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The bite of the wind cut like a knife, and I turned my head away and cursed loudly to take my mind off the pain. My words formed little puffs of frozen steam as they left my mouth, barely visible as they were torn away by the howling wind almost as they left my lips.

Appropriate; for how much use they are in this weather. Still, if it makes me feel better…

The weather seemed not to care about my outburst, or about me in any way. The wind whipped my cloak around my ankles, and the snow flurries ebbed and flowed, leaving me fighting a constant battle to avoid the snowflakes getting into my face and under my collar to drip their frigid fingers down my chest. It was a losing battle, and I had to use all of my will to stop my teeth chattering in cold as the painful grip of ice-cold melting snow insinuated its way under my clothing.

Every fibre in my body screamed at me to go home, but I set my mouth in a snarl and kept on. I would not give up that easily; my mother had called me “stubborn" enough times that I had to agree with her, even when my stubbornness led my father to take me in hand for some correction. It was my nature, and my mother would shrug and shake her head and know that, whatever my promises to be better next time, I would do the exact same thing again with the exact same consequences.

Her memory made me frown again, turning my face away from the wind to avoid a tear freezing to my face. I had promised myself not to feel it, and yet it came anyway. Nothing prepared me for losing her, not even my father's haggard look as he nursed her. I expected her to recover, as she always did. This time, though, even the remedies of our forefathers were not enough. My younger sister had not cried; her face set in a mask of grief, but she avoided giving vent to her tears as my father insisted. I was not so lucky, or so strong. It took his snarled contempt and a beating to cure me of that.

I did not hate him for it, strange to say. I knew it was his own grief that made him do it, unable or unwilling to confront it in himself, and unable to avoid it in his son. Still, the pain lingered, inside and out. Sensitive, my mother had said, as she brushed my hair after a session learning my lesson for disobedience or worse. Sensitive and stubborn.

Soft and stupid, my father had said, and maybe he was right too.

Well, I would prove myself neither, if I could. But stubborn, if I had to, would have to do.

Anger and the remembrance of humiliation has its own advantages, out here at least. The burn inside me stopped the grief and the tears. I brushed my hand across my eyes to clear some ice crystals and turned again into the wind. It seemed to have died down a bit; the trees were more still, and the sound was gentler, if such a thing were possible in this frozen place. Still, I could see, and what I saw was enough to make me go on.

They were clear enough even for a modest hunter like myself. Tracks, and big ones too, a large stag or I had learned nothing from my father's impatient instruction. They were fresh, too. The snow flurries saw to that; any more than an hour old, and they would be gone under fresh snow, but here they were, leading into the forest.

I set my face against the wind and went on. My thoughts were all of Rhiannon, my sister, my charge. With our father gone to the town to work for money to keep our little family afloat, the responsibility had fallen to me.

My sister was never strong; though she had a will of iron, her body had never been as able to withstand the realities of our harsh life here on the edge of the great forest. Too many years of famine and misery had made the whole land a waste. I sometimes wondered how Rhiannon had survived as long as she had. Almost a woman now, she should be looking to spend time in the town and have pretty clothes and dances and a chance to find a good husband. Instead, she remained with us out in the wilderness, and the illness nearly claimed her.

I managed somehow to keep her going, but she needed strength, and for that, nothing would do but meat. And we had none; the last of our animals had been sold to pay the taxes on our simple farm, and now we had nothing except what we could hunt.

My father always shook his head at my hunting skill, cursing like I did into the cold wind. This time I would show him though. This time, I had to.

I took a path into the forest that was familiar from my journeys with my father. I knew the way, and after a period traversing a line of hills, I knew it led down towards an area with much game. The green of the pines surrounded me, now covered in a fresh cloak of snow, the occasional gust of wind making them shudder and leave a small pile of snow at their feet.

