd question. Elk tilted his head slowly. “You were working. I couldn’t join.” The bitterness colored his tongue. “I went into the woods. Found some strawberries.”

That normally would have perked her up, but she just replied, “Oh.”

There was a wall up. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t like it. She avoided his questions enough; she wasn’t allowed to put up walls. Lifting a hoof, he slammed it against a rock, making her jump and whip around. “Why are you upset. You were having a good time, I saw you.”

He stopped suddenly, staring closely at her face. Something was terribly off and he couldn’t tell what it was. He didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there stupidly while wracking his brain. Vagabond’s mouth was thinned and her eyes distant. She sucked in a breath, let it out, then again, and again. Before he could speak again she responded tightly, “Having. A good time.”

He blinked widely at her, all the thoughts he wanted to spit at her stalling in his mind. Vagabond tensed her fists and spoke again before he could. “All you men are the same.”

“Wh–hold on now,” he sputtered, trying and failing to hold onto his own anger. “That isn’t—”

“You seriously thought I was flirting?”

“I—” he flailed for words. “Yes?”

She glared.

“...No?”

Vagabond spun and headed off. His bewilderment now far stronger than the ugly sore that festered in mind, he followed. After a moment, she said, “We’re done there.” Trailing behind, he blinked at the abruptness of the decision, still trying to keep up. And then a sudden horrible thought occurred to him and he lunged forward, bounding ahead and blocking her path. Vagabond jolted to a halt.

“Did they do something to you?” he snapped, staring hard into her face.

She shook her head, glancing away. “No, it’s—no. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I hate it when you say that.” He stepped towards her. “Look at me.”

He did not miss how she scanned the trees, looking for a way up and out. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed, moving closer until his nose was scant centimeters from hers. “Don’t you dare run from me. Look at me. Look at me in the eyes and tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

“They didn’t hurt me,” she muttered, darting a look up at him. He held her gaze and she tried to back up, but he followed, keeping the same distance. Vagabond struggled with words  “It’s just. I can’t believe you were watching and didn’t… and thought I was interested.”

He paused, thinking back to what he’d seen. “No wonder,” his friend continued, dragging a hand through her hair. He looked askance of her and she repeated herself. “No fucking wonder you didn’t notice she was into you.”

A shudder went through his body. The feeling in his chest was so very familiar. There was a pane of glass in front of him. It was a warm summer night, but somehow he was very cold, and he pulled his coat closer to him and pressed a hand above his tearing heart. The most beautiful and charming woman he’d ever met was smiling, laughing; but not at him.

He tore himself from the memory. He couldn’t breathe. The way she’d leaned towards him. The way her cheeks had flushed. The eye contact. And then, in the ballroom: a cool smile, a polite laugh, a haughty wave of her hand. That was what Vagabond had been trying to tell him. She’d always said that from what he’d told her, the Princess had been falling for him as a centaur. He’d always deferred to her judgment, but never really understood how she could possibly determine that from his descriptions. This was what she’d meant. And he’d done it again.

He was an idiot.

Vagabond was breathing hard and he refocused. Her eyes were red and puffy and for the umpteenth time he cursed himself for not having hands to wipe away any tears that may fall. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though the phrase was merely automatic at this point. 

Agonizing about what he’d missed was just that; agony. Another shudder. He felt as cold as he did that night. His limbs were disjointed icicles. His throat refused to let in air.

There was nothing left to say. Eventually Vagabond simply turned away, and he followed. Down the road was a neighboring farm and that’s where they headed, reaching the border just as a sudden chill along the heels of warmth promised rain. That promise kept only minutes after they slipped inside a shed, opening into a downpour.

The shed was crowded with tools and stacks of firewood, but had enough room for them to wait out the rain. Vagabond sat at the cracked-open door, leaning her head against the frame and gazing quietly out at the deluge. Elk couldn’t hear it above the cacophony, but he could feel her humming. She was somewhere else again.

He didn’t like that she wasn’t paying attention to him, but he had to admit that it was his fault. He’d upset her and she’d run away. Eventually he, too, slipped into his own thoughts. Her magic curled around him like a soothing cocoon of song. It was the only song he could stand, now. Once upon a time he’d longed for the music of his homeland. Now he couldn’t stand the thought of all those nonsensical tunes.

She trailed off soon enough. Eventually, slowly, he came back to himself, and looked around the shed in idle curiosity. He knew what the tools were for the most part, but they were primitive, and a thought suddenly occurred to him: the tools he’d used long ago as a Rift worker seemed far more complex and advanced. His handy drill had been his most-used item.

“Do you know what a drill is?” His voice was muffled behind the loud drum on the roof.

Vagabond twitched as if startled. “A drill,” she repeated, sounding far away. “A drill… sorta. Something you bore holes with.” A pause. “Like a hand brace. Or an auger.”

He ruminated on that for a while, idly scraping the compacted earth under him with a hoof. When he looked up, Vagabond had turned, and was staring down at what he’d made with a curious expression. He followed her gaze. He’d scratched the shape of a drill. With a grunt, Elk flopped on the ground, glaring out at the wetness outside and daring the water to disturb their dry haven.

“We’re uphill,” Vagabond said suddenly, amusement coloring her words. He perked up. “We’ll stay dry. That’s why it’s built here.”

Elk paused, then shifted forward and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” But she leaned back, and if he concentrated very hard, he could hear her relief.

“I should have realized what was going on,” he continued softly. “I should have—” Gone in and saved her from the so-called noblemen. Waited in the garden, like she’d told him to. Anything but the one thing he’d done. “—helped, somehow.”

“There’s nothing you coulda done.” Now she turned fully, taking his face in her hands and began rubbing over his ears. She wasn’t angry anymore, he could tell that much, but there was a sadness he couldn’t place. “And it’s… just something you gotta deal with when you’re a woman.”

“I don’t like it,” he muttered. “I’m a man, and I’m not like that.”

Vagabond paused, her hands stilling. “Sure, buddy.”

He huffed and was about to reply, but her fingers picked up again and curled right behind his head on either side of his spine, digging into the muscle and releasing tension he’d no idea existed until then. His protest dissolved into a yelp-turned-groan, and he couldn’t even be annoyed at her giggle.

“I forgot about this,” he mumbled as she moved down his neck, reaching between his antlers.

“Mm-hm.” 

His eyes slid shut. Vagabond began humming again, and words whispered behind the tune. He couldn’t quite catch them, yet. He would though. It would be his. It would be theirs. That way, she truly couldn’t ever leave him.

