The Horned Lord
Olwen stared into the thick forest and found it was not as he had expected, at least in regards to how the villagefolk had described it. They had seemed so scared in their whisperings of it that the armored man had half expected to find that the trees bled fear. Instead, the trees were tall and healthy, far from the skeletal shapes the villagers had made them out to be. Neither was there "strange shadowy sounds that seemed oddly distant and yet close at the same time", nor any other supposed odd shapes and shadows that the villagers had claimed could be found within. The only sound he heard w the calming twittering of birds and the occasional scurrying of a squirrel. No, it appeared the trees were just trees, and thus the forest was just a forest. And yet...
And yet Olwen knew that there was danger to even the most mundane of forests. Here was the true divide between civilization and the wild where the feral things ruled and lived. Forest dwellers and druids did exist, but not here, not in this forest according to the villagers. Oh no, this forest wasn't ruled by man or animal or even the fey; instead, there presided a demon--again, as the villagers claimed. He wondered if there were any truth to those claims; that a grim creature stalked this place, a hulking shape that possessed two great horns, a creature so dangerous and fearful that it had driven even the wolves away. They even had a name for it: The Horned Lord. He suspected that such a creature was as real as the rest of the terrors they warned him of--that is, not at all.
Despite this, Olwen hoped there was a dread demon, some foe worthy of all the time he had spent chasing rumors about it and this forest. He was ready for it, thirsty for it. Such a feat would bring him glory, a tale to tell, and the attention of women who would like to bed a demonslayer, someone who knew how to wield a sword. There was no room for fear in his heart and no place such a creature could harm him with how heavily armored he was. He wasn't so foolish as to believe there were no chinks in his armor, but his past experiences with monsters had proven him the superior. After all, he was here and where were they now? Ashes or dust. He would not still be living if he was at all incompetent, or so he believed. He smiled, and took a deep breath, taking in the fresh, warm air, the smell of leaves and grass, the nearly blinding brightness of a midday sun and the singing sounds of the bird above. There was no reason to fear.
And so it was with great confidence that Olwen crossed the threshold, the line between near-civilization and the far reaches of the wild. Immediately there was a shift in sound and it took him a moment to understand what was different. The birds had stopped singing. Just like that they had ceased their sound, leaving him only to hear the whistling of the wind and his calm, easy breaths. His smile broadened. Such an event was coincidence, nothing more. The world may be a stage, but he didn't think animals were privy to the script.
Olwen continued into the forest, moving slowly and deliberately, each step having him sink slightly into the lush forest floor. His armor was heavy, sure, but he had long since gotten used to it. It was practically a second skin or, in actuality, his carapace. He could sprint a good distance in it and walk many, many miles without reprieve from its heft. The only problems it ever gave him were in the heat, but it was cool today, surely a sign of an early winter.
He paused his, his armor clanking from the sudden stop. He looked up to the sky and lifted his visor. He let out a breath and watched it waft out in cloudy condensation. His cheeks stung, cold and red already. He blinked, wondering if he had somehow missed something or if his initial observations had been terribly mistaken. It was cold where it had been pleasant before and the sun was dimmer now, still bright but no longer as brilliant or warm.
Olwen frowned. He let his visor drop and continued walking, splintering branchs and brush that stood in his way all the while wondering what part of the world he had come to where it got cold so fast. The days did not seem so short in the village. Verily, was it not summer? Wasn't it what they had said? He couldn't remember. All he could think about the villagers now was their superstition, foolish tales of strange sights and sounds in a forest whose only true problem was chilliness, at least until something skittered closeby.
Olwen came to a stop and looked this way and that, keeping one hand on the pommel of his sword. Abruptly he took a step back as his gaze fell upon what had made the sound in the first place--a small snake wrapped around a small stump. It stared up at him in the best way it could and hissed, flicking its forked tongue out. He snorted and kicked at it. The snake evaded his clumsy kick, his mighty boot shattering the hollow stump instead as the reptile slithered away to disappear behind a thinner tree. The man meant to chuckle, but the laughter caught in his throat when he saw how the waning sun cast shadows through the skeletal tree branches, strange shapes that resembled grotesquely skinny beasts with long arms and longer claws. For a moment more he stared at the shadows before shaking his head and clearing his mind of undue influence. They were just tricks of the light, mere shadows of a lifeless entity that could only truly harm him if he tripped on an erstwhile root or poked a thin branch into his eye.