The snow underfoot was not too deep yet, and I could move with enough ease. I was always light on my feet – one of the few compliments my father ever paid me. Not tall, not broad, I could nonetheless move fast and carry more than my share when the time came. And I could move over the snow covered ground at pace, following the trail of the deer and, hopefully, gaining on him.

I wondered a little at the trail. It was not common to find a stag as close to our homestead as this one had come, though he had plainly thought better of it and retreated back into the deep forest. It was a mistake the deer would not long live to regret, if I could do anything about it. My bow rested casually enough over my shoulder, a quiver of arrows beside it. It was not for show; I could hit a target from a hundred yards, if I was careful, and even in this cold, I would be careful. Just as long as I could get close enough.

Time seemed to stop in this unchanging place. Every step, another grove of pine trees, another trail of frozen white. The mountains in the distance rose a little larger, a little closer, but I knew there was no chance of getting there. Not before I froze to death, and I had no intention of doing that.

I came over a slight ridge, and shielded my eyes from the glare of sun on snow. It took me a moment to realise what I was seeing, and when I did, I moved as fast as I could, behind a tree clinging to the downslope of the hill. I peered through a fork at my quarry.

A stag, all right, and a big one. A red deer, and he still had his antlers, which was unusual this late into winter. He had found a patch of fodder in a protected gully below my vantage point, and was enjoying the find hungrily.

I smiled at the thought. Hungry; perhaps that was what had drawn him close to our home. Like me... and hopefully, I can find my fill today too.

I reached for my bow, but just as I was preparing to move in closer to my quarry, he lifted his head, ears twitching. Something was not to his liking, for he moved off to the North, deeper into the forest. I swore silently and followed. One way or another, I was going to get that stag.

Following his path through the trees, I came to a clearing. The stag had gone through, by his tracks, and out the other side. For the moment, I found I could not follow though, as there was something here that I wasn't expecting.

Even under a dusting of snow, it was obvious what I had found: A stone altar, with carved figures holding up each end. At one end, a wolf, at the other, a stag. The wolf was snarling, his teeth bared and eyes fixed on the stag, who looked about to flee. I knew the design by description, though I had not seen one myself before.

A shrine to The Hunter Lord, Moranion.

I found I was mouthing the words, even as I stood still before the altar.

Lord of the Hunt, grant me your aid today I beg, and know that I will take only what I need.

My mother had taught me the words, though she had made me promise not to tell my father. He had his views on many things, did our father, and the old superstitions were foremost amongst them. For our father, a hunter had only his skill and cunning, and no divine help to call upon. Belief in the supernatural was an excuse for weaklings, and those too stupid to call themselves a hunter.

Still, I felt I needed help this day, whatever the reason. And even as I watched, a gust of wind blew the coating of snow from the altar, revealing the gleaming wet marble underneath.

Something about it drew me, and I stepped forward to reach out and touch the stone. Cold, and damp; I didn't know what I had expected to find I guess, although it should have been no surprise. Pulled by an impulse I didn't understand, I reached under my cloak.

In a pocket of my tunic I felt my finger touch something. I clasped it and pulled it into the light, staring at it though I knew full well what it was and what it looked like. One of my mother's few possessions, she had given it to me before she died. A ribbon of blue silk, with an embroidered daffodil. My mother's birth sign, March, the time of Spring and renewal. She had done the work herself, before her illness made her too weak to work. I was supposed to give it to my girl, when the time came.

I hadn't the heart to tell her the truth – that I was sure, even at eighteen, there would be no girl for me.

Holding the scrap of fabric, I felt the tears coming again and screwed my hand into a fist with the little fragment inside. With sudden decision, I placed the silk on the altar. It seemed the right thing to do, though I knew not why. I knew at least that I needed as much help as I could get.

The snow started again, small flakes falling to earth and slowly covering the altar with my mother's gift. I turned away, angry at the memories, and headed into the forests. The stag could not have gone far.