Rain pounded on the ground outside and on the shed’s roof. Dimly, he felt his friend shift to reach more of his body. He knew she was doing this to avoid conversation about what had distressed her before, but he wouldn’t forget what she’d told him. He’d failed to save her—failed to even realize she needed saving. 

Sure, buddy.

He was a man. He was a man, and…

And nothing. It didn’t matter who he was inside. He was still as much a lost centaur as he was back then, and he knew if he’d woken as the man the same exact thing would have happened. He would have pretended the animal part of himself didn’t exist. He would have ignored the eyes watching from the woods. He would have shoved it into the dark of the castle’s depths and turned to the radiant love of the Princess as a beacon of light for his tormented soul.

He hated himself. He hated the two people he’d become. He hated the mirror that was shoved into his face. He hated every piece of this disjointed form. It didn’t matter how many compliments Vagabond threw his way. It didn’t even matter that she meant them.

Vagabond worked his muscles and soothed his body, and he found himself drifting off into a sleep he knew would not be restful. So he roused his shattered mind back into wakefulness and raised his head, turning to groggily push her into his side. His friend didn’t complain, just snuggled in. Sweet little thing. He’d protect her, and she’d always be by his side. He’d kill to make sure of it.

~

A note was tucked under his saucer of porridge in the morning, as always delivered by a barracks servant. He knew who it was from immediately, and trembling fingers unfolded the parchment to reveal tantalizingly familiar handwriting. And, as his eyes darted through her words, her coldness and demands, hot tears blurred the text and smeared the ink.

He tightened his grip on the parchment, crumpling it, then turned his cold stare at the servant. She blanched and whispered an apology. It became apparent after a few questions that she knew nothing.

He dismissed her. Threw the note on the fire.

He’d worked so hard to achieve what he had now. There was nothing she, or the blasted elk, could do. And he knew she’d return eventually anyway. She had to. She had to.

She had to…

The sting of rejection was so very real and only brought memories of her lovely, stern face in the moonlight; a hand held up to stop him from approaching. Elk could not help but smile despite—or perhaps because of—the pain. His loathsome counterpart was finally understanding their beloved’s fury and betrayal, and the animalistic part of him would revel in that agony.

“You good?” Vagabond lay back against him, hands behind her head, eyes closed.

“Mm-hm.”

“Th’book that boring?”

“Wh… oh. I’m sorry.” He glanced down at the folded tome on her lap. He’d tried, he really had, to listen and be invested, but had inevitably drifted off. “How much did I miss?”

“S’okay. You can tell me the last thing you remember and we can start from there.”

There was no starting again, and memories were the last thing he wanted to return to. Elk shifted and turned and nosed the book off her lap to replace with his head, curling tightly around her. She smelled, as always, of the wilds and the wind, and he wished he could shed his past and live in the moment like she did.

Plans. Goals. Plans. Plans. He couldn’t focus on anything anymore. He could no longer pay attention to nor was interested in foraging, and found himself walking aimlessly in loops around his friend. As days passed he ventured further away, driven mad by thoughts that were no use and silence from his wife and uselessness of this purgatory that was the calm before the storm. 

He walked, and one afternoon he perhaps wandered too far, and was attacked.

The dogs came first, howling, perhaps to scare and confuse him. It worked for only a split second and he practically leaped out of his skin in momentary panic. Then his higher intelligence kicked in and along with it, burning fury.

It was a whirl of violence. Elk plowed into the dogs, which were not expecting nor used to their prey charging; three of them died and the rest fled shrieking. An arrow hit the tree next to him. He didn’t pause to check how many people there were, he just launched into the midst of the first pair, tearing open the throats of their horses and trampling the men that fell.

The flanking group struggled to come around. Elk darted around another tree, red rimming his vision and teeth bared. There were three left. With a sudden shock, he recognized two of the men, and it was beautiful, perfect karma come full-circle; he could finally redeem himself for not protecting his friend.

The sound he made could have only been described as low, rough laughter, cold and cruel and eager. It echoed through the suddenly silent forest, causing everyone, including the frothing horses, to pause for a split second. Elk saw the realization in their eyes, that he was indeed the being who’d made the noise, and that the smile on his face was not just a grimace. He was not just a deer, and he was not prey.

As soon as it had come the moment was over. One of the horses screamed, bucked its rider off, and fled for home, the others scrambling to follow; Elk knocked one of them off their horse as they passed.

The first man he approached fumbled for something, winded and sobbing. A shaking hand held up a knife and the beast snorted, knocking it aside with a hoof, and whipped one antler across the man’s head and neck. Without stopping to check, he trotted over to the other, who’d caught his breath and was trying desperately to crawl away. Elk bent his head and brought his nose level with the man’s cheek, and his victim froze in absolute terror.

A monster stood over him, the only sound in the otherwise utterly still forest its hot breath curling against cold sweat. And then it spoke. “She wasn’t interested.”

The man didn’t have time to mull over the words. A sickening crack broke the quiet, and Elk rose from the twitching corpse, then went back to the other one to make sure he was well and truly dead. It took a few more stabs with his antlers. Then he just stood there, staring at them and the rest of the carnage. Everything was still. Silent. Birds had stopped singing. The trees seemed to be holding their breath, leaving no breeze filtering through their leaves. He felt like he did on the cliff, standing between shadow and light. He felt powerful. He felt empty. He felt pleasure. He felt… relief.

He swung his head in the direction the last man had gone. If he were to hurry, he would catch up to the horse before the edge of the forest, but if he didn’t, it would easily outrun him once it hit flat ground.

But if he did, no one would know what happened. News would not reach his other half. And he wanted it to; he wanted the man to feel the pinch of time running out. He’d already gotten a push from his estranged, missing wife. Now he needed to realize that the beast was still here and still coming from him. Silently, Elk picked up his feet, trotting swiftly in the other direction, where he knew his friend still foraged. Vagabond would be upset once she saw him, and even more so if she knew what had happened. He could tell her it was self-defense, and knew it would mollify her, but ultimately decided the less information, the better.

She was easy enough to urge onward. He hadn’t expected any pushback; she could be counted on to run at the slightest sign of trouble. And so they headed around the mountain and its surrounding towns, pausing only for Vagabond to forage or barter.

It got hotter. Time seemed to pass at random intervals, speeding up or slowing down at what seemed to be the whim of whatever passed as the goose in the sky for humans. Days stretched on, but he blinked and they were in the thick of summer. Vagabond spent every day with him now, only parting briefly to find supplies. When he asked when she’d gotten that new, shiny knife, she threw him a cocky grin and waved it around. “Shoulda guessed you’d notice a new tool but not my new haircut.”