Once again Olwen resumed his trek, only making it a few feet before he questioned how it could be so dark so soon. He had barely walked half an hour's worth of time and yet daylight was fading. It had become colder, and it bothered him despite the fact that he had hiked in snow-ridden mountains to take down a dragon or two not too long ago--this was nothing in comparison. And yet....
And yet something clung at Olwen's mind. There was an uneasy, ill-feeling he couldn't simply force away. There was simply too much wrong with this moment. It was too cold, too dark, and all too soon. He might have credited that to his late start following a morning of questioning about the forest and its demonic influence, but he couldn't recall how long it had taken him to get to the forest in the first place. Mere minutes? Or was it a few hours? When had this all begun?
Olwen gulped and took a deep, cold breath. Perhaps it was better to leave now and come back early tomorrow. He had found a good starting point, he could find the end later.
WIth this in mind, Olwen shoved back his unease and turned around to return from where he had come. Instead of anything he might have found familiar, however, he only saw tall, thick trees that blocked out much of what little sunlight remained. He looked left and saw similar trees. A glance right did him no better., he growled and spun around only to find the same sight: more and more of those trees, shadowed and grey. It was impossible to tell where he had come from. Worse, he was unsure where to go from here.
Olwen scowled beneath his helm, using his anger to push past uncertainty. this wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten lost. It was an inevitability when one often took to wandering in strange areas avoided by the common man. He could make his way back, he was sure of it, because sooner or later he would come across something familiar. He hadn't gone far, not far at all.
Without another moment of hesitation, Olwen strode past one of the thick trees. And past another. Then another and another. He walked and walked, knowing there had to be something familiar out here, had to be! Else he would reach the forest's edge at some point, because the villagers had said it was a smaller one, dwarfed by the one to the south.
The man lost himself in an errant thought as he walked.. Unfortunately at the same time his boot struck an erstwhile root. As such, he grunted, stumbled, and fell forwards with a clatter. He groaned and lay there, more sore than he ought to be. He decided to stay there a while and think. What about the forest to the south? Could he have wandered there unwittingly? Had he backtracked north instead of south? Had he really made such an amateur mistake? It couldn't be possible, unless--
Something rustled the grass before him. Olwen took in a sharp breath and looked up. In the pitch black of night he could hardly see anything, yet it was impossible to miss the pair of glowing eyes that hung above him. The man let out a gasp and attempted to scramble up to his feet, but his armor felt too heavy, his veins chilled, and his limbs too tired. In the struggle, he barely managed to push up his arms up and maneuver onto his knees before he the eyes suddenly leaned close and then he felt something tap his helmet. He almost fell back there and then from the shock before he saw what the creature that stood before him was merely a deer, a docile doe that took one more sniff at him before bounding off.
Olwen breathed a sigh of relief and got to his feet. In that moment of vulnerability he had been fortunate to only come across a deer. A hungry wolf would have attempted to rip out his throat, although his armor would've rendered its efforts for naught. Still, he was glad not to have had to fend something off in such a precarious position.
He got to his feet, his limbs still sore but his veins no longer icy. There was still the problem of finding a way back but at least he was unharmed. Yet, worry marred his mind for his hands felt more than sore--they felt stiff and uncooperative, taking far too much effort just to flex his gauntleted fingers. After a few more moments, he could barely move them at all. It just didn't make any sense, none of this did. Day was already night and he was somehow already exhausted byhis form fitting armor, which normally wouldn't have fatigued him the slightest bit.
Swearing under his breath, Olwen began to unclasp the straps of his gauntlets. Mere fatigue couldn't explain the sudden stiffness or how his fingers seemed to be pushing fowards painfully against their coverings. After unstrapping the last loop of his left gauntlet, he let it drop into his right hand only to find himself incapable of catching it/failing to catch it. . Another curse caught in his throat as he saw what had become of his left hand.