After a time – I knew not how long, though, with the sun under cloud – I found another clearing ahead. I slowed, drawing my bow, and crept forward as quiet as a mouse. The wind still blew into my face, and though the pain of cold wore me down, I endured it, for at least it meant I was upwind of my quarry. If I were quiet and careful, he would not sense my approach. I would have a chance.

I moved forward, one tree at a time. He was there, and as I approached, I could see him in all his glory. A big stag, but a young one judging by his antlers. He had a damaged left ear, slightly torn, probably a trophy from a fight with another stag, or perhaps a wolf. His fur glistened with snow, and his breath steamed as he stood, rooting under the snow to find green shoots hidden by the winter.

My body moved as if training with my father, the movements gradual and unhurried as I fitted an arrow and lined up on the stag. I hesitated then; he was magnificent, and I stared at his antlers as they shook and wobbled while he rummaged for some feed. It almost seemed a shame; but I knew my need, and Rhiannon's. There was nothing more to do.

And yet there was.

A howl broke out, from behind me and slightly to the right. The sound froze my blood, even worse than the icy wind. The stag lifted his head and bolted for the far side of the clearing, and I cursed myself hoarse, but then I heard a worse sound. Another howl, directly behind me, and another sound, a growl, close enough for me to hear the breath.

I turned to see yellow eyes staring at me from between the trees, barely twenty yards away. Several yellow eyes; a whole pack of them.

Without thinking I took aim and let the arrow fly. In my panicked state, the aim was poor, glancing off a tree. The howls returned, and I did not wait to find out what happened next. I bolted after the stag, across the clearing and into the trees. I figured the stag might know something; I hoped he did.

The sound of pursuit filled my ears, along with the thunder of blood in my temple. I ran, as fast as only fear could make me. The crunch of snow and the crack of pine branches echoed round the forest, and my legs burned with the leaden feel of an incredible weariness.

I broke from the trees into a narrow valley, put my head down and ran for the far line of trees. The stag's hoofprints showed me my former prey had gone this way too, and I pleaded with the Gods that I might see him again. He would be safe this time; he was my talisman.

My eyes had picked up but not really noticed the line of flat white ice, or what it might mean. When my feet hit the crust of ice ten yards to the left of where the stag had crossed, I felt the surface shudder. My momentum carried me forward before I could try to stop, one step, two, three, four; and then the world changed, and I was gasping for breath and my feet were treading water. The ice cold hit me then, like a thousand knives puncturing flesh, the sensation perversely hot. I screamed and coughed, trying to find some purchase on the far bank. My hands clasped ice and it crumbled, over and over, until I finally managed to get some grip and pulled myself forward.

I felt hard ground under my feet, and I fought the deep need to sleep long enough to haul myself from the frozen river onto the far bank. Collapsing on my knees, I looked up to see the stag looking at me from the tree line. He turned and ran into the darkness just as our eyes met.

Turning to look behind, I saw the eyes, watching from the tree line on the opposite bank. They weren't approaching, yet, but I heard a howl echo off the forest. With a yell of defiance, I stumbled to my feet and ran into the trees. I only knew I had to keep moving, moving, moving, but in truth it was hopeless. I was soaked to the skin with frozen water. Out here, it was only a matter of time. I had dropped my bow and quiver in the river while I struggled for life.

There seemed to be a path ahead, and I walked its line, painfully slowly. The terrible lassitude was back, clawing at me like treacle, and I wanted to sit on the snow and rest so much. Something told me I had to keep going, some voice in my head, and I cursed even as I walked on unsteady feet.

Coming to a clearing, I stood, dumbfounded for a moment, the curse lost in the breeze.

There was a stone homestead, with light visible through the shutters, and smoke pouring from the chimney. I did not know of anyone this far into the wilderness, but the evidence of my eyes told me all I needed.

Before I could knock, the door opened, and a large figure stood framed in light. He looked me over and nodded.

“You had better come in."

I found myself in a large room, blissfully warm. Candles blazed from overhead, and a large fire roared in the hearth. Whatever my fears at that moment, I knew what I needed, and I shuffled to the fireside and stood with my teeth threatening to break from chattering.

