Avalon stood on the tips of his feet and peered through the barred window on the door to the armory. The room of weapons and armor was as empty of people as the courtyard. He tried to open the door, but something held it in place. A human contraption, a lock that prevented entry without a special key. It wasn’t the first time Avalon saw such a device, the elves had shown him a lock of their own, delicate and precise. Like their makers.

This human lock, by comparison, would be easy enough to disable. Focusing through the pounding in his head, Avalon unfurled a twig from the shaft of his spear and let it twist into the keyhole. There was no finesse required, the lock was a sturdy contraption, and Avalon made the twig jostle side to side. The inner mechanisms turned until the lock clicked, pulling away from the door frame and allowing the door to creak open.

Morgan’s sword was laying on the table and the spirit materialized into the armory, escaping Harold’s prison beneath earth. Simple enough. Morgan said and strapped his sword to his hip.

Someone from the direction of the prison began to shout, his voice carrying up a staircase beside the keep and into the courtyard. Soldiers ran from the keep and into the prisons, but more began streaming through the courtyard. It wouldn’t be long until they found the two spirits if they chose to remain.

Avalon and Morgan ran up a flight of stairs leading to the top of the curtain walls. It was a steep drop, but Avalon braced himself for a hard landing and jumped. He landed with a thud, his knees absorbing the shock of the impact. Morgan also landed safely, but his physical body was built more solidly than Avalon’s.

The two ran down a road between the homes grouped close to the castle, an affluent neighborhood as Isabel called it, but the clamor of hooves echoed noisily past the portcullis. Soldiers on horseback were after them. Avalon loped forward, with Morgan trailing behind, to escape their pursuers, but stopped when he caught sight of a young woman sitting on a rooftop. Avalon stopped and frowned at the startled human, her face somehow familiar, until she waved in their direction.

That is one of the humans we rescued at the ranger station, one of the adventurers. Morgan said and waved back at her.

Avalon nodded, seeing an opportunity to escape the streets while the soldiers were set loose into the city. She owes us a life debt, now would be a good time to collect.

The two spirits made their way towards the young woman’s home and Avalon knocked the butt of his spear against the door, but the leader of her adventuring party was the one to greet them. Some second or third son of something important, if Avalon recalled correctly. Behind him were other adventurers armed and ready for battle, faces illuminated grimly by magelight, but Avalon wasn’t there for a fight.

“We seek sanctuary, will you help us?” Avalon asked. He could accept their denial and continue moving on, but he was willing to kill the entire party of adventurers if they chose to run to Harold’s soldiers. Thankfully, their leader made the correct choice.

“Yeah, come on in.” The young man said, welcoming them into the living room as he closed the door behind them. “That commotion outside, I reckon that’s your doing?”

The young woman from the rooftop ran down the stairs. “What’s happening out there? Soldiers are swarming the city!”

The entire group of adventurers stood silent and stared at the two spirits, expecting an answer. Avalon jabbed a thumb at Morgan and said, “Harold intends to sell me to a merchant’s son. Now we’re running away together.”

The group’s leader trailed a hand through his hair, his brows raised with surprise, and asked his party, “Does anyone want to turn these two away? They practically saved our lives at the ranger’s station. It was good work they did.”

“We’re going to help them, right guys?” Said a woman, her tone signaling exactly how she expected the party to answer. “It’s the right thing to do. Fate put them on our path, we can’t let Lord Longfirth tear them apart.”

Everyone voiced their agreement and the woman swore she would help them escape the city, before she introduced herself. Meribeth was not the leader of the party, but she was the most outspoken among them. With robes of black accented with white, not dissimilar in coloring to the clothes the castle maids wore, she was sworn to the Sisterhood of the Black Moon, mages dedicated to the healing arts.

Avalon suspected this was related to her gregarious demeanor. Leifey had once told him that healers often needed good bedside manners, but remembering her made his heart ache for home. After escaping the city, he’d try and find a way back to the Evergreen. Though, even if he knew how to return, would they welcome him back in his current state? He was human now.

Meribeth introduced her brother, Ryman, the young man who greeted them by the door and the actual leader of their adventuring party. He was darker than his sister, tanned by the sun, and clad in shades of green with a steel cuirass over his torso. The sword on his hip marked him for a warrior, but claimed he could double as a spellcaster if needed.

Ryman was a third son of the House of Ursmark, which is how he could afford lessons in both swordsmanship and spellcasting, while Meribeth was a fourth daughter. Born to a large family with nothing to inherit, the two siblings quickly scattered to the winds once they were able. To escape the expectations placed upon them, like Avalon was attempting to do.