Belatedly, he realized that she had indeed cut off most of her normally shaggy hair. He blinked widely, shocked and somewhat ashamed he couldn’t remember when it had changed. Lowering his head to stare at the ground, he mumbled an apology and walked away on numb legs. Vagabond called out, but he didn’t hear her words, and his feet carried him to a hill. He couldn’t quite see the Rift here, but the spear of light made its presence known.

“Elk?”

His machine was in there. They’d hidden it well, he was sure of it.

“Buddy?”

He was wasting time and he didn’t know what to do about it. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but not for food.

“Hey, sweetie, hey—hey! Stop!”

He barely felt the hand on his shoulder, and it snatched back when he whipped around. His head hurt and his antlers were vibrating from slamming them into the nearest tree, over and over. Elk blinked rapidly, eyes watering, weaving back and forth. Vagabond held out a hand hesitantly, and he stepped forward to meet it. His vision tilted. He closed his eyes. His muzzle felt simultaneously numb and tingling where she rested her fingers.

“I got,” Vagabond spoke from somewhere far away. Elk focused on the words; followed them back. She cleared her throat and went on, with forced cheer, “I got you a present!”

“Oh?” he murmured, keeping his head down, his eyes shut.

“Yeah! I was gonna give it to you when we settled for the night and, y’know, had a fire and stuff, but it’ll be hard to see without sunlight so it’s probably better to check it out now…” She kept chatting, and he tried to follow the words, but they floated around in his head, slipping through his mental fingers like water. Still, he was curious, so he focused on walking.

When she pulled a journal out from the depths of her bag, he was at first confused. “This…?” He murmured, reaching for it with a hoof before pulling it back, grimacing at the dirt caked between the toes. “How am I supposed to… I don’t have hands, Vagabond.”

“You can turn your legs in all sorts of ways,” she replied stubbornly, producing a few charcoal sticks tied with oiled cloth. “I know you can write.” She scraped the dirt off his toes with a stone and tucked one of the sticks between them. “Go on, practice.”

She set about tidying up their temporary shelter, a hollow created by an old upturned tree and its roots. Elk stared at her, then down at the open book. At first he was insulted, but as he rolled his ankle to get a feel for the utensil it faded in favor of a familiarity he’d longed for. Just him, his desk—the packed earth—paper, pencil, the dull light of his lamp—dappled light from the sun—and his ideas, which were then flowing, following the images of something he well and truly enjoyed.

His work. Designs and mathematics, overviews and questions and hypotheses. The exact schematics of the Key and the device he’d made to help focus its energies had long since faded in his twisted memories, but with every stab and scrape of the charcoal he felt it all coming back. He forgot about the ache in his head; his antlers. Pages nearly tore as he flipped them, some drawings he scribbled out and then the stick broke and he jerked his head up. “Vagabond,” he barked, and the half-asleep woman nearly leaped out of her skin.

With a start he realized it was night. He’d been drawing and note-taking for possible hours and hadn’t even noticed. “What! What,” his friend panted, hand pressed over her heart, and he winced, blinking rapidly in the sharp contrast the fire he’d had no idea had been built made over everything. “The fuck, dude, scared the shit outta me,” she grumbled, digging her palms into her eyes. “Thought we were gettin’ attacked…”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” chagrined, he flattened his ears, feeling suddenly dizzy. “I didn’t realize—” the sentence broke into a wide yawn. His hyperfixation shattered, exhaustion hit him like a landslide.

“S’cool.” She leaned over. “I’m glad you like it. Y’done for tonight?”

He nodded wordlessly and she gathered up the supplies, tilting her head at the drawings curiously before stuffing everything in her bag. Elk didn’t feel like explaining, so he stretched, rotating his ankles and hocks and arching his neck to feel it pop. “Any luck with getting another massage?” he asked, only half-joking.

“Mhm. Tomorrow,” she promised, kissed his forehead and settled back down, this time curled up against him where she belonged. Finally having had a means to express everything that had been boiling inside, Elk’s mind finally relaxed, and he actually slept well that night.

She made good on that promise, and woke him with breakfast and a good rubdown.

“Who says you wouldn’t make a good wife,” he mumbled. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Vagabond holding a bowl of water. What she would have done with it was a mystery because, maintaining a deadpan expression, she dumped its entire contents over his head.

“Gah!” He leaped to his feet and shook his head, flopping his ears back and forth, blinking water out of his eyes. Vagabond jumped back when he did, avoiding his flailing antlers. “You bitch!”

“Payback,” she replied flippantly, and trotted off, presumably to get more water. He sat down, pouting and wiping his face until she returned, and scowled at her.

“It was a compliment,” he whined.

“Sure it was.” But she made him tea with honey anyway, and he forgave her because it turned out that roasted dandelion root was a very close second to coffee. He drank most of the bowl while she lingered on a single cup, and by the time he was finished his mind had already moved on. He caught her attention with his eyes, then looked at her bag, and she understood immediately, presenting him once again with his journal.

It quickly became how he spent his days; furiously scribbling and using Vagabond’s hands for more minute notes. She clearly had no idea what he was going on about, but she would write or draw whatever he directed her to. The more he drew, the more he remembered, though many details still evaded him in the madness that clawed at his mind.

“Best gift ever,” he remembered to tell his friend one day, and she perked up so much at the acknowledgement his chest twisted. “Thank you.”

He didn’t know how to stop it all. In the back of his mind, he knew this gathering storm of his had to break, but the clouds just kept getting darker. The monster teamed and howled for something, for more, and there was nothing to do in this limbo of nonaction but sink deeper into plans. He was full yet hollow, wearing the skin of a creature that felt looser and heavier with every given day. Time was passing and he didn’t know what to do about it. Everything was marked with events but the days themselves blurred.

He blinked and it was summer solstice and Vagabond was giving him festival food; when he asked where she got it she just winked and told him not to worry. He chuckled and called her a thief. She acted offended, but there was no lie.

That night she dragged him closer to one of the outlying towns where music and laughter poured into the woods and he hated it because all he could remember was the last celebration he was barred from attending. But this time Vagabond would not be denied, and against his wishes she taught him how to dance.

It was a night he would never forget, no matter how much he might try to. He’d always been embarrassed at how centaurs danced, their round bouncy bodies jumping about, and had always been afraid of trying. The night of the party he’d wanted to so badly, but fear had kept him back. Now, though, comfortable in the company of someone he knew would not mock him, he realized those fears were unfounded. He could dance. He could have back then, too, and maybe if he had just been a little less of a coward he would have had the strength to wait in the garden like the Princess had asked. Maybe that night would have ended differently.

Elk kept her dancing, or perhaps Vagabond was the one who pushed him along, deep into the evening until the party wound down sometime past midnight. His friend was red-faced and gasping by the end, and he felt like he’d cast Wobbly Legs, but their delight matched each others’, happy and pure.