“You need to get those clothes off lad…"

I turned to see my saviour properly for the first time. A big man, well taller than even my father, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, contained but barely under a simple tunic and trousers. He moved with easy grace and soon stood at my side, his arm out but not touching me yet. I looked into his eyes, deep and sparkling, mesmerised.

They were yellow!

He seemed to register my surprise, but it did not change his stance, waiting patiently for me to obey. Seemingly without thinking I did, fumbling with the sodden clothing, fingers still numb with cold.

Shivering I stood naked before him, but it was not all from the cold. His eyes seemed to feast upon me, as they roamed over my naked form. I turned away, ashamed and embarrassed, my cheeks burning, but I could feed his gaze still like a physical presence caressing my flesh. It was there, on my back, my rump…

“Built like a young stag…all muscle and sinew…"

His rolling voice seemed to pierce my chest, and I found I could barely breathe, my gaze locked on the fire, flames dancing above the coals.

“Look at me."

He said it softly, not even as a command. And yet I found I could not disobey, even then. I turned, slowly, shaking, to see his smile spread across a face suddenly filled with satisfaction, the gold eyes like coals in the fire. I tried to hold myself in control, feeling it failing fast.

“S…Sir…I thank you for saving me but…I do not know you Sir…"

His smile became lopsided, and he tilted his head in admonition.

“Oh? I think you do boy. I, however, know you."

He threw my sodden clothes onto the table, and reached for my body. I wanted to draw back, even with the fire so close behind, but instead stood rooted to the spot. His hand touched my chest, over my heart, and I flinched but held firm. His fingers roamed over my skin, a long caress over my chest, my nipples, my abdomen. I was still hairless there, to my shame, but I found I loved the feel of his touch on bare skin, like painting my body with fire. Then he reached somewhere I did have some hair.

“Beautiful…darker than your head, but still beautiful. Like honey."

It was true. Though my head was covered in light blonde hair, an unruly mop that made my mother smile whenever she tried to brush it, my penis was surmounted by a patch of darker yellow curls, a match for the colour of his eyes. His fingertips played in that glade, and the play had it's predictable result.

“Sir!" I managed to gasp, though I could barely breathe. I could manage no other words; and my body was speaking for me, in a language I craved and feared.

One fingertip poised so close. He let me anticipate the touch, need it. Then I felt it, just a fingertip on the very tip of my throbbing erection. I almost fell then, held up by some unknown hand, as the fire lit in my hardness and my head swelled larger than I ever knew it, and darker, pulsing with blood. Pulsing with life…

“I know you, Arris, son of Rotalin. I know your thoughts, I know your need. And I know your desires."

“No!" I screamed it, from between clenched teeth, my eyes open wide. The fingertip began a slow progress, around the ridge of my cockhead, over the sensitive cleft just below the tip, then down the underside. Skin on skin, nerves aflame. His fingers stroked the underside of my scrotum, feeling for the soft hairs that decorated my dusky sac. My stones danced and rolled, and I moaned, my head back and eyes closed, overcome with sensation. Whatever my words, my body had betrayed me.

He laughed. I bit my lip and blushed.

“Do not be ashamed boy. You are overmatched. And besides…you made the offering to me. It was your choice."

Eyes opened wide, I stared again, taking in his words and his form.

It could not be. It could not be!

“M…my Lord Moranion!"

When I had thought of him at night, my Mother's words in my head, he had seemed remote. I realised with a start like the feel of the ice cold water on my flesh that the figure before me now was the same as the one I had conjured in my mind. Tall, broad, barrel chested, coal black hair, beard. I had not imagined the eyes, always dark and shuttered to my gaze. Not here though not here…here they glowed, and seemed to lance into my soul like an arrow shaft.

“I have waited a long time for you. You resisted my call, when few can. Until now."

