Fate is what led me here. 

Fate is what will release me from this burdened, strange need that is within my grasp to fulfill. 

My cloven hooves carry me the the edge of the woods that calls to me, the rattle of Alistair's antlers colliding with Shawn's, the sharp crack ringing out like a gunshot behind me. Alistair will win, but it is still my duty as the future matriarch to make him work hard in finding me. I risk a stolen glance behind me, the fleeting flicker of their reddish colored fur flashing amongst the bracken before they disappear, much like fish under the surface of dark water.

I careen forward, my legs churning against the dirt as I flee. Twilight is colliding into the sky above me, the last breath of orange in the sky draining into a dusky gray. Clouds have begun to gather and I can smell the beginnings of rain. I take the least travelled paths, ones we rarely use before I abandon them entirely. 

I weave amongst the trailing vines of multiflora rose, their vines having long since dropped a majority of their blooms. Several thorns drag at my fur, leaving tufts of it behind in my wake. I had to make it at least a little easy in the beginning. 

The human within my mind smiles, even against her nerves. 

I shake out my pelt before I continue forward. The scents and sounds of the forest call to me like a chant, a plea for me to come to them, to come home. My pelt will always hide me, I am as visible as the wind as I soundless spring through the woods. I no longer hear Alistair fighting for me, their scent and sound fading as the wind no longer favors bringing me their smell. 

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I am the Matriarch. 

I will bear his fawns. 

I will lead my herd, guide them. 

The nearly star patterned tuft of fur upon my chest marks me as one. 

Star-guided. 

I trip on a root, my eyes deceiving me, or perhaps my mind addled by thoughts of the impending future. I fall to the dirt, my hooves clattering uneasily as I try to find my footing. My hooves seek out the ground, at last finding it as I heave myself upwards.

A snort splits the quiet twilight air, my nerves set alight as I spin easily to face the sound. The forest is still and silent around us, the impending cold that is the ending of October settling deep within the woods. I can very nearly feel the cold within my bones before I meet Alistair's gaze across the dying shrubbery. 

His eyes are moon and starless, black and infinite. 

There is a hunger in his gaze. 

A heat flashes beneath my skin, a primal urge I was unaware of tugging beneath my flesh, begging to become unchained. I watch as he lowers his antlers to me, his eyes turning downwards in a revered and alien gesture to me. 

My mother was meant to be Matriarch. But since she passed not long after my birth, killed by a rogue werewolf, it is my duty and his to take this title early. 

He is showing you respect. 

As he should.  

I dip my head back, accepting him. 

He found you first. 

I could scent that much off of him. 

I am chosen.