It was smaller than when he had last seen it, and decidedly less familiar. He watched in horror as his fingers, small and frail and mostly black and hard, merged together into three digits, his wrists and palm smooth, slender, and covered in what under the moonlight appeared to be brown fur. He held up his hand further so more moonlight shed on it, illuminating its wrongness as best as he could. He wiggled them, , one large thumb and two smaller fingers, and marveled at their hard, hoof-like texture..
When his right hand throbbed painfully, he thought of leaving the gauntlet on in hopes that it wouldn't change like his left. Unfortunately, the throbbing re-emerged, , that same feeling of his fingers pressing together, though far more painful with every passing second. Choking back a cry of pain, he quickly discarded his right gauntlet and shuddered as his fingers snapped together. He looked down and found his right hand had received much the same fate as the first, but at least the pain was gone.
While the pain was gone, something else remained, an incessant itching that crawled up both his arms starting at his wrists. Instinctively he reached to scratch at the itch, but his modified hands were helpless against the plating that covered the affected parts. He sniffed in annoyance, but there was nothing he could do. He wasn't just going to take more of his armor off now, was he? He could ignore some itching, far more pressing was the fact that he was still lost.
Olwen started to walk while awkwardly carrying his gauntlets with his less dexterous hands, his arms feeling heavier and heavier all the while. His hands began to shake, but this he ignored until his gauntlets fell to the forest floor with a dull thump. He bent over to pick them up, but they were too heavy and his arms too tired and the itching was still there. Growling, he undid a few more straps here and there to let the armor on his arm fall away and reveal the source of the discomfort.
He gaped. His arms were thin and delicate and covered with the same soft fur as his hands. He whimpered and in that moment knew there was something very wrong with this forest, very wrong indeed. It had not only altered his hands, but taken away a large portion of his strength. He wasn't even sure he could lift his sword now, though he did of course have a dagger at his side he could use just in case.
Just in case became just now as something nearby crashed through the trees. He turned and quailed at a hulking, formless shape with two large horns far away in the moonlight then mustered his courage. Though the thing was shadowy and shapeless, he reached instinctively for his sword, managing to tug it out of its sheath before it fell useless from his weak hands onto his discarded gauntlets. He stared at the silvery blade before shifting his gaze to the hulking, shadowy creature that became less ethereal but no less larger as it neared him. Its eyes glowed in the dark, a bright gold that revealed pupils that were decidedly less than human. Olwen blinked and knew he only had one choice--run.
And so Olwen ran, a strange bleat coming out of his mouth as he turned and started his sprint. Though his legs still felt sore and his feet were beginning to throb as his hands had, he still managed to set a fast pace fueled by fear. There was no doubt in his mind now that he was afraid. Whatever forest he had come to--the north one, the south one, the east or the west--he had come unprepared. How he could have prepared, he wasn't sure. Perhaps if he had paid more attention to the villagers, but they had never mentioned anything about....
Olwen gasped as he finally came across something familiar, though in a less than friendly manner--the same erstwhile root that he had tripped over before, the same one he tripped over again. He fell, catching himself on his hands and knees. Immediately he tried to stand, to run, to flee, but his feet refused to do more than shift clumsily about in his boots. Panting, Olwen felt hot where he had felt cold moments ago, his heart beating rapidly until he stopped and listened. Whereas before there had been the slow rumble of steps behind him, now there was nothing.
Shivering in fear, Olwen looked over his shoulder and found nothing there other than the same similar looking trees. Somehow he had evaded the demon.
Sighing with relief, Olwen got to his feet and ended up stepping out of his boots. He blinked in confusion and looked down at his feet. His feet had never been particularly large, but now they weren't even his feet at all. They were hard and black and cloven hooves like a deer or goat...or demon, he thought with a shudder and that familiar itching was already crawling up his legs.
Before he could react, Olwen yelped and and stumbled as his legs cracked and bones shifted. Flailing his hooved hands around, he fell back onto his rear with a clatter and a grunt. He lifted one leg and watched his lower leggings fall away, revealing a slender, shapely leg covered with brown fur and altered beyond the hope of ever walking normally again. . He shook his other leg and the full portion of leggings came off. The fur extended farther than he had guessed, up to thighs that were thicker and heftier. What was going on?