The woman from the rooftop, a blue mage named Shana, wore robes that matched the color of her job title. She possessed a power of water, but it was everything that she would allow Meribeth to speak of. Avalon could see the pale scars trailing across the dark skin of her cheek and jaw, like wild claws marked across an oak tree. She was a fighter in spirit, despite her supposed preference for long range magic.

The last among them was a hulking black-bearded man named Festus, by far the largest among the adventurers, his bronze mass evidently built for melee combat like Gunnar. Unlike the mysterious Shana, Festus spoke freely, but there was little for Meribeth to speak of. He was a simple man of simple pleasures, a dumb brute by Avalon’s estimations, someone he could get along with.

“There’s one more party member, Daggert, but she’s off doing something, somewhere.” Meribeth said.

Shana chuckled and added, “She’s a loner freak, only appears when there’s a job to be done.”

“Great scout though, so be nice.” Ryman said, his attempts at authority closer to an elder brother’s scolding than a leader of warriors.

Hooves trotted outside as soldiers climbed from their horses, their voices echoing closer. One man and one woman. “This is the house. I saw her, she was on the rooftop.” The woman said, as Meribeth grabbed Avalon’s hand and led him into an upstairs room, filled with felt approximations of animals stuffed with plush fabric, as Morgan followed behind.

Meribeth returned to the living room, but Avalon could still hear the voices outside. “What would someone be doing on the rooftop at night?” The man asked.

“She was wearing robes, like a mage. She was probably an adventurer, you know how those types are. Eccentric.” An armored fist knocked on the door, metal clattering with every strike. “Open up, castle business, we know you’re awake. I saw your silhouettes from the magelights on the curtains.”

The door opened and Ryman greeted his guests. “Hello, how may I help you?”

“You’re all armed and armored, how do you sleep in that?” The woman asked, overtly suspicious.

“Actually, one of my companions saw a commotion going through the rest of the town. We thought it was wise to prepare ourselves for a mob. Things got pretty bad during a riot in the capital. My family has an estate there, perhaps you’ve heard of them? House Ursmark.”

“Noble’s son, eh? Sorry to intrude, my name is Hilda, and this is my partner, James. We’re looking for two people. A man and a young woman.”

“I recognize these guys, they visited the lord’s castle. Stayed for the night after rescuing Lady Aurora.” James said.

“Is that so? Well, if you or your companion happen to see anything suspicious, please report it to the castle. A rogue named Morgan escaped from the castle prison and kidnapped our lord’s daughter. We would appreciate any cooperation.”

“Actually, Morgan was walking with all of you to the castle, wasn’t he? As part of the hired escort.”

Ryman quickly interjected. “That man is NOT affiliated with our party in any way. If we see him, I swear on the honor of my noble house that I will personally deliver that scoundrel to the castle for judgment.”

“Good to hear. Have a nice night and stay safe.” The woman said.

She and her comrade walked to their horses and the sound of hooves trotted away, afterwhich Meribeth brought them back downstairs. Ryman explained that there wasn’t much the party could do for them, but were willing to let them stay the night. Meribeth pleaded with her brother, but he wasn’t willing to compromise the safety of the party any further than they already had.

“The castle’s prisons?” Ryman was incredulous. “You didn’t tell me you were a fucking criminal. What did you do?”

“I committed no crimes. Lord Longfirth had me arrested while I was eating boar stew.” Morgan explained, using Harold’s title as a gesture of respect. Despite being hunted by soldiers in Harold’s employ, who meant to return him to his prison if not kill him outright.

“We were having a good time at a tavern.” Avalon added. “Harold called it a scandal.”

“I didn’t believe it, but that rumor about you two causing a public disturbance in a tavern was true?”

“If you call drunken festivities a public disturbance, then yes.”

“Wasn’t that during the middle of the day? The rumors say you got shitfaced.” Shana said, nose wrinkling with thought, but Festus laughed heartily.

“Sounds like a good time!” The big man said. “Next time, invite me and I will help you drink all of their beer and ale. Not just the wine!”

“Is that part true also?” Shana asked.

Avalon shrugged. “I do not keep track of how much I drink.”

“In any event, we can’t harbor two fugitives. With one being an actual criminal that could get the rest of us hanged.” Ryman said with finality, his experience as leader of a warparty emerging from beneath his youthful face. “Now, you two should get some sleep. When the sun rises, you have to be gone.”

