Chapter Text
The first time they see her, she is a star on the horizon. A flicker of white adorning a distant ridge, that one of the men points to and exclaims, “Do you see that?!”
Of course, but the time anyone has paused to squint after his finger, the star has winked and vanished.
Eyrie takes advantage of the distraction and stops. She rolls her shoulders, unsticking her leather harness from her hide. She lifts alternating hooves, providing brief relief for her sore feet. The day has been long. Dusk paints the western sky purple and orange, but she reckons they have another mile or so of travel before resting for the night. She does not care about whatever it is that has the men occupied. Nonetheless, she is grateful for the momentary respite.
“What is it?” another man asks, still peering at the vacant ridge.
“I think I saw the Phantom!”
---
The second time they see her, it is too bright for stars. Sunlight makes the sky and earth yellow. Instead, she is a scrap of cloud flitting over the hills. A fickle cloud. She disappears and reappears. Sometimes closer, sometimes further.
This time, Eyrie notices her long before the men do. She keeps the white figure in her peripheral. Though she lacks the men's fascination with the Phantom, searching for her among the scraggly brush is something to do. It breaks up the monotony of pulling her wagon all day.
Eventually, someone shouts. The procession turns its collective head. There is she is, off to the left. It is the nearest she has come yet; she stands some several stone-throws away. Still far enough that distance fuzzes details. But there is no mistaking the snow-white doe.
They have, indeed, found the Phantom.
The men bicker amongst themselves. Once again, Eyrie is indebted to the white doe for providing her a break. She wishes the men would at least argue quietly, but as she watches the Phantom with eyes half-lidded in weariness, she spares a thought of thanks for her rescuer-of-sorts. Her ear flicks sluggishly to ward off the yelling.
Minutes pass. Finally, one of the men breaks away from the group. He steps slowly off the trail, knees bent to make himself smaller.
He does not make it far. He gets one, maybe two wagon-lengths closer to the Phantom before her head bolts upright. Everyone freezes. In the resounding silence, Eyrie almost snorts: some of the men are holding their breath.
The Phantom raises one delicate forelimb off the ground.
Later, the man who attempted the approach would be berated. One person claims they saw him make a sudden movement. Another thinks they heard him make a noise that must have startled the doe. In reality, nothing had disturbed the stillness. At least nothing that Eyrie had noticed. Rather, for no reason in particular, the Phantom turned, ran. And was gone.
---
The third time they see her, she is as her namesake.
One moment there is nothing. The next, a ghost haunts the edge of the firelight. The men startle when they see her, but are quick to shh each other into quietness. They stare. The fire crackles. The Phantom stands and watches them all with eyes like embers.
There is no need for debate this time. The man who came second in the last argument stands to approach the white doe. Eyrie, folded up on the brittle grass next to her wagon, picks up her head to watch him go, half interested.
The man moves like crawling amber, the crunch of gravel under his footfalls a reminder that time has not, in fact, slowed to match him. For the Phantom, it is the barest pulsing under her throat that proves time moves for her at all.
The fire, at least, moves at the correct speed. Though the Phantom's back half is lost to blue-black night, her front half glows in flickering light. Her antlers shine smooth and pearly.
When the man's shadow reaches the edge of her feet, he stretches out his hand toward her, eyes wide with equal parts disbelief and hope. She does not move until his fingers have almost met her nose. Then her nostrils quiver.
The man freezes. The Phantom inhales, her nostrils flaring just enough for the hairs of her nose to brush his fingers.
The second stretches. But before the man can figure out what to do with it, can appreciate the ghost of velvet under his fingertips, the Phantom rips away. A flash of hooves, a spray of dirt upon his knees, and where there was a specter of a deer, there is now only empty air. And the sound of hoofbeats rapidly disappearing into darkness.
---
The men do not see her a fourth time.
But Eyrie does.
Once more, she comes at night. Later in the night. Much later. When she finally arrives, the fire has burnt itself to a dull, ruddy glow. The men sleep soundly, if the snoring is anything to be believed. Eyrie sleeps less soundly. A pebble tumbling past her nose awakens her.
She blinks blearily at the pebble. Instinct draws her gaze upward, to where the Phantom looms. This time, stars illuminate her, rather than flames. She is silver against the ink-black sky.