He unsteadily returned to his feet, wobbling a few times as he took up an unfamiliar digitigrade stance. He let the rest of his leggings fall away, and he stared at them for a time, wondering what to do. He couldn't fit them to such thin legs and he didn't feel much like carrying them either. What was worse, however, was that he was without his sword and he still had no idea where to go. At least, he supposed, his fur was warm, warm where it existed which, disturbingly enough, was almost everywhere.
Olwen bleated uncomfortably as a warm itchiness spread up his neck and thighs. Immediately he closed his mouth. Why had he made such a soft, pathetic sound? His ears twitched uncertainly in his helmet, brushing against the inside.
He froze. Had his ears just--?
At that moment, his ears twitched again and now there was no doubt. They were higher up his head now, and moved higher still until they pressed slightly against the top of his helmet. He reached up to remove his helm while the itching crawled up his face. Suddenly he sneezed while at the same time his hips ached and flared wide. Recoiling from the sneeze and pain, he couldn't help but sneeze again, his hips moving further apart. Just as he was about to sneeze a third time, he forced the helmet off his head and threw it to the ground. Then he sneezed for the final time, his hips squeaking only slightly wider, his underwear barely hanging on.
Now that his extended ears were free, they fell back in distress. His face ached now, his nose and jaws preparing to adjust while the itchiness flowed over his visage. Despite the incessant scratching, Olwen's attention was drawn to his ears. He reached up and touched them, feeling their soft, almost velvety and longer cervine shape. He meant to explore them more with his even stranger hands, but his changing face had other priorities.
He grimaced as fur flowed over his face. His nose twitched and wiggled while his jaw sealed shut, teeth whittling away as they lost their omnivorous edge. He clenched his his flat teeth together and tilted his head, whimpering pitifully at the moment that his face pressed forward and his cranium shrank and reshaped. The already short hair atop his head bristled, withdrawing slightly and lightening to a shade of warm brown.
Before Olwen knew it, he had a head like that of a deer. He confirmed this with touches of his hardened fingers, eyes widening as he felt his cervine snout, squirming slightly as he touched his slightly wet black nose, and shivering as his hands ran down a neck smaller and more slender and covered in soft fur. Once changed yet remained as his eyes suddenly snapped shut, and when they opened again his eyes were large and brown and liquid framed by larger, feminine lashes.
He trembled, unsure of himself. No, he realized with a frantic bleat, he was afraid, truly afraid. It was dark and he was lost and small and unarmed and vulnerable.
He shook his head, ears raised high as he steadied himself on his hooved feet. There was no reason to be afraid. He was changing, true, but there was no immediate threat. He would escape this forest, have this magic undone. He had heard of similar curses, though none had had been so extreme. He had heard of a man with the ears of an ass and a woman cursed with heavy horns, but nothing so complete as this, nothing so frighteningly thorough...
Olwen shrank in on himself, clutching his arms tight against his broad breastplate. It was the last bit of complete armor he had, the only thing that made him feel protected. True, it wasn't as warm as his fur, but it was part of him and beneath it lay his still-human heart and flesh.
Shivering slightly, Olwen looked out into the dark. He looked for any indicator of where he had traveled before, of footprints in the the forest floor, any small disturbances in the natural order. It all looked the same, however, and he soon found himself further shrinking in his armor.
With a start, Olwen realized he was shrinking and the change was continuing. The itching had arrived at this shoulders and moved to invade his crotch and stomach. Slowly but surely he felt the last of his strength melt away, the spread of fur leaving behind narrow shoulders and a petite torso that tapered inwards and lacked the musculature it had borne before. His butt wiggled, bubbling out into a softer, shapely rear covered with brown fur speckled with white dots. His spine tingled and ached and before he knew it something fluffed out above his rear, pressing insistently against his ill-fitting underwear.
The breastplate was heavier now, and it was no longer felt protective, but restrictive. Just as he thought of removing it, he heard a scratching sound.
Squeaked he spun around to find a ray of moonlight illuminating a great set of horns grinding against a tree's great limb. The Horned Lord had returned! Olwen meant to shut his eyes, not daring to see the rest but his gaze was drawn below, to those golden eyes that glimmered in the dark and the scarier shapeless hulking mass behind it. He sniffed and smelled his own fear.