“The river…the stag…"

“I know lad. You are not much of a hunter yet, but you have the sense for survival. And other senses."

His hands cupped my rear and I found myself suddenly pressed to him. The heat filled me, a lassitude like the cold that assailed me after the river. Then thick fingertips spread my cheeks and delved inside, drawing a cry but no other change. I could not draw back. Instead I pushed against him tighter, my body no longer mine to command.

Then his lips found mine and I closed my eyes in an endless sigh.

My first kiss wrenched my soul. Deep, thrusting, needy, his tongue took me and his lips rough on mine tasted sweet. The fingers on my cleft became rougher, and one touched my deepest part, the slow caress on my hole lighting a new fire in me that made my stomach flutter.

He broke the kiss and stood back, watching me keenly, eyes glinting as he took in the sight of my aching erection already leaking it's need to the floor in a clear line of betrayal.

“It is time for your next offering lad, for the honour of saving you here in the wilderness. But tell me, which are you to be? The hunter or the hunted?"

I had no idea what he meant, but somewhere inside me the answer came. A wolf, with golden eyes, sitting on the ground at the edge of the trees, waiting. Then he came towards me and I waited, somehow content, as he rubbed against my calf. And then he howled…

“The hunter…"

I breathed it, my words interrupted by another kiss. His arms enfolded me and I fell into his embrace, suddenly lifted into the air as he carried me to a large comfortable bed by the wall. I had no time for fear, no time for anything. All I knew was the need for him.

He lay me down and stepped back, removing his simple clothing to reveal the full majesty of his form. A chest and belly bulging with muscle, and a forest of dark hair. The swaying mass of his penis, impossibly large, so large I could not stop watching it as he removed his pants and left them carelessly on the floor, standing with massive thighs bare and flexing as he regarded me like a particularly delicious meal.

“On your belly lad. And close your eyes."

I obeyed, but could not stop myself whimpering a little. I felt the bed groan under his weight, then the approach that registered in the little hairs on my skin and in the anticipation of unknown delights and pains.

“Ahhh!"

He gripped my ankles, spreading them, the fingers gentle for now. Then they travelled, in the unhurried and sure progress of a hunter, up the inside of my thighs with graceful touches and strokes, so close, oh so close…

“Ahhh!"

My full throated cry of pleasure surprised me, almost as much as his actions. His bearded face, breath coming in warm waves before, spread my cleft and explored, and I felt the touch of another male on my hole and my skin and my soul. Tongue, fingers, breath like honey, all over places I never dreamed could feel that way. My disappointment was palpable when he finished, the licking up my cleft to the base of my spine heralding the heavy weight of his body over mine. Disappointment turned to fear for a moment, as he kissed my neck.

“I am sorry lad, but it is necessary, as you will see soon."

“What…?"

Then I felt it, the cold slither of something on my ankles. Before I could react he gripped my wrists and spread them to the bedposts and I felt the same glide of cold strength over my skin. The slither of serpents…

My eyes snapped open to see the horror of my predicament. At each wrist a thick snake had entwined itself round me, holding me tight to the bed. I turned my head but knew it was futile, confirming my worst fears. The same fate had befallen my ankles. I was spreadeagled, and at his mercy.

Eyes on his now, I tried to keep the fear in check, even as I tested my unnatural bonds.

He smiled a smile that was almost sympathetic.

“I am sorry lad. My powers extend to places that may surprise you; and to creatures of all kinds. You were the one to summon me, and the one who wanted to dabble in the world of Gods. It is a little late to think of caution."

His words had the same sense of regret, but they would have chilled me anyway but for something so surprising I momentarily forgot to struggle, or to be afraid.

The hair on his chest began to grow, right before me, spreading and thickening as I watched until he was covered in a thick pelt that extended to his groin and began spreading to his thighs. As I watched, not knowing what this meant, his face suddenly lengthened, the jaw extending even as his ears grew pointed and lengthened. His legs suddenly buckled, and his feet turned into large paws, surmounted by claws that glinted in the fire light. I watched them, dreading the full picture, but could not resist for long. My gaze returned to his middle, where his penis had grown, though that seemed impossible, longer and thicker but tapered, and red, above a pair of massive testicles like oranges.