Eyrie does not lift her head to greet the newcomer. She waits. When the silence goes unfilled, she says:
"I think your audience is asleep."
The Phantom starts, but she's quick to collect herself. "You look awake to me," she replies, voice light with humor.
Eyrie snorts and closes her eyes.
"Oh come on, that was funny!" the Phantom protests. But Eyrie does not respond.
The Phantom stamps and complains some more, but not for long. When Eyrie awakens again in the morning, all that remains of her are hoof prints.
---
The fifth time, Eyrie asks, "Is this gonna be a thing with you?"
The Phantom huffs. "You could try to appreciate it. I'm the most interesting thing that's happened to you for days and days and days."
"And you know so much about my life," Eyrie responds dryly.
"Looks like a lot of lugging this thing around," the Phantom retorts, snapping a glossy hoof at the wagon.
Eyrie glances about, to see if anyone has noticed their spectral guest. Though the wagon mostly blocks the Phantom from view, she is stark and luminous in the night.
The camp slumbers. All is quiet save for snores and the stilted coughs of a dying fire. No need to worry.
"Do you usually spend this much time bothering pack deer?" Eyrie asks, turning her attention back to her starlit visitor.
"I do when they're pretty," the Phantom says with a wink.
"Mmm," Eyrie hums, unimpressed. A life of pulling wagons has left her stocky with muscle and scruffy where her harness chafes her. Pretty she is not.
"And so clearly bored," the Phantom continues, oblivious to Eyrie's incredulity. "I couldn't possibly just leave you like this. Wounds my heart, it does."
"So you're here to rescue me," Eyrie deadpans, although amusement now tickles the corners of her mouth, "how chivalrous."
The Phantom bobs her head with earnestness that is either genuine or well-acted, and despite herself, Eyrie almost laughs. "Alright Phantom," she says, "what's the plan?"
Slender white ears perk upright. "Really?" Phantom says, before quickly recovering. "I mean. You'll have to follow me to find out!"
Eyrie considers. There is a long day behind her and a long day ahead of her. Lost sleep will be greatly missed.
On the other hand. Phantom isn't wrong. She is bored.
"Lead the way, oh great rescuer," Eyrie says, unfolding herself from the ground. Maybe it's trust, maybe it's laziness, but Eyrie has never given the men trouble and they've long since stopped bothering to tie her up at night. Nothing impedes her as she steps out toward Phantom.
Phantom beams and springs ahead, light as air over the grass and rocks, a liquid silver dart. As Eyrie gathers speed behind her, she feels as though she is chasing a shooting star.
---
"I just don't understand why you keep going back," Phantom complains. Not for the first time.
By now, Eyrie has lost count of Phantom's nighttime visits. Sometimes, when Eyrie truly lacks the energy, they do nothing but talk quietly by the wagon until Eyrie inevitably falls asleep. But usually they go wandering under Phantom's guidance. Eyrie has to admit, Phantom knows how to choose a location. Tonight they recline under a vaulting stone arc and a glittering sky. Before them, the desert swoops downward and flattens, then rises here and into great pillars of earth.
Truthfully, the landscape is not all that different from what passes by Eyrie's group in their travels. But it's been a long time since she's thought of the world as more than the road before her wagon and the occasional stable.
"Well, they'd have a hard time getting that wagon anywhere without me, wouldn't they?" Eyrie deadpans, already bored of the conversation. She only has so much time to spend out here. She'd rather spend it admiring the view -- or admiring Phantom -- than retreading arguments that go nowhere.
"Oh, fuck them!" Phantom snarls.
Eyrie's ears jolt back. The venom is new. Words fail her, but not Phantom.
"You spend all day pulling that stupid wagon and for what, exactly? You don't enjoy it. You're exhausted every night, you're bored, you have to wear that awful harness-"
"The harness isn't that bad!"
Phantom snorts. "Whatever you say. Personally, if anyone tried to put that thing on me I'd be happy to introduce them to the pointier parts of my antlers. Actually, that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask, why don't you have antlers?"
The answer is simple. Every year, after Eyrie's velvet sheds, the men have her lie down while they get the saw. Eyrie won't pretend to enjoy it. No matter how careful the men are, there's always tugging on her skull, vibrations rattling right through her skeleton, and a terrible noise bypassing her ears to go straight inside her head. But it's painless, and it's quick, and Eyrie's learned to endure it easily enough. She certainly doesn't mind the treats she gets after the ordeal.