It was when the demon pressed his huge horns against the branch, splintering and snapping, that Olwen fled with a high pitched shriek. He turned away from the foul creature, flight the only option in his mind. Immediately his underwear slipped off his wide hips. He scrambled, wiggling his hips and legs to help the loose clothing travel down his long legs. The demon rumbled behind him. He looked over his shoulder with his wide brown eyes. He froze at the sight of those glowing golden eyes, his finally freed tail the only moving part of him, a waving, fluffy white flag. He stared at the creature, too scared to move yet his nose twitched curiously The scent he smelled was a heavy, grassy musk that calmed him despite the circumstances. In fact, it triggered something unexpected--arousal. Olwen blushed as his member perked up, stiff and warm despite the cold. The smell enticed him somehow, driving away fear until he heard the demon itself sniff. Then Olwen's blood ran cold and his erection shrank away as the demon laughed.
Remembering himself, Olwen stepped out of the underwear pooled around his hooved feet and set off sprinting. It was an awkward run, his shrunken manhood flopping about this way and that with the swing of his hips while his loose breastplate bounced painfully against his slender chest. The demon pursued him relentlessly, never slowing as far as he could tell. Thankfully, the further he ran, the easier it became, though he fled no further than his fear. For a few moments his crotch felt tight and then there was some relief as something shrank away. Cool air flowed between his legs, making him cognizant of an unexpected emptiness down below. He barely paid it any heed, especially after he felt something reach out and touch his rear. He yelped and sprang away, his chest suddenly warm and...bouncy? There was more softness to his chest, but that soon grew hard as his stiff nipples touched against cold metal. He moaned without meaning to, the pleasure pushed aside by pain as his once spacious breastplate became filled at the top with full, bouncing breasts that swelled slightly larger still. It was uncomfortably constraining and he felt like he could barely breathe. He gasped, unsure how much longer he could continue like this.
Olwen's hooves suddenly wet as he unknowingly stepped into water. He blinked but continued forward, knowing he couldn't afford to stop. Soon he found himself stepping through a river, the first traces of sunlight reflected in its clear water. He shivered from the water's chill, wondering why it felt so strange when it came up to this hips and crotch. It was only when he noticed the only sound he heard was that of the ripples caused by his wading and his wading alone that he realized he was no longer being pursued. He looked back and saw the demon standing at the river's bank. It no longer seemed as large or fearsome, though its eyes still glowed in the low light of dawn. It turned its head, seemingly staring straight at her as it gripped one of its huge horns, and then ran off, its form still shadowy but certainly less monstrous and more humanoid than he remembered.
Not questioning his luck, Olwen quickly continued his path, soon emerging on the other silty side of the stream.
Feeling somewhat safe now, Owlen rid himself of his last piece of armor. He let out a soft sigh of relief as his breasts finally bounced free. Immediately afterwards he plopped himself down on his shapely rear and stared at the strange bobbing hemispheres that were obviously his. He reached up and cupped them. His face flushed as he stared down his muzzle at them. They were large and full and round and topped by puffy pink nipples. They were firmly attached to him, their flesh soft but the fur covering them was softer. Tentatively he pinched one of his nipples, wincing at the tingle and heat it sent to his crotch.
He blinked. Such perky, perfect breasts shouldn't belong to him. He was no woman and yet as he gazed down as his large breasts, his gaze moved farther down still. He looked past his pinched in waist and smooth stomach to the soft, furred curves of a woman's crotch.
He gasped and his ears flopped back.
He had felt emptiness below down there and know he knew why. There was nothing down there. Well, not quite nothing
His crotch, covered by the same warm brown fur as the rest of his body was smooth and soft and possessive of a distinct feminine cleft. She gaped at the sight of her proud pussy, flush and fertile as it was. He was...she was...he...she was no longer a man.
Something clicked in her mind as the new doe crawled over to the river bank, ever conscious of how her breasts swayed this way and that with her movements and breath. In the midmorning light she stared at her reflection in the water, that of a humanoid deer, a female at that. A doe with soft curves and breasts and hips and wide open brown eyes, a doe she recognized as herself.
She whimpered and rose to her feet. There was something wrong with that. This body, it wasn't hers and yet nothing about it was truly unfamiliar. She had seen breasts before and plenty of pussies too and even the predominantly deerlike aspects of her brought back memories of the cervine from the night before. She was the perfect blend of primary deer and woman. Why, then, was she so distressed?