And then he lay his head back and let out a howl. And the howl was answered by a chorus from outside.

“My lord!"

The wolf-man, for that was what he was it seemed, eyed me up, yellow eyes quiet for now. I held my breath, anticipating but dreading.

“Close your eyes lad."

I had not expected that. His voice was just the same, with the same sense of regret.

And I obeyed.

The form rejoined me on the bed, and I felt it groan. The touch was back now, but this time rougher, and with the unmistakable touch of claws on my skin. The ran up my thighs, not rough enough to pierce skin, rough enough to pierce me in other ways. I gasped, and not in pain, feeling my nerves on fire at this obscene touch. His hand reached my scrotum and stroked gently, carefully, and one clawed fingertip slid up my cleft, digging into the raw folds of my hole as I writhed at his mercy.

Then the head returned too, but this time it was a muzzle, and the tongue pressed hard against me and I felt my hole open like a flower and he was inside me, his licking drawing unrestrained screams of delight. Whatever was to happen, I no longer cared. My body had spoken, though my anus felt strangely numbed after his lapping.

When his body lay on mine I tried to relax. He licked my neck, biting gently, nibbling my ears. Then I heard his breathing turn to a rough panting and the kiss of his length on my wet hole.

“Relax lad. It is time."

One hand covered my mouth and dulled the scream as I felt my anus torn wide open. On and on he drove, until I felt I could take no more. Mercifully he stopped, and soon I realised the mercy of his tongue. My depths felt numbed still, and as I adjusted to the heat of him inside me, the sensations turned to pleasant ones, even desirable one.

“You have done well hunter. Time to join us."

I would have asked his meaning if I could, but his hand still clamped my mouth shut. Instead I moaned as his gentle strokes turned rougher, more demanding. He reached places inside me that made my body sing, each new thrust driving fresh cries of need from my soul. I found I was pushing back to take more of him, and felt jealous of his entry whenever he pulled back.

The moment was coming, I could feel. The heat built, and the pleasure, and the pressure of his member in my depths. His thrusts came faster, battering the place inside me that drew such sensations I felt I would lose my mind. Perhaps I already had…what was happening to me could not be happening…could not…could not…

“Welcome hunter…"

With a cry I felt the spending deep inside me, as it did late at night when I touched my length thinking of him. But not also…this was deeper, harder, complete. His panting gasps became a howl, and I felt heat invade me afresh, his seed spraying inside me to coat me with his pleasure.

Then his fangs closed on my neck and bit and the pain became a singing sound inside my head that grew like a hot iron boring into my soul.

“Welcome…"

I knew no more.

*****

I woke at the door to our house. Disoriented, I felt the snow under my body, and dusting my face. The cold had left me numb, my lips so sore I almost wanted to rip them off my body. I stumbled to my feet and almost tripped.

At my feet sat a carcase. A deer, not the one I had followed, smaller but still impressive. A stag, judging by the antlers, of almost fifteen points. A pool of blood under his neck had almost solidified, and the gaping wound there had stopped bleeding in the cold. The body was still warm but cooling fast.

One does not spurn a gift of the Gods, my mother had always said. And here it seemed was one in all its gory glory. I reached down and found I could move it, though it should have been beyond my strength. Instead I lifted it to my shoulders and barged my way into the house.

“Arris!"

My sister was awake. That was good. Very good.

“Rhiannon. Help me with this."

“I was so worried brother. You were away so long. Father has not come back, I feared I would have to tell him I had lost you."

“You will never lose me Rhee. Now, let's get you something to eat."

Her hunger cut me to the bone. But also filled me with pride. I had hunted well, it seemed. And now she would be well, I knew it. And if I had no idea where the deer had come from, she need not know it. A gift of the Gods indeed.