Somehow, she doesn't imagine Phantom will take that answer well.
"I just don't," Eyrie says with a shrug. Not liking Phantom's incredulous look, she changes subjects. "Look, you're not being fair. I don't do this because I like it. It's an exchange. I deal with the dumb wagon, they keep me safe and fed. Seems a pretty good deal to me."
"You know, plenty of us survive just fine without debasing ourselves to the menfolk," Phantom snipes.
"And plenty of you don't."
"Heavens above! What the hell are you so afraid of?!"
"Oh, I don't know. Starving. Predators. Getting a rock stuck in my hoof and not being able to get it out. Stuff like that," Eyrie replies blandly.
Phantom sneers. "And it's so much better to live a coward than to die free."
Eyrie goes quiet. She stares at Phantom, her face void of expression. When her voice returns, it's gone hard and frigid. "I won't be ashamed of not wanting to be die, Phantom."
The silence stretches again. Both does glare at each other.
They never find out who would have been the first to speak. Shouts arise from down the hill. Eyrie, recognizing the voices, swears.
"Shit, I have to go," she says, leaping up to her feet.
"Of course. Ever the dutiful servant," grumbles Phantom.
Eyrie grits her teeth. She doesn't have time for this. The shouts are growing louder; she can make out her name among the calls now. "You can talk to me after you've cooled down, alright?"
She turns to leave, but Phantom's voice follows her.
"They'll hurt you, you know."
Eyrie stops, nose twitching, one hoof raised in the air.
"I just don't want you to get hurt," Phantom whispers. Something soft and pleading colors her words.
"Thank you," Eyrie says, as gently as she can, "but you don't know what you're talking about."
For the first time, Eyrie is the one who bounds away.
---
It's several days before Eyrie sees Phantom again. Or at least, sees her up close. Eyrie catches glimpses of white here and there. Always distant, always quick to disappear, always during the day.
Eyrie doesn't blame her. The men have become more watchful at night.
Only after a day spent slogging through rain and mud do the men collapse sound asleep once they put up camp. Eyrie, though also exhausted, does not fall asleep. She waits. And waits. And waits.
Just as she's made up her mind to stop waiting, Phantom slips out of the night. Somehow, her moon-kissed pelt gleams spotlessly. Eyrie suddenly feels self-conscious and shabby. She has not yet bothered to clean herself off. Though the rain has stopped, the ground is still sodden, and there is nowhere for her to lie down but in the muck. Mud, both wet and dried, splatters her rump.
"You're back!" Eyrie breathes, half relieved and half annoyed that she sounds so relieved.
Phantom seems not to notice. Instead she creeps forward, head lowering, eyes narrowing.
"What's that?" asks Phantom, peering distastefully at Eyrie's neck.
"Oh." Eyrie shifts uncomfortably, unsuccessfully trying to hide the rope tying her to the wagon. "They um. I guess they were worried I'd wander off again."
"After all you've done for them," Phantom mutters. She straightens. "Alright. Let's get that off you."
"Wait wait wait!" Eyrie cries.
Phantom pauses, her antler already hooked around the rope. "What?"
"If they find the rope undone in the morning they're only going to be more careful tomorrow," Eyrie explains.
Understanding is slow coming, but when it does, it strikes Phantom like thunder. "You're staying?!"
Eyrie winces at the disbelief on Phantom's face. "Look, I'm glad you're happy being free. But not all of use are cut out for it. I was born in a stable, I don't-"
"Know any different, so obviously, the only logical thing to do is resign yourself to being treated like shit forever."
"They're not unkind," Eyrie says quietly. Her days have their share of soft words spoken and scratches behind her ears. Treats delivered in open palms, a brush scrubbing hide newly freed of her harness. Her first lightning storm, she still remembers hands holding her steady.
"But they won't even let you wander around at night when you aren't needed."
Instead of answering, Eyrie stares at the dirt.
"I know it's all unknown," Phantom says, her voice softening, "but I promise you'll do fine without them."
Before Eyrie can respond, a rustle sounds from the camp. Phantom snaps around, ears pricked, nose flaring, shoulders tensing.