Her gaze dropped to her crotch. Her eyes traced over her plump labia up to her pink clit. Was that small nubby thing all that remained of her former shaft? But then how would she not have noticed such an important asset shrinking and slipping away? How could she be so comfortable with what she had now nestled between her legs, just like how the subtle and not-so-subtle movements of her breasts bothered her less and less? Was it because she had never been truly male? OR human for that matter? She staggered to her feet, wandering away from the river. She passed by her discarded breastplate, a bout of nausea washing over her as she looked at it. Why had she ever worn it? It was ill-fitting uniform for someone so slender and small as she, a garb so crude and heavy. She hated the thought of being so bound and restricted. At present she felt light in her nakedness, unashamed and free but still afraid. There was still something wrong.
She fled from the discarded armor and what couldn't have been. She walked quickly but quietly through the forest, taking in new scents and sounds with a nose and ears that she had never remembered being so sensitive before. Still, even though the forest was shrouded in mist this morning, she still saw the birds flitting amongst the trees and singing cheerfully. They lifted her spirits, if only a little
Abruptly she realized she couldn't recall her name. It remained there just on the fringe of memory, as foggy and ephemeral as the morning mist. Her mind strained to remember, but now there was nothing. She realized she hadn't heard her name called in a long time. She was a wanderer, a stranger to most--why would they know what to call her? But then why did she too not know what to call herself?
She resumed her wanderings, crestfallen. The trees here were different, distinct, every sight a new one. How was she supposed to know how to leave? The forest had to end somewhere, and yet it seemed to stretch on endlessly.
As early day gave way to midmorning, her breast suddenly felt sore and tender and there was a flush of heat below in her nethers. She rested herself against a tall tree and looked down at her body. Before her very eyes her breasts began to swell, slowly but surely. She tilted her head, wondering what was happening until a sharp intake of breath left her tits jiggling and sloshing. Blinking, she raised a hand and pinched a nipple. Her suspicions were proven corrects as a small bit of warm milk dribbled out, spilling down to a swelling stomach. She gasped, panting hotly as the warmth in her womb increased. She bent down, larger breasts bobbing where her stomach took on a definite swell, curving out in a small bump that had previously been flat. If it wasn't flat any longer, then what was it?
Sunlight glinted in the doe's eyes. She blinked and looked and looked up to the fiery sun of noon. How could it have already been a day?
She lowered her gaze from the burning sun, meaning to move it towards her still swelling belly. Instead, her gaze fell on the forest. No, not just the forest, but the forest's end, a large clearing beyond the trees, the divide between civilization and the wilds. She had found the exit. She just had to leave.
She walked towards the edge, her womb warm and lively. With each step she took her belly grew, until she could no longer just walk. There was heft to her belly now, a full, pregnant swell that forced her to a waddle. She was nearly there and yet so laden and full, her breasts leaking profusely. By the time she reached the edge, she cradled her pregnant belly, the warmth in her womb now suffused with growing life.
She stood at the edge of the forest and looked ot the outside, afraid. Part of her urged her to leave, to flee the forest, but she was not sure why. The thought of departure left her shivering and her sent her short tail trembling. There was danger out there, strange people whose hard faces and hatred of the forest she vaguely recalled. She and her fawns would not be welcomed out there in that village.
She and her fawns...
She squeezed her pregnant belly lovingly. She had to be brave for them, but there was another reason she could not leave. Her home was here, and more importantly, so was her mate.
Something snapped behind her. Her ears lowered and she hugged arms closer to her swollen belly. What was that sound?"
"Birch," a husky voice said, its tone uncertain.
Slowly she rotated around, breasts and swollen belly wobbling. Her nose twitched as she caught a familiar scent. She stopped and shrunk away from the hulking horned shape before, its golden eyes glimmering under the shade of the trees. Then her fear washed away as the great stag stepped out of the shade. He was strong and handsome and possessed the largest set of antlers she had ever seen.