As they lay side by side, catching their breaths and staring up at the sky, he had a terrible thought. The joy he’d felt during their romp had driven away the hate and madness—at least, for a little while—but it would be the last time he’d ever have an emotion so untainted.

It was only a few days later, after all, when he snarled at her for daring to scribble a little flower in the corner of a page of his journal. “This isn’t yours,” he snapped, slamming down a hoof and smearing the drawing away. “You got this book for me. You have your own. Draw in that.”

Vagabond was silent, having yanked away her hand. Bound by his thoughts and annoyed that she’d dared interrupt serious scientific inquiry with silly doodles, he flashed a glare at her and returned to sketching. Ridiculous thing. She knew better than to intrude. He’d told her time and time again he didn’t appreciate folly when he was trying to concentrate.

His rumbling stomach broke through his intense concentration, and the world tilted when he finally raised his head. It was dark now, and the only light came from the flickering fire. A meal sat on a flat rock next to him. Vagabond was on the other side of the fire, knees up to her chest, staring off into the dark. Elk fell upon the dinner she’d provided and stood after to stretch his joints, then leaned over the flames to peer at her. She was far away and only twitched when he stirred, but then she turned her head to rest her cheek on her knee, saw him, and froze.

There was no mistaking the fear in her widened pupils; the way she jerked away. It actually made him rock back a step, and at the sight of him distancing himself she relaxed and let out a slow breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked, softly, barely over the snap of the glowing embers. Vagabond shuffled around to face him and nodded slightly, her arms still holding her knees close to her chest. Elk swallowed. He had the vague idea that something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. After a moment of casting about for words he added, “Why are you over there?”

He recognized the look she gave him. Someone else had given it to him; he’d been barely lucid then but had etched every moment of that reunion into his mind. It drove a spike of something terrible through his heart and he cringed inward on himself even as defensiveness reared into a shield. But before he could snap, before his raised hoof could hit the ground, she rose and came around the fire and stood before him.

His anger cooled into a pit in his stomach. Her hands came up and cupped his cheeks. Something ached in her gaze and he was suddenly, inexplicably reminded of that night in the garden staring into the window—or his reflection.

Her eyes lowered and her fingers tightened, and the pit grew heavier. He didn’t know what to say other than a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he couldn’t stop; his voice broke as he repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” and she lowered her gaze and rested her forehead against his and trembled and he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what else to say, just whispered the words over and over as the fire slowly died and the shadows crept in to claim the light.

~

They were being hunted.

They couldn’t stay in one place for more than a few days, anymore. With the General’s attention divided and his control over the situation slipping further and further, he sent wave after wave of search parties into the forest. He knew the elk was back. He knew he’d gained an ally. He thought he knew, just as Elk himself did, the depths he’d go to get back at his nemesis.

Before he knew it the lush greens of summer had burned away, to be replaced with swirls of reds and oranges. The lack of greenery and the swiftly dropping leaves meant they were more easily spotted, much to his annoyance; it was hard to sit down and hash out the mathematics and logistics of the plan he’d been putting together.

It was almost worth the delay though, just to crank up the tension and make the man dance. The soldiers came back with stories of his eyeshine in the moonlight, or his dark silhouette on a hill just far away enough that by the time they rode to that location, he was gone. They sent dogs; they either returned yelping or were found crushed and slashed. They put scouts in trees; those were avoided. There was no telling where he would end up next.

Fires became impractical unless they stuck to evergreens to mask the light and it was a crapshoot how long they were able to stay in such locations. As the temperature dropped they walked to keep warm. Vagabond was used to this constant movement; at least, that’s what she told him, but even she began to lag. Her eyes were so full of exhaustion and concern all the time now, something he normally wouldn’t notice. He didn’t want to notice. It was just another memory; another reminder of failure.

He couldn’t fail here. He had to make things right. He would make things right, for himself and for the Princess and for the Vagabond and by extension for everybody, because if he knew nothing else he knew that if things continued the way they had been, the imbalance would tip too far. The storm would hit. The waters would rise. His beloved had warned him of thus; that night of the garden. If only he’d listened.

He paced every night, mind swirling with plans and equations, only becoming aware he was muttering to himself when his friend begged him to sleep. His journal was full now and she seemed loath to leave his side to go get another, a concern he shared. He’d moved on from it anyway. 

By the time the air began to bite, lack of sleep had affected them both. There were so many patrols that it was not uncommon to be roused in the middle of the night. They had it down to a science; Elk braced himself instinctively the second a threat was known for his friend to vault upon his back and they were off, with nary a hoofprint on the frozen turf. Sometimes he waited just a few seconds more until someone was right up on him, unable to see his black fur in the night, and then charge off before they could sound the alarm.

In their travels they’d come around the back side of the mountain, closer to the Rift, and it was a natural course that worked perfectly with the plan that was solidifying in his mind. He was content to allow the soldiers to think they were the ones that forced him towards it.

It snowed. Then again. Light dustings here and there; the mark of winter. The frozen ground that hid their passing now betrayed them with molds of their footprints. Vagabond suggested crisscrossing their trail over and over to confuse their pursuers, and he took it to heart, creating a mass of intersecting tracks, even walking backwards at times. At the very least it amused his friend, though her split-lip smiles didn’t reach her eyes anymore.

That would change, he promised himself. This was all part of the plan. He’d make it better. He’d keep her safe. He’d find the Princess. He’d be whole again.

It snowed again. Heavier, this time. The only good thing about it was the soldiers were called off and he could keep Vagabond in one spot for a bit, where they used the cover of heavy white to have a fire. He tucked her against him and hummed their lullaby while she trembled from cold, or fear, or something in between.

He knew what needed to be done now, though was loath to tell his companion; she wouldn’t understand and would balk. She was the voice of reason when it came to interpersonal relationships but her empathy kept her from harsh truths and necessities. He was the scientific one; the logical one; the one to make things happen, so when she asked for his plan he simply avoided the question and urged her upon his back again.

That night, the sight of low-burned torches seized his heart and stiffened his muscles; he shoved down the prey instinct to leap out of his skin with a disgusted snort. A search party even in this weather, perhaps to sneak upon them unsuspecting. The hatred that came with that thought eclipsed his surprise and disgust and he grit his teeth and planted his hooves as it crawled from his chest to his throat, rattling in the stillness. Hatred, hatred, hatred sang in the magic between him and his friend, who was yanking on him, her pleas silent under the howling in his ears.

