If you, weary traveller, ever find yourself in Helovia; if you wander through the quiet woods of the Threshold and set your course west; if you stray neither north to the thundering rivers of the Hidden Falls, nor south to the lush canopy of the Green Labyrinth, you will come to a forest. If the dense foliage and dark shadow do not deter you; if you continue on despite the hanging vines and clinging cobwebs and disembodied chittering (along with countless other little red flags—you know the type); if you are incredibly fearless or exceptionally foolish, you, traveller, will have entered the Deep Forest.

Perhaps if you are lucky, you will find your way along the twisting switchbacks and dead-end deer paths, and you will reach the idyllic pastures of the Thistle Meadow unscathed. Perhaps not. Perhaps you will become lost, dear traveller, or injured, or poisoned… these sorts of things can happen in any wood, after all. But if you are in the Deep Forest, perhaps you will find the Beast—or more likely, It will find you. And if the Beast finds you…well, unfortunate traveller, it is already too late.

The animal thud of something approaching sent the creature’s ears into a flurry of action. As the winged stallion burst into the clearing, the fawn struggled in place, seeming to slip on its own blood in a scramble to escape. A strangled breath wheezed from the dark muzzle, and the wide eyes rolled wildly, but its efforts would be in vain. The Beast always orchestrated Its hunts carefully, and prey were no match for Its skill.

While the deep voice did little to calm the animal, it appeared to have exhausted itself for the moment. As the stallion approached, the creature considered his sharp horn warily but lay still, save for the heaving of its thin flanks. Though on the ground the fawn gave the impression of pathetic delicacy, its gaze was surprisingly piercing. It understood very little of the horse-language, but it watched the stranger carefully, following the stallion’s movements with a barely perceptible tilt of the head. For several seconds, it blatantly ignored the proffered muzzle. Instead, its eyes flitted to the jutting horn once again, as if deciding whether or not to trust its would-be savior. The dripping nostrils flared and contracted once, twice, three times, taking in the stallion’s scent. Something in the dark gaze flickered. Slowly, s l o w l y, the fawn’s dark nose reached toward the horse-creature…

…until the pounding of another animal running scared shattered the silence once more.

Faster than might be expected, the fawn was on its hooves and had backed several steps by the time the second horse-creature entered the grove. Seeing the mare’s light build and lack of extra appendages, the animal reconsidered. It resumed its trembling at the edge of the clearing, but it still didn’t like the look of those shifting markings. They smacked of magic, and the creature knew better than to get mixed up in the likes of that. It cast a sideways glance at the pair once again, unsure…but the Beast was hungry, and time was running out.

Limping noticeably, the fawn turned, hobbling slowly down a deerpath leading out of the clearing, pausing once to send a single backwards glance towards the mare and stallion. Would the horses follow?

In the shadows, the Beast watched and waited.