“Where will they sleep?” Meribeth asked, pouting.

“I was going to let them sleep in the living room, but it’s too risky. Soldiers might return, see them through a gap in the curtains, or just kick down the doors and find them on the couches. They have to sleep in Daggert’s room, she’s probably going to shack up somewhere else again.”

“Thank you for this kindness.” Avalon said.

Life debt or no, he could acknowledge that Ryman was risking his life, and the lives of his comrades, by sheltering those hunted by soldiers. Ryman merely nodded and walked up the stairs as he unfastened his cuirass. Meribeth was the one who escorted the Avalon and Morgan to their room for the night.

The room they had been hiding in stank of Meribeth, or so Morgan claimed. Unlike her room, her personal den, which was furnished and decorated for someone who lived in it, Daggert’s room was unadorned. It contained no other furnishings than a bed and a drawer. An empty frame hung on the wall, outlining the bare wall beneath.

“Try not to stay up all night. It’s important to get some sleep for the road ahead.” Meribeth’s cheeks were pink as she closed the door behind her, leaving Avalon and Morgan alone for the night.

Standing silent and listening to the music of the crickets chirping outside, Avalon waited until Morgan assured him that the adventurers had fallen asleep in their rooms. He stepped onto the bed, still wearing his boots, and swung his spear through the air. With his magic enhancing his body, he had no need for such a thing as sleep. He would wait a few hours, awake and conscious of the time, before he risked climbing onto the roof to check the situation in the rest of the city.

We must leave if the soldiers return to the castle, as soon as possible, in case Ryman chooses to betray us to Harold.

I do not believe Ryman will betray us to Harold. He has honor, I saw as much during his conduct at the ranger’s station. He fought bravely to protect others.

I do not have a good history with brave human warriors. We should not give him the chance to betray us. Avalon corrected himself. I will not give him the chance.

You forget, you are a human warrior also. You are no longer what you were.

I am enough! Avalon swung the blade of his spear in Morgan’s direction, perilously close to his neck. The spirit only looked at him with dark eyes and an absent stare, before his gaze darted to the window.

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Someone approaches. Morgan walked to the door to the balcony and placed his sword beside it, before discorporating into it.

Avalon stood on the bed, his spear ready. A silhouette moved on the curtain covering the balcony door, kneeling in front of the knob. The lock turned gently until it clicked, and a woman clad in black strolled in. Off-black, not as dark as Sparrow, but close enough. Her hat obscured her face, but her head jerked towards the sight of Avalon’s feet on the bed.

The woman raised her head, revealing her face and returning Avalon’s gaze, and she pulled one of many knives from her belt with practiced ease. She raised it to the air, as if to throw it, but Morgan emerged from his sword behind her and grabbed the woman’s wrist. The woman gasped, shocked by his sudden appearance and screamed, “Ryman!”

Avalon jumped from the bed and brought the blade of his spear to the woman’s neck. She knows the human adventurer. Something hummed around her neck, something familiar.

Yes, I believe this is the woman they called “Daggert”.

Within the span of a few heartbeats, Ryman burst through the door with his sword raised. Awoken from sleep, he was in a human man’s approximation of a nightgown, or so Avalon believed, his long sleeved shirt hung open down the front. The others followed after him. Shana, still in her robes; Festus, in a strap of cloth that covered his groins; and Meribeth, in an actual nightgown. Her arms were crossed over her chest, barely concealed under her arms, but nobody scolded her for a lack of propriety.

“You are friends.” Morgan stated and released Daggert’s wrist, after Avalon gave his consent.

“Colleague. We’re in the same party of adventurers.” Daggert pulled roughly away, but the subtle hum of magic was unmistakable now. “What the hell is going on, Ryman? There are soldiers all over the city, looking for Lord Longfirth’s daughter and her kidnapper.” She stared pointedly at Morgan, but Avalon was fixated on the woman’s necklace.

Avalon pointed at the magic resting on Daggert’s chest. “What is that? Let me see it.”

“See what?” Daggert lifted her necklace, pulling it free from under her shirt to reveal a glass vial, caged in iron, that contained a shard of wood. It glowed with golden light. Small, but resonated with the Evergreen’s power. “This?”

Avalon dashed forward with a snarl and seized the necklace. “Where did you get this? Tell me!”