Someone’s head turned at the faint sound and then another, and another. The monster hung in the air around him, an intangible part of himself, singing too late TOO CLOSE they know kill them KILL THEM

Blood sprayed his face. People were screaming, but it all seemed muffled in his ears, even Vagabond’s. The monster was magic and it was smothering them all, heavy and thick and urging hush now hush now hush now.

He stared into the eyes of a man and the man didn’t see an elk; he saw exactly what the General had described; a beast of horrendous magical proportions, whose cruelty dripped from its mouth as it told him to run. The man didn’t hesitate and didn’t stop to think. He simply obeyed, for once in his life responding to an order that came from an enemy even as the rest of the troop spread out among the trees was coming to his aid.

Only then did Elk respond to his friend’s cries. He spun and so did his head, but his feet were solid as he bound away from them all. His hooves, however, were not the only ones he heard; he stretched out, furious he had to run once again, but the part of him that loved his friend knew he couldn’t take them all on and simultaneously protect her.

He’d counted on being able to dart through trees and lose the lone follower on horseback, but flat ground yawned in front of him and a ravine rose on both sides, channeling him into only one path. Only then did he realize his mistake.

The moment he did was the moment everything went wrong. The weight on his back, his beloved companion, wrenched sideways, the momentum nearly sending him sprawling. At the same time something clamped down and yanked upon his skin, which was incredibly effective in bringing him back to his senses. He was too out of breath to even help at the blinding pain, but managed to whirl and lower his head against another attack.

He’d been prepared to face down a human, but the warhorse in front of him was another thing entirely. It stood firmly in the way, between him and…

“Vagabond,” he gasped.

She called out to him, urging him to calm down, but the man who held her tightened his grip and snapped at her. Elk, attention divided, barely heard either of them as he sought for an opening to attack the warhorse. The only word he heard was General, and for some reason he recognized that voice and it nearly blinded him with hatred. He lunged for the horse and it reared, lashing out with its hooves. He wasn’t concerned about the animal; it reacted on instinct and limited training, but Vagabond needed his help and needed it now.

His friend was screaming, the sounds of other soldiers were drawing near; it all drove him to greater panic and rage and loathing and his lungs burned with cold but there was something different about her voice and he backed off the horse to look up and no he didn’t see the problem yet but her head was turned up at one of the cliffs above no the snow was moving no she was in its path no he recognized the soldier’s face no it was falling no her eyes locked on his no there was such sorrow there no he leapt forward no please no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

Chapter Text

He didn’t feel the cold anymore.

He didn’t feel anything.

His hooves stuck to the ground when he moved. They’d frozen where he stood by viscous blood and winter night, and cracked loudly in the silence when he forced them. It broke through the buzzing in his head, and he looked down blankly at the partially-exposed corpse at his feet, through eyes that belonged to someone else. It no longer had a face. He’d recognized it seconds before the avalanche had hit, and made sure he’d never be able to see it again.

The first blows had been out of rage. Everything after that was a blur and the sound of tearing skin and the feel of bone collapsing under his hooves. The soldier, having survived the snow and clawed his way to freedom, died swiftly, but that hadn’t been enough. It would never be enough, so the beast had kept going, crushing, smashing, unsatisfied until every last remaining feature was destroyed; until bone and blood and brain turned to pulp. And then silence had descended, and now he stood stock-still, until slowly, slowly he turned away.

He walked. He didn’t need to run anymore. Not for anyone. Each step was both lasting agony and instantly forgotten. He crossed a road, then wandered down another. The Rift’s light, a spear ascending the heavens, beckoned. And when his brain finally acknowledged the ache in his limbs, in a body so distant the message was terribly delayed, he sought out a barn.

Mice and cats scrambled away when he entered. He climbed upon a stack of hay and curled up, automatically shifting to allow a certain someone to snuggle up with him. But there was no one. There were no fingers to pluck shards of blood out of his fur. No hands to create a fire and heat up some water and wash him clean and stroke his ears.

He didn’t sleep that night. Every time his body tried he shuddered awake, unwilling to dream, unwilling to remember. At one point there was a voice, but then it was gone, leaving Elk wondering if it had actually even happened. Maybe he was already in a dream. Maybe he was still in the dungeons, deep and dark, and had fallen into such madness he’d imagined his love coming to set him free. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it. There was no way that beautiful torturous moment had been real.

He almost believed it, too; the way he was curled, his joints began to ache, and the darkness in the barn was so very convincing. Then he blinked, and morning light speckled the wall from minute cracks and the warm weight of cats using him as a heat source fled when he shifted.

The door was ajar and he heard muffled speaking again; two voices this time. He got up and trudged for it.

Outside, the farmer held out an arm to stop his son from drawing an arrow. They watched the creature step outside, look around, and shake itself. Dark eyes regarded them blankly, then it was off, unconcerned but swift. Neither of them had heard the rumors and had no idea it could both hear and understand when the son said, “We could’ve gotten a real good price for that hide, Dad.”

“We have plenty of food,” his father replied firmly, “and it’s bad sport. We ain’t nobles who kill God’s creatures for fun. Let the beast be.”

Beast.

Elk lengthened his stride.

Beast.

A sound, guttural and strange, worked its way up his throat and gurgled in the air. A laugh, utterly devoid of emotion.

Beast!

The Rift rose before him, only a few kilometers away now. Between it and him, a bustling town nestled, full of both humans and what was once his own kind. It had been so long that he’d seen a centaur that it actually gave him pause. Bright, round figures bounced among their more stoic counterparts, colorful stains upon the dreary landscape, and he watched them from a hibernating snow-covered orchard.

Something writhed and bubbled inside him, working its way up to a snarl. The smell of baking bread made his mouth water. The faint chatter, and occasional song, curled through the air to his sensitive ears. He hated it. He longed for it. He did not move, snow occasionally dusting his fur, a dark statue outside of town rooted in place, waiting; watching.

When it began to snow again, this time in earnest, he lifted his head, nostrils flaring. The sky was entirely white, and his knees down had disappeared into the fluff. There was no way to tell how long he’d been standing there, but his legs nearly buckled when he lifted a hoof. He placed it down, then lifted another, pulling them free one by one, and once again began to walk.

The snow picked up swiftly. It seemed to be deeper with every step. The bright triangle of the doorway flickered before him as he pressed on with numb legs, fixated, a moth to the flame. And, finally, he shoved past the now chest-high snow and tumbled ungracefully into the emptiness that was the Rift.

If it weren’t for his body heat the snow would not have melted. Time was odd here. Elk faded in and out, sparks dancing in front of his eyes, utterly spent. It felt like he had no legs. Attempts to move them failed spectacularly. Eventually, though, the prickles of feeling returned, then muffled pain, and finally he got his feet under him as waveringly as a newborn fawn and looked around.