The Gods…

Something stirred inside me, some memory, snakes, heat. I blushed, feeling my groin stir, the sensation powerful and deep. A need.

A sigh and a loud knocking signalled a more urgent need, and I went to help my father with his pack. I knew he would expect me to snap to, like I always did. For some reason now it made my teeth grate, but I held the feeling in check while he let out his anger and his bitterness at the thieving devils in town who exploited him.

Then he saw the deer.

“What happened here?"

“Arris did it father. Isn't he wonderful?"

I beamed at her words, but my reward was not to be it seemed. All I got was a scowl, and a rebuke.

“I told you to stay here and look after her boy. You are not skilled enough to hunt in the deep winter yet…"

“Clearly I am father."

The words dropped like a stone into the river, the ripples spreading interrupted only by Rhiannon's gasp. My father's expression turned to a snarl, and he reached for the belt hanging from the hearth. He reached for me, ready to draw me to the table for a thrashing for my impertinence.

I gripped his wrist and held. Somehow, he seemed unable to move, and the look on his face was pure shock.

“I will remain here, father, and look after my sister. But you will never lay a hand on me again. Ever. Do you hear?"

He nodded, just once, but it was enough. He stalked out and slammed the door, and the blood rushing in my ears would have overwhelmed me but I had something more immediate to attend to.

“Arris! What by all the Gods has come over you?"

“Nothing Rhee. Nothing…"

My hand reached inside my tunic to find the familiar form of my mother's ribbon where I had left it. And yet the feeling filled me with disquiet for reasons I could not understand.

*****

Spring came, and the land gave up its coat of white to live again, the green of the grass supplanting the grey and white of winter snow and ice. My father barely spoke to me, and seemed unsure what to do, but I gave him nothing in return. In truth, I didn't know what to say either.

With the spring, my sister's health improved, and I set out again to hunt, telling my father, rather than asking, my reward a grunt of approval and a look of almost grudging respect. With my bow and quiver I headed out, not really sure what I was doing, my feet following a path known yet unknown into the deep forest.

At one point I came to an altar. It was overgrown with moss and weeds, the marble cracked, the figures holding the top broken. I could make them out still though, one wolf, one deer. And something inside me stirred.

“Hail Arris."

I turned fast, all my senses on alert. I was embarrassed, as I had registered his approach but not reacted fast enough, the altar somehow drawing my attention. My fingers clenched and unclenched, and I prepared to reach for my bow but soon relaxed. The figure before me smiled and I returned the gesture.

“Coram!"

I had spent so long isolated in our world, I had almost forgotten the sight of my fellows. Coram, from the town. He had grown, and in ways that made me look again.

He seemed to watch me watching him, and blushed. It made him more attractive; Coram had a shock of bright red curly hair and green eyes, and a smile that made my chest flutter. He was taller than me, as he had always been, but slender with whipcord muscles.

Like a young stag…

“Would you come with me Arris? I was going to swim in the river. I know it is cold, but the weather is warm enough to dry us off after. I love the feel of the water."

I shuddered, and not from the anticipation of cold. The memory of cold; and something else. Something else.

We talked easily, as we walked.I saw no game, but somehow this did not disappoint me, and then we came to the river. It had melted completely, and ran fast and wild, the water forming white patterns as it ran amongst the rocks down into the valley.

My companion gave me a grin and stripped, and I watched him with rising heat. He was beautiful, as I imagined. Flat belly, defined abdominals and pectorals, skin like milk with little freckles, a shock of red hair above a thick pendulous penis and scrotum, hips narrow and built up with muscle. He stood before me and let me watch, performing a slow circle for my approval before I realised what he was doing and hid my head in embarrassment as I stripped to match his nakedness.

I felt his gaze on me then, a heat I remembered…remembered…

“You are beautiful Arris."