"Phantom," Eyrie whispers. But then one of the men coughs, and that's all it takes. Phantom tears away, and Eyrie can do nothing but watch her go.
---
More days pass. The men are too vigilant. Phantom does not come.
Eyrie devotes her waking hours to scanning the horizon. The nights crawl by. Each empty hour leaves her more restless than the last.
By the time Phantom returns, she's made a decision.
The moment Phantom steps into view, Eyrie cranes forward as far as her rope will allow. They touch noses in greeting. Days and days and days worth of tension melt out of Eyrie's shoulders. She closes her eyes with a sigh.
After she's gathered the courage to speak, Eyrie asks, "Do you really think I can survive out there?"
Phantom twitches in surprise, but she's quick to recover. She slides her face along Eyrie's. Their cheeks press together.
"I do."
Eyrie gives herself a moment longer to savor the touch.
"Alright," Eyrie says, once she's ready. She pulls away and bares her throat obligingly.
Taking off the rope proves a tedious task. Phantom tugs, she tugs, she chews the knot, she tugs some more. Eventually they loosen the loop enough to slip it over Eyrie's head.
Eyrie takes her first steps away from the wagon with her heart thundering in her ears. Never before has Eyrie been so painfully aware of the gulf between her and her wild counterpart. Tame deer like her are bred for strength, not stealth. Every rustled leaf and dislodged pebble sets her teeth on edge. Meanwhile, Phantom dances around her like a tongue of silver flame, lithe and soundless even in the sun-browned grass.
But Eyrie is still a deer. What her fear makes loud is easily lost among cricket-song and the hushing breeze. With Phantom nosing her along, she makes away from the camp without alerting the men.
Phantom lets Eyrie know they've made it by way of sprinting ahead. Eyrie cries a wordless protest, but chases after her all the same. Doubt becomes exhilaration becomes giddiness. It takes everything Eyrie has to keep up with Phantom, and even so it's only because Phantom checks her pace. But Eyrie has only ever run like this with Phantom, and the novelty, the rush, has yet to wear off. Somehow, Eyrie finds the air to laugh.
The two collapse some time later into a dimple in the earth. Eyrie's sides heave with the force of her pants. While she recovers, Phantom, winded but not quite so breathless, leans over and kisses Eyrie's ears.
"You're gonna have to build up your stamina, aren't you?" Phantom says cheekily.
Eyrie kicks at Phantom with a shaky hind leg. "You're the worst."
The kick is all theatrics; Phantom takes it with a laugh. Eyrie watches her with a dizziness brought on by more than air loss. Mirth makes a sweeping curve of Phantom's neck. Behind her, the night sky has never been so vast. So bright. So colorful. Blue and purple and white hug Phantom's edges in jewel tones.
Like Phantom, Eyrie is white, but incompletely so. Brown spatters her face and legs. Before, she thought the patchy spotting marked her as tame. No wild deer looks like her; human meddling created her coloration. But now, she wonders if she shines too.
"What?" Phantom asks, eyeing Eyrie's expression.
"Nothing." Eyrie schools her face into something more neutral. "Just an exciting night."
Phantom chuckles as she nuzzles the underside of Eyrie's chin. "Do you need to sleep? You've got a big day tomorrow too."
At her words, Eyrie's spree of sleepless nights hit her all at once. Her head droops onto Phantom's. "Mmmmmf. Maybe."
"Go to sleep, idiot."
"Mmmmmm," Eyrie replies, wiggling into Phantom's side. To her delight, Phantom begins grooming her. The slow, rhythmic strokes of her tongue only lull Eyrie deeper into stupor.
When the darkness overtakes Eyrie, the last thing she remembers is Phantom's scent warm in her nose.
---
Eyrie awakens, and the sun is there but Phantom is not.
At first, Eyrie thinks nothing of it. It's late in the morning. Perhaps Phantom was thirsty. Or hungry. Or just wanted to take a walk. Eyrie stretches and yawns, with plans to complain about her pillow disappearing while she slept.
But as the sun finishes its ascent, then begins to sink, Eyrie's excuses wear thin. She tries calling out for Phantom a few times. There is never an answer.
Come dusk, Eyrie hears familiar voices shouting in the distance. When the men find her, still lying in the divot, she does not bother to stop them from leading her away.