There was nothing to look at, of course. No one was here; the only existence of anything was him and two glowing doors on either end. Him, the doors, and…

Trembling limbs clawed at the blank white surface that was the floor. He crawled through the in-between towards the opposite side with manic focus, vision filled with the golden glow of the door to his homeworld. And then, behind it.

The device he’d used so long ago was black and metal and ugly, a stain in the pristine white. A testament to his research and genius. But utterly useless without the final piece. 

It felt like he’d been the one to be hit by the avalanche. Elk staggered, breath vanishing from his lungs. It was one thing to plan and draw and remember the machine he’d built on his time off with the knowledge he would one day use it on himself. It was another thing entirely to see it. He collapsed onto the floor and opened his mouth, but the scream refused to emerge. Everything was a jumble. The emotions that hit him were indescribable and powerful and tangled and his head spun; he stood trembling at the bottom of the deepest depths of the ocean, crushed by heavy currents and alone, alone, alone. He didn’t want to be alone ever again. All he’d ever wanted was to be accepted, to be loved, to be desired; to be surrounded by friends and family and loved ones and he would have that.

A desperate, mad sort of fire was lit now. He’d had plans. He would follow those plans. He hummed desperately, the soothing tune the only thing that brought him any sort of comfort. The Princess’ face hovered in his mind. In order to regain the balance he’d callously destroyed, he had to find her.

He would make it better. It’s too far gone.

He had to fix it. It deserves to be broken.

He had to find the Princess. She doesn’t want you.

The lullaby drowned out the voices. His friend’s song whispered to him, soothing and magical. If only he’d gotten out of her all the questions begged by her very existence. If only he’d been more focused. Or maybe he’d been focused on the wrong things.

He got to work.

~

Once upon a mountain, in the whirling snow, he’d marveled at how stupidly simplistic it had been to end the lives of those who’d threatened him. He thought back to his capture and marveled how weak he’d been then; how effortlessly the General had bodily thrown him into the water. How helpless he’d been against the ropes that bound him.

It seemed ridiculous now. No wonder his human half hadn’t taken him seriously. It had always been so easy to subdue him.

He stepped back and around his machine, nudging it a little closer. Long ago, an elktaur had preferred to work with his hands and shunned the silly magic that surrounded him. Now a ragged half of that man returned to his roots, allowing himself to tap into power that was latent and rotten and waiting. No one had seen him emerge from the glowing door. No one had seen the Key gleam faintly green before responding to magic summoning it from its cradle, or it floating in front of him as he returned to the Rift.

A young wolf curled into a tight ball before him, licking its lips through halfheartedly bared teeth. It had been so easy to lure it close and beat it into submission. The soldier groaned. It had been so easy to ambush someone wandering through alone, tipsy and full of Centaurworld treats. 

Elk ran his eyes across his machine to make sure the settings were indeed correct. His hoof hovered over the center of the Key and his heart hammered in anticipation; from the depths of where he’d fallen, something called out. It was a feeble cry, but enough to warrant just a moment of hesitation. Then he snorted, and shook his head, and swiped his hoof over the center of the Key.

He’d never felt so much pain.

Every atom of his body screamed out at once. His joints locked. His vision filled with brilliant emerald light. A man howled. A wolf shrieked. The world of nowhere spun. Elk stood there with eyes shut tight, fighting wave after wave of dizziness and sucking air in through his nose, unable to unclench his jaw. Slowly, the buzzing faded, and he heaved and gasped and opened his eyes to see the monstrosity crouched before him.

The mangled, but still somehow alive mishmash of body parts crouching on all fours, panting. Sensing his eyes upon it, it slowly lifted its gaze to the elk’s, and made a sound half between a word Elk couldn’t identify and a beastly groan. It had canine ears and a furred face; human eyes—mostly—and was clad in armor, which somehow had warped to fit its new body. It was absolutely repulsive.

Elk finally unclenched his jaw and gasped, swallowed hard, and took a shaking step towards the monster. Then another, and another, until he stood directly in front of it, and suddenly a wave of giddy disgust shook a grating chuckle from his throat. It was wrong, as wrong as he was, and would never fit in either world. It was unnatural, it was horrendous, and it was his.

As if on cue, the freak crouching before him fell to its knees and bowed.

“Mine,” Elk said. Something boiled in the back of his throat. He felt feverish and still somewhat dizzy, and his fur was soaked with sweat, but he stood tall, staring hard down at his creation. “You’re mine.”

He stepped back. The creature rose. They regarded one another. Elk felt his lips split when he pulled the edges back in what could have been a smile. It was a start, a glorious start, but he needed more. His plan wouldn’t work without more of them. “Get me another,” he ordered, knowing in his bones he would be obeyed. They were of the same, it and him; their atoms vibrated with the Key’s song, but his was the lead vocal. “Don’t be seen.”

And his creation, the first of his new family, turned and lunged for the door to the human world. Elk lowered his head and closed his eyes and breathed slowly, finally letting what he’d done settle over him. His actions reeked of insanity, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was a clamoring deep in his mind, something he knew he should be paying attention to, but, just as he’d once shoved the darkness and rage behind the curtain and back into the depths, he now did the same to that annoying little voice telling him—

There is no fixing this.

Hush.

There is no fixing this!

Hush, now.

There was no changing what he’d done. There was no looking back. There was no longer any tether to sanity or any reason for morality. The only person who’d looked at him as an equal was gone. The only person who could save him was missing. He was far too gone and had gone too far. Even if he reversed the procedure, the fact that he’d done it at all could not be erased.

His nose dripped. He assumed it was blood, but when he opened his eyes, it was black.

His creation returned. One gauntleted hand was curled in a careful fist, holding something, and the other was wrapped around the chest of a very unconscious man. It flopped the human onto the ground and atop his chest placed a lizard, which remained still, only just waking from hibernation.

When the light faded, the pain did not. His joints creaked and shifted, feeling oddly loose. Elk swayed, swallowed down burning bile, and hissed through clenched teeth, “Another.”

The next animal was an ox. It followed obediently, a slave to the nose ring. The soldier they carried was bound and groggy. He only peered up at the elk in horrified confusion, having no way to avoid what was to happen.

Antlers cracked and grew along with the pain. Hot tears ran down his face. His vision went funny. Bone popped against bone and moved far too easily amongst loose, weeping skin. He locked his knees, refusing to fall, and hung his head. This time he lost against the bile, and it burned his throat as he retched. “Again,” he gurgled.

The twisted creatures lunged out the door into the night and returned with a sheep and a young guard. And then he had four.

