Black clad legs pranced through the forest, carrying the macabre beast along at a nice speed. He looked like some Halloween legend, buckskin pelt tinted gray-green like the rotting coats of the deceased. The ebon splotches that surrounded his equally dark eyes added to his eerie appearance. There were no bits falling off though, no lurching gait that was so common to zombie stories. Indeed, as frightening as the stag was, he was among the living. Few had ever bothered to get close enough to determine this however, or learned of his sweetly childish personality. No, they saw what they believed was an undead beast and ran. It left the poor buck lonely, and this was evident in the slight hang of his head, the way he looked about at every sound.
Then, a scent drifted to him, and he immediately perked up. Trot became more lively as he followed whatever smell had caught his attention. The carcass of a doe became visible, felled and eaten by some predator. Delight crossed Slaiter’s face as he stopped next to the frozen body, muzzle reaching down to skim the half decayed face of the deer. “Hello there! I’m Slaiter. What’s your name?” His deep voice was at odds with the friendly words of a child, the sound belonging to deep crypts rather than ringing out through the brightly lit forest. Head was tilted with a look of concentration, as if he were truly waiting for a response from the dead thing before him. “Mira? Well, it’s nice to meet you! Do you want to play?” Teeth clamped one of the small bones that had been scattered by whatever had fed upon his new friend, and he danced away with his prize. He broke into a canter, dodging an invisible pursuer in a game of tag. It was a shocking thing to do, but also oddly endearing, like watching a foal frolicking about.
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Don't Fear The Dead, They Make The Best Friends [open]