Daggert grabbed Avalon’s wrist, but she could not prevent him from tearing the necklace from her neck. Her human hands no watch for the Beast-King of the Evergreen. She made angry noises at him, but he was transfixed on the shard of wood. Insignificant for its size, compared to the forests, but the first vestiges of home that he’d seen since he was pulled into the Sacred Tree’s roots.

The shard glowed brighter in his hands and Daggert raised a hand over her face. “It’s glowing.” She said, as if she could just now see the shard’s light.

Meribeth exclaimed over the murmurs around her. “Aurora, you’ve got antlers!”

Avalon felt almost himself then, but it lasted only a moment. The light dimmed as the small reserve of the Evergreen’s magic was subsumed into the energy already swirling through his body. It made him stronger, but was diluted in the magic he had absorbed from Morgan’s forest home.

Shana raised a hand to illuminate the dim room with the gentle glow of her magic. “What was that just now?” She asked, but Avalon had questions of his own.

“The shard. Where did it come from?” Avalon readied his spear and Morgan stood to his side, carrying his sword. It was still in its scabbard, but Morgan gripped its handle, ready to pull the blade free.

Lost in thought, Daggert slumped against the wall and rubbed at her chest, where the shard might’ve rested had it still hung from her neck. “The guild-” Her voice caught in her throat, but she coughed and scowled at Avalon. “It’s a shard of the Elderwood from the Academy dungeon.”

“Where is this dungeon? I must find wherever that shard came from.” It could lead Avalon home.

Ryman sheathed his sword as he spoke. “It’s in the capital, but you can’t just walk in. It’s guarded by academy staff, plus a detachment of the prince’s household guards. They’ll stop you.”

“They can try.”

“There are many strong adventurers in the capital.” Festus said, grudging respect in his voice. “Very strong. I think, maybe, too strong for you.”

Shana yawned and added, “Even if you somehow make it past the guards, the adventurers will pursue you into the dungeon. On the small chance you make it in, there’s a definitive chance you won’t make it out.”

That was the plan, to use the Elderwood to return home, but Avalon wasn’t sure if he could take such a risk. To be on the cusp of victory, only to be killed by lesser creatures. It had happened once already, purely through his own carelessness. Killed by humans. Again. The thought made Avalon scowl.

“How does one gain access to the dungeon?” He asked.

“Daggert would know. She’s the only one that’s been.” Meribeth said and looked to the woman in black, who shook her head and sighed.

“The guild got special permission for me after I completed one of their special assignments. I helped locate a camp of ogres that were raiding villages along the Renne, but I was enrolled at the Academy then.”

“Enrolled? What is enrolled?”

“To join, to become a part of. It’s a school, didn’t your father teach you anything?”

“There are many things my lady does not remember after her recent recovery from sickness.” Morgan said and Avalon nodded his agreement.

Daggert threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m getting a drink from the cellar, I won’t be interrogated in my own room. We’ll talk more downstairs.”

In the living room, Daggert lounged on a sofa and poured a pitcher of wine into a cup. Meribeth prepared a cup for Avalon as well, at his request, and the two sipped their drinks while everyone else remained dry. Daggert spoke of the requirements to enter the academy dungeon, enrollment at the academy being the primary requirement.

It seemed simple enough, but she emphasized that the dungeon was intended to be a reward for excellence or as part of a student’s final test before graduation. Not to mention, the requirements to actually enroll. She spoke of scholarships and testing, for the lower nobility or wealthy merchants, and Avalon had to consider that he had been barely literate. Even for a centaur.

“But Aurora is a count’s daughter, high nobility. She can just enroll if she has the money.” Meribeth said, but Ryman interjected.

“Lord Longfirth has the money. And she’ll still need his permission to enroll.”

“Not necessarily.” Shana crossed her legs. “She can secure the guild as a patron and bypass Lord Longfirth altogether.”

“And risk the lord’s wrath? He doesn’t exactly have a reputation for meekness.” Avalon thought the man seemed tepid enough, but Ryman had free range of the city. Perhaps he’d heard things that Avalon was unaware of.

“The guild would love to have Longfirth’s daughter as a client. It would expand their influence in the city and diminish his.” Daggert swished the wine in her cup, moving it around and around.

Shana nodded in agreement. “But they’d need a good excuse to move against him. Something that can convince the people of the city that she’s worthy of patronage. A display of valor, of heroism, that puts her name on people’s lips. And not for gossip and scandals.”

“There’s a decent bounty that involves hunting a white stag that’s been attacking adventurers to the north, very aggressive. She and Morgan would have to do it without us, too many people, but it would provide the guild with the excuse they need. Plus some coin, which they can share with us.” Daggert smiled viciously. “For our generous help.”