“You.” Shaking, he jerked his head towards the newest one as they began charging back out. “Stay here.”

The newest member of his family obediently held back. “Tell me,” Elk mumbled, ichor dribbling off his chin, “talk to me. What was your name.”

The sound it made only vaguely resembled speech. It paused, snuffling, then tried again; each time became clearer until a name emerged. “Carrrrrter. Sheep.”

He nodded, head hanging. “Tell me more.”

“Meadows,” it said, “running. Color, beads.” A hesitation. “S…school? Fingers. Mud…”

“Do you remember your family?”

“You are my family,” it replied, and he knew then his own thoughts superseded any memories the being might have. Once again, this creature was his, and nothing else mattered. The memories seemed so entwined that it was impossible to separate them; the opposite of what he’d experienced. Perhaps the same was with its personality. Would it simply be a merged conglomerate of traits, or would the human temperament shine through, given the stupidity of the animal?

Did he care?

It waited quietly for his next question, or command, or whatever he had to give it. But all he wanted was to not be alone right now, so he just stood there, letting the pain saturate his bones and seep down into the trench his soul had sunk to.

His minions fortunately arrived shortly—or at least, it seemed that way. He didn’t even look at what they had. Two more amalgamations bowed before him when the light faded, and thick ropes of drool trailed from his mouth.

After that, he had to sit down; his legs would have buckled otherwise. With his family around him it was safe at last to rest, so he settled on the floor and bent his head and just breathed. His neck muscles trembled with the ruin of rot and the strength required to keep his huge rack aloft.

His leaking nose met the floor. His eyelids ached and he closed them, fighting back the clawing memories of failure.

There was a time—a blessedly short time—that lucidity reigned. Where everything suddenly snapped back into horrifying clarity, where two halves of the same person began to fall into slumber and the puzzle pieces reconnected in between wake and sleep. Where the full realization of what they’d done began to manifest before they yanked themselves apart once more; Elk fell onto his side in his haste to wake, dizzy, legs churning, shaking and soaked with sweat. He curled his lips back into a disgusted snarl. He didn’t need sleep. He didn’t need sleep!

Head throbbing, stomach churning and bile searing the back of his throat, he lurched back to his feet. “More. More.”

It would take some time for traffic between worlds to restart, put on hold from the snowstorm. He hummed to himself to keep awake in the interim. Somewhere deep within him the words ached to surface.

When movement began again they hid behind the doors. Centaurs searched for the missing Key, but the second they entered the Rift their magical senses drove them back. There was something wrong lurking just out of sight, marked only by puddles of black ichor and a quiet sound; a low, slow tune, humming almost imperceptibly in the nothingness, quiet enough to be mistaken for a trick of the mind.

He waited for the centaurs to leave. Waited until he heard the clack of single-set footsteps clad in metal. His delicate, tattered ears picked up four people and as if his minions had heard his thoughts they descended upon their victims so swiftly there was no chance to react. The rats they’d held onto proved useful. And then there were ten.

“Get me more.”

Ten became seventeen. In the aftermath of each transformation he wondered if the man could feel even a modicum of what he was going through. If he woke with a throbbing head, or a sore throat, or the heat of liquifying organs and the nausea of fever. How lucky was he, that he could just ignore it all. How rotten was he, that he knew he’d do the same were he the man. Once upon a time he would have said he was a good person, but—

Sure, buddy.

—clearly, he’d been wrong, and this agony had always been inevitable.

More were dragged inside; guards and the unlucky found alone. Elk did not pause to study them, spinning the center of the Key in manic haste. Skin slid from his face, irradiated into mush. He heaved so violently his legs shook. His latest victim screamed, then was no more. Elk snarled and nearly collapsed. He was hungry. Why was he so hungry?

He remembered chanterelles. He remembered spice cake, and toast with eggs, and cheerful humming and silly facts and no stupid jokes no and this isn’t deer, is it?

He howled, and slammed his head against the floor until his growing antlers vibrated. They were so heavy now, and creaked with the violent motion. They were a mark of his self-hatred. He was the purest form of it. He could not escape it. There was nothing left to do but embrace it.

More and more guards were posted just outside the Rift door. Each night they disappeared without a trace. Twenty-two. Twenty-seven.

They were attacked.

It was sudden. It was a blur. A full troop of armed soldiers invaded the Rift without any warning; they did not pause upon seeing the monstrosities inside. Elk watched two of his family fall, taken completely by surprise, before the realization of what was happening hit him.

The sound that emerged from him was deeper than any other he’d ever made, and bubbled in his throat. Then his minotaurs were moving, caught in his rage and erupting into chaos. Blood flew, roars and clangs echoed in the emptiness, and Elk spat up a piece of trachea. He watched it rot and flow away from him. And then he raised his head, trembling, desperately humming a tune that connected his magic in ways he never thought possible.

He grabbed them. Not with hands, not with minotaurs. The black gunk that had once lay in rank puddles in the void streamed together and whipped out with such speed it was almost impossible to track. The howls of his minotaurs faded into confusion, and he stared in equal fascination. He’d wanted to stop them, and he had. Of course he had. His body lay in rancid ruin around them, but it was still his body and he could still use it.

The minotaurs stepped back, willed away by their leader as he lurched his way towards the soldiers, who struggled in useless fervor against the tar that bound them. He tightened his hold. Four. All in all, he’d lost four.

His family could be killed. If he let them, they’d kill them all, and he’d be alone again. A shudder rattled its way through his body, sending ichor raining down. No. He could not allow this.

“Thank you,” his deep voice rang in the silence, “for volunteering.”

He circled his captured prey in a slow, deliberate movement. His back legs didn’t seem to want to work and trembled with each step, but the men cowered back as best they could anyway. He drank in the sight. There was something uniquely and viscerally pleasing about looming over them. For once it was not him who was forced to his knees.

Completing the circle, he made his way back to the machine. “The General sent you, didn’t he,” he went on, mostly to himself; someone began to speak but it ended with a grunt when they were grabbed. “Maybe he knows what I’m doing. Maybe he doesn’t. Doesn’t matter. He refuses to see me.”

Still bound with his liquified body, the minotaurs dragged one of the men over. Another grabbed one of the animals they’d stockpiled. Elk raked his gaze over the helmeted face, leaning forward and forcing him to stare into his blazing green gaze. He liked that part the most; that no one could ever refuse to acknowledge him ever again. 

“Welcome to the family.”

With a flash of green, another minotaur stood in his place. It rose slowly.

“I’ll make him see me,” Elk continued, ignoring the cries of horror of the man’s comrades, as comprehension sunk in. “He’ll have no choice. He’ll see me, and the Princess will come, and she’ll make this stop. She will. He won’t, but she will. She saw me. I won’t hide from her. I promised.”