I wanted to respond but could not. Instead I walked into the freeing water and dived under, letting the cold battle the heat in my body.

We lay on the river bank, the green grass under our bodies, and just looked up at the sun, now warm and life giving unlike the pallid sun of winter. My body stirred again, and with it my penis. I felt the warmth building, and could not resist. Instead I looked over at my companion, and found him looking at me.

The water had damped down his curls, plastering the now dark red hair against his head. It revealed his ears, quite prominent, sticking out from his head like handles. But one of them was badly torn, as if in a fight with a wolf…

His green eyes were frightened. But determined.

“Are you going to run from me this time, stag?"

He bit his lip and shook his head.

“I am sorry Arris…"

I felt it then. Anger, betrayal, both there a little. But something else much stronger. Need. Power, strength, hunger, belonging.

His eyes were wide now, and I looked down at my hands, strangely unsurprised to find they were no longer mine, but the bigger, and much hairier hands of a wolf-man like…like Him. My Lord.

I brought the claws to my muzzle, testing them, sniffing. My quarry did not move. I felt the stirrings of my body, swishing my tail…ahh, tail…experimentally, feeling my hindpaws rake the green earth, feeling the heat in my penis.

“Time to pay the price Arris."

He nodded, and suddenly I saw his transformation, as I could never see mine. But there were differences, of course. Where I stood, a wolfling ready for my prey, the stood a stag-man, upright on hooves, his body taller but leaner than mine, with a little diamond tail in white, coat a luxuriant red, broad chest, small set of antlers and a penis jutting forward to match mine. But his eyes were still green, and his ear still damaged. When I crossed to him and held him I touched that first, feeling the rough outline of cartilage, soft and hard in one.

“How did you get this my friend?"

“A wolf…not one like you. One day in the forest, when Our Lord saved me and I…I…"

“And you are one of the hunted?"

“One of his, to do his work when needed."

“Am I his 'work'?"

He dropped his muzzle and I lifted it to mine and kissed him, the kiss growing in hunger and depth. I reached forward to cup his scrotum, so different, so beautiful. The soft leather of his skin, and the heat of his penis, hard, thin but long, enticed me and I stroked him as we kissed and nibbled his ear and his antlers until he moaned.

Then he took up a stance on all fours and looked at me with such need. I knew what to do. My Lord had given me that too.

His cleft tasted beautiful, and when I forced my tongue into his tight clenched hole his bleat of pure desire made it hard to not mount him there and then. But I waited, and worked into him slowly, licking, lapping, touching, stroking his length as I stroked my own late at night. When I felt the signs in him like I knew them in my own body, the release potent and ready, I stopped.

Knees on the grass, I lay my chest on his back, my hands sliding down to grip his own as the lay on the earth. My tip touched his hole, still slick from my attentions, and I bit gently on his neck.

“I have much to learn it seems Coram, but it think we will have all the time we need for you to teach me. And the hunting can come later."

“Yes Arris…"

My howl filled the forest as I took him, and his bleat tasted sweet, sweeter when I turned his muzzle to mine and kissed him. The heat of his tunnel gripped me like a vice, and I took my time, rutting him like a bitch as he took my length with difficulty but without resisting. He did the opposite in fact, pushing back to take me deeper still. The need overcame me then, and I rammed into him without restraint, without care, knowing somehow he was made to take all I could give. I felt it then, the swelling of my knot, slapping against his hole as my stones slapped his on each thrust.

The bleat turned to a cry as I tied him, a cry matched by a howl from the forest as my brothers voiced their approval of out mating. My seed filled him, marking him as mine to any wolf. I knew he would be safe now, and that was important.

“You are home now my stag."

“Yes my wolf."

We lay beside the river as the sun rode in the sky. I felt a set of eyes on me, from the trees beyond the river. Yellow eyes, high up, higher than a wolf. As I watched them, they seemed to gleam like a fire just once. And then they were gone.

Thank you my Lord…for the gifts of winter.