Ryman sighed and rested a foot on the short table in the living room. “It has to be enough that, if Longfirth tries to seize her, it’ll cause unrest in the city. Riots, even. An unjust lord that places a promising young woman under arrest, blood or no, isn’t a reputation that’s easy to wipe clean.”

Meribeth pushed her brother’s foot off the table with her own. “Surely he wouldn’t do that to his own daughter, right?”

“Only Aurora can say for sure, what happens from here is her choice. I can make contact with the guild master, he should be willing to listen to me, but Aurora will have to put in the work.”

“I’ve hunted stags before, easy prey. Why does it’s color matter?” Avalon said.

“It’s big, like a destrier, supposedly a warhorse in its own right. You’ll see.”

At the first hint of dawn, before the adventurers woke from their sleep, Avalon climbed to the roof. Dark blue skies were cut by orange along the horizon as the sun was rising. The city still stank of Man’s filth, but it was peaceful without their kind moving about the streets. A breeze blew in from the sea, fresh and clear.

“Good luck.” Daggert said from the balcony, staring at the nest of birds resting on a nearby tree.

Small, pink hatchlings chirped softly as their parents regurgitated food into their mouths. For humans it was still early in the morning, but nature was wide awake. As was Avalon’s prey, the white stag that earned its notoriety from vanquishing humans trespassing into its forest. As he once did.

Avalon leaped into the air to land on the neighboring roof, Morgan landing beside him, and humans startled awake from the noise. Footsteps stormed towards the window, unlatched and opened it, but Avalon was on the next house before he could hear the words they called out. From one rooftop to the next, he leaped his way across the city and made his way north with Morgan easily keeping pace.

When they neared the walls, soldiers turned to point and shout, “Stop! What are you two doing there? Get off that roof!” So Avalon and Morgan complied.

They leapt onto the walls and bells in a nearby tower rang. The soldiers readied their weapons and advanced towards the trespassers on their wall, commanding that they surrender themselves to their authority, and the two spirits jumped to the ground below. Voices called for the watch commander, but whoever they were, they’d be too late.

Avalon ran from the walls, feeling himself growing stronger with every bounding step that moved him closer to the wild forests of the North. As his connection with the forest strengthened, its magic filling his body, so did his senses. There was a scent of blood and smoke in the air and Avalon followed it to the ruins of a caravan.

It was similar to the one Avalon had been in, while riding in his carriage, but there were more wagons. Items might’ve been stored in their holds, items plundered from the forest, but only scraps remained now. The wagons themselves were left abandoned, wheels broken off in the mud.

The wood along their surfaces were scorched and broken apart, burned by some fire that left the rest of the forest untouched, and rough holes dotted the areas where they were impaled by strong antlers. A wagon had also been flipped upside-down, its center caved in by hooves. A centaur, like Avalon had been, might’ve been able to perform the feat, however big the wagons were, but for a stag to do such a thing?

The forest senses our intent. The stag knows we’re coming.

Let him run, our hunt is just beginning.

He’s not running. Do you smell him?

Avalon sniffed the air and followed the stag’s musky scent. It grew stronger on the wind as it approached its challenger. The stag wanted the fight as much as he did and met him in a glade, wide open and surrounded by trees like an arena of their own. Fur pale as snow and eyes red like blood, the stag dug his rear hooves into the ground with thundering force. It kicked back and as he shook his head, snorting his defiance.

The antlers extended from his skull like trees, their branches well-used but sharp. This stag had made himself the prince of this glade, successfully defending his realm from human trespassers, but Avalon was the Beast-King of the whole of the Evergreen. Morgan returned to his sword and Avalon set him aside, taking up his spear in both hands. The forest around them rustled in the wind as its magic flowed through both challengers, impartial spectators to the duel that was to come.

Avalon trudged forward, step by step, realizing how large the stag truly was as he approached. Larger and thicker than any destrier he’d ever seen the humans ride into battle, the stag stood twice as tall as Avalon’s new body. Three times as tall if he included the antlers that crowned the stag’s head. They were magnificent and shimmered in the light, but Avalon tasted metal in the air as the antlers fizzled.

The stag almost seemed to laugh as strings of light zapped between the points of each antler, drawing magic from the forest and changing it. Magic built between the antlers and Avalon had seen such magic practiced by elves. He jumped to the side and rolled over the grass as a bolt of lightning shot at the ground where he’d been standing. It burst apart the ground, burning dirt and grass alike to leave nothing but a smoking crater.