Invoking the Princess felt like blasphemy. He rolled her title around in his mouth as he finished the latest minotaurs. Each flash brought more pain. More rage. More hatred. Now every time he moved, his belly sloshed and his fever rose and burning liquid he now knew was his own rotting body drained from his mouth and nose and eyes and anus. He was disgusting. He was grotesque. He always had been.

There is no turning back.

No.

Beast!

Yes.

He sent groups into the woods he’d once hidden in with a friend whose sad eyes he fought to banish from his mind. They returned with information and more victims.

The next time they were attacked he was ready, and he didn’t even have to do that much. The minotaur posted just outside the door darted in with a warning and their training took over. His family was looking more and more like an army.

He rooted out leftover rations and inhaled them. His minotaurs brought food back from their excursions and he chased the bottomless pit his body had become. He tasted nothing but rot. The comforting feeling of being full vanished almost as soon as it came. His gut was empty, each turn of the Key draining energy and sustenance. Magical radiation from an unfinished and largely untested invention was decaying him from the inside out. He wasn’t consuming enough to sustain it.

The lullaby hung over his head; saturated the stale air; moved when he did. It was the song of a friend who had been taken from him and he was seized with the desire to make sure everyone would hear. All would suffer knowing the touch of someone they would never know; someone they had torn from this uncaring world without thought.

A rabbit died on the journey back to the Rift, its delicate body overcome with terror. The creatures fought over it, but Elk took the body and dismissed them. The scent, still fresh, was familiar. Before he knew it it was in his mouth. The fur tickled his melted nose but under that, fresh meat tore and bone snapped. Once upon a time he would have been disgusted. He was beyond that now.

As he chewed, unable to taste but filling his senses with the memory, they were attacked a third time.

Elk raised his head at the filtered cries from beyond the door, rabbit dangling from his mouth. The minotaurs moved swiftly in preparation. Thick shields burst through the glowing portal, taking on the brunt of defensive attacks and providing cover for their comrades. Both sides rallied and, just as Elk was getting ready to punish their transgression, a gleaming decked-out figure appeared behind them.

Elk stared at him across the blankness of the void. No. It couldn't be.

The figure stared back. Then he removed his helmet.

The sight of the General’s hated face jarred Elk from shocked realization into complete mental standstill. The rabbit fell from his mouth. Everything faded into white noise, a buzzing that then rose to a roar. Except it was him, the sound tearing his rotting throat.

Soldiers and minotaurs clashed. Elk rocketed forward, fixated on the man. His other half stood there in the middle of the chaos in frozen shock as the monster approached.

By the time he’d snapped out of it the beast was upon him. It was wretchedly easy to parry the almost-too-late halfhearted swing of his sword with the tangle of gnarled antlers. Hands grappled uselessly at oily, matted fur. Elk reared, dislodging the man that had once tossed him effortlessly into a pond, and dropped, slamming the General so hard into the floor his own chest compressed. The reminder of their connection blinded him with hatred.

The fight was a blur. The General rolled to avoid lashing hooves and scrambled back, unable to get a moment’s respite against his inhuman half. His soldiers fell to weapons and to capture. And then he was gone, leaving Elk thrashing, searching, heaving. Bile rose and burned and splashed amidst his howls of fury. His eyes were full of the gleaming blue of the portal—he’d run! The bastard had run!

Of course he had.

Extending his neck, he roared his fury, clawing the floor and barely managing to stop himself from following. Heaving, he backed slowly away from the portal. Someone made a noise and he whipped his head around at the now-dead or -captured soldiers. The exploding pain and deafening crack in his spine suggested the movement should have killed him.

The worst part of it all, the stupefied look upon his nemesis’ face could have easily been him. Was him. It was him on the other side, shocked, unable to fathom a piece of himself dismissed as a mere animal being behind anything of consequence. He really was stupid. Had he always been so stupid?

Dumbest smart person I’ve ever…

He clawed the memory out of his head with his hooves. Tore flesh from his own face. Vomited up something that looked like it could have once been an organ. Drowned out his own thoughts with the lullaby and added the soldiers to his family, the radiation rotting away his flesh. And then stood, willing the room to stop spinning as the effects settled and madness and lack of sleep and hunger unraveled his mind. He welcomed the distraction.

The rabbit lay, unrecognizable, in a pool of blood. He fell upon it, as ravenous as the day of his escape, shoving as much as he could into a mouth that drooled as much as it took in. His teeth scraped the nothing of the floor. A piece fell out one side of his mouth and he snapped it up again. The fuel cooled the rage egged on by starvation. That’s what it was, starvation. He’d felt it before. Now, no matter how much he packed into his stomach, it had returned.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. He was so very wrong. He’d always been wrong. He’d fought it for so long and now it was finally time to bathe in those waters, acknowledge it; face it head-on. There was something immensely freeing about simple acceptance. 

Deep beneath the heavy ocean that had long since closed over his head, the feeble song of a desperate man echoed. He allowed that twisting in his chest, those last vestiges of his morality to writhe, and chuckled to himself about how easy it was to just let his own thoughts cry it out.

“More,” he hissed.

He’d thought himself to be that drowning man. He’d thought he was clinging to someone who finally loved him. But no. The heaviness he’d felt was actually lightness. The sickness was reality; the beast, truth. He was the depths that had caused this destruction of body and soul. He was the clawing current that had dragged him from his love’s heart. It was his own hubris that had separated him and his friend. And continued existence was his punishment; one that he deserved until he could make things right again.

“Strike not one place twice. Scatter his forces.”

He would find his Princess. He was not entitled to the grace of her presence, no; he was far beyond redemption. But she was the only being in existence who he trusted with his whole heart to deliver justice.

The touch of her hands had been so warm in the dark of the cell. He’d been so cold. That was before she realized what he was. And he’d ruined it.

The touch of her hands had been so warm in the frozen winter. He’d been so cold. That was even after she realized what he was. And he’d ruined it.

The ghosts pressed upwards with every hoof that hit the ground. Downwards from the weight of antlers upon his skull. Moaned through tattered ears with each dizzying, nauseating turn of the Key. He hummed through it all, clinging to the gentle lullaby swimming its way through the suffocating darkness surrounding his torn soul.

No, he realized. He was not that man anymore. He was no longer grasping for hands that were not there. Instead of being crushed, he was the one doing the crushing. He was the pressure. He was the current. He was the deep dark; he was the one rushing into lungs until he couldn’t feel the cold anymore; until the pathetic struggle of a wretched animal finally gave in.

He wasn’t a man, drowning. He was the ocean.