Avalon charged forward and leaped into the air, swinging his spear at the stag’s head, but antlers intercepted its black blade. The edge glanced off a spike and caught between two branches of bone. The stag raised himself on his hind legs, pulling Avalon further into the air. As the stag’s front legs returned to the ground, it swung its head forward. The force of the swing through Avalon across the glade, bouncing along the ground as he hugged the shaft of his spear.

The magic of the forest strengthened his body, so his rolling tumble left him bruised and bleeding instead of dead. Meanwhile, the stag’s natural strength better contained the magic within his body. He had the clear advantage in raw strength, but Avalon had the advantage of experience. He turned and ran into the forest as fast as his feet could take him, there was no shame in it.

The stag bounded forward in eager pursuit, with powerful haunches that made Avalon miss the centaur he used to be. There would be no need to fight this overly proud beast, such a thing would’ve been beneath Avalon’s dignity. However, the irony of his weakness demanded that he fight harder than he ever had. Avalon ducked beneath a fallen tree, scurrying to the other side like a wolf in flight. No pack to defend it, no strength to resist its pursuer, but a wolf was most dangerous when cornered.

The stag leapt over the fallen tree to intercept him, but Avalon raised his spear towards the stag's belly. The stag grunted as he kicked at the fallen tree, mid-leap, and turned away from the spear. Blood trailed along its side as the stag jumped back, in frightened confusion. The small creature before him was no stray wolf to be ran down and impaled on the end of his antlers.

Avalon licked the blood dripping from the black blade of his spear, savoring the wine of victory. “You’re delicious.”

The stag snorted, kicking its rear legs.

“Once I’ve killed you, I’m going to use your antlers to roast your flesh and eat it.”

The stag roared into motion ducking low and jerked his head up to skewer Avalon, but missed and caught his antler on a branch. Avalon swung his spear to cut into the stag’s exposed neck, but lightning crackled and the canopy above exploded with light. Embers rained down from the sky, igniting falling leaves, as flames flickered between branches.

A bolt of lighting shot toward Avalon like an arrow aimed at his chest, but he twisted at the last moment. Magical energy grazed his arm, branching out in red marks across his skin, and cratered into a tree behind him, scattering shards of wood into the air. The stag’s antlers surged with energy and Avalon ran, ducking behind trees as bolts of lightning shot towards him.

The fire was spreading now and a host of trees would burn, but the forest was resisting the flames, magic lapping away at the fire’s potency. The stag gasped for breath, surrounded by fire and smoke, strained by usage of magic to conjure lightning. Avalon peaked his head around a tree, but the stag met his gaze and barked out with fury. It sounded like a warning for Avalon to keep away, until the stag turned and ran.

Avalon jumped into motion and pursued, his hunt drawing to a close. The stag was large and strong, but the sheer weight behind every bounding leap and kick of his hooves sapped his strength and brought him closer to exhaustion. The stag was faster than a human in a straight sprint, but Avalon was surprised by the endurance his new body possessed, sweat cooling his body as he ran.

When the stag collapsed from exhaustion, tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted through dry, wheezing breaths, Avalon could feel the heat radiating from his body. The chase had left the stag overheated, exhausted, and helpless. The stag was an impressive beast with its ability to call forth lightning from its antlers, not as strong as Avalon had been as a centaur, but the stag’s strength was hard fought. Killing the beast and bringing his antlers to Longfirth as proof would grow his legend as a hunter, of course it would.

But among who?

Avalon seated himself against the stag’s neck, leaning his spear against his shoulder, and trailed a gentle hand over the stag’s cheek. If he killed this prince of the forest, it would be for the humans that sent him here. For the adventurers who told him of the bounty on the stag, the guild that posted the bounty, the humans that dared to trespass into his forest. He didn’t want to kill the stag, but the stag’s death might take him closer to home.

Perhaps we do not need to kill the stag. The bounty exists to end the threat on the adventurers who travel north. Morgan sauntered closer, returned to physical form, and rested his own hand on the stag’s forehead. When the threat ends, so does the need for the bounty on the stag’s life.

Their need, not mine. I need the stag for patronage, to make myself worthy in the eyes of humans. I need to show my worth… The thought was repulsive and left a hollow feeling in Avalon’s chest, but a smile tugged at his lips. “A show of worth.” He mused to himself and stood to look his conquered foe in the eye. “Your life is mine, stag, so serve me well. I intend to take you south.”