"Birch," he rumbled, his voice shaking her to the core. He looked over her, taking a tentative step forward and stopping, his gaze dropping to the forest floor. Could he mean her? Was that her name? Was she Birch? Was he--
Was he her mate? The great humanoid stag smiled, as only the horned lord of the forest could, his gaze returning to her. Then his smile dropped and a look of concern came over his cervine features. He stepped forward, and she shrank back.
"Birch," he repeated, his stride more confident. "Is something wrong?"
"I--" she began, shutting her snout as she heard her voice. It had been so long that she had forgotten her speech was so high and smooth and feminine. She shook her head. "I don't know."
The horned lord stooped down and stared up at her. She shivered and looked up into his golden eyes. They reminded her of something fearsome and frightening, but in those eyes she only saw kindness and concern. At that moment, her uncertainly began to waver.
"I was looking for you all day," he said. "Where have you been?"
"I..." she murmured. "I was running from something. It was so scary. There was..." She reached back into memory. "There was a snake and..." Something else but it made no sense. That smell, that scene...she pressed up to the stag and smiled as he wrapped his arm around her and let his arm drop to rub against her stomach.
"Well," he said. "You're safe now. You're safe with me."
Birch bleated as she remembered the villagers and how they hated the forest dwellers, those like her husband with his mighty horns. She knew desperate folks did desperate things, unless they were small and slight as she, depending on those like her mate. She hugged him closer.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Lord," she said. "There are those that would--"
"Shh," he said, standing up and taking her hands in his. "I know. You and our fawns are safe. I can handle any interlopers."
She looked at him and those confident eyes and felt safe, finally unafraid. Still, there was one more question.
"What would you do with them?"
"Nothing harmful," he rumbled, smiling down at her, admiring her feminine curves and breasts and hips as if they were of his own shaping and creation--though that was but a silly thought of a pregnant doe, dizzy in love with the mighty specimen before her. "They'll soon find they have nothing to fear."
Birch nodded. The horned lord was here for her and had always been. She was content, safe,and without room in her heart for fear.
"They'll love me," he continued. "Just as much as I adore you. You wouldn't mind a few more does now, would you?"
Birch shook her head. She wouldn't mind sisters of any sort, especially if they would help with her newborns.
Her whole body was warm as she pressed up against him and lifted her snout up. He met her in a kiss between their muzzle, and then she knew that she had room for something else.
Abruptly she broke the kiss and waddled towards a thick tree.
"Birch?" he called.
She faced towards it and leaned in, careful not to scrape her sensitive swollen breasts against its bark as she slightly lifted one leg and her tail simultaneously, letting her lord see her rear as well as the wet, dripping slit beneath. She smiled lewdly and looked behind her, happy to see the stag's expression turn from confusion to lust. He smiled too, especially as she pressed in tighter against the tree, wrapping her arms around it as best she could.
"Well, well," he said. "Is that really the first thing in your mind?"
She nodded and batted her eyes at him before she stuck her tongue out.
He chuckled at the sight and she froze. That laugh seemed so familiar and yet...
And yet there was nothing to it, just a murky memory of the day before that made no sense. Lust won over fear as she saw her display had drawn the lord's member out of its sheath. It stood thick and red and ready, and Birch was ready for it.
Before she knew it, he was upon her, wrapping his arms around her thin waist while he took her from behind. Their previously civilized speech fell to cervine calls as she thrust against him, her wet and willing passage accepting his great length easily enough. Then he pulled out again, and then in, his movements jerking between a steady rhythm of moans and grunts as hot flesh pressed against hot flesh while her breasts rubbed against the tree. She shrieked as he pushed in deep, her warm walls clamping down his member even though she was already heavily pregnant. Slowly but surely they worked together towards the peak of arousal before finally climaxing, him before her by a moment or two. He shuddered and groaned, releasing his seed into her, though her womb was already occupied. She too cried out and moaned, sliding down against the tree as he pulled out his softening member. Birch smiled, still in a pleasurable haze as she came to rest with her back against the tree, her plump breast and pregnant belly heaving from the aftermath of vigorous activity, her thick thighs dribbling with the seed of her lover. Her smile swept across the rest of her snout as the horned lord came to rest beside her, leaning against the tree as well. She looked over to him with his impressive antlers and handsome physique, and cooed happily as he wrapped his arm around her slender shoulder.
She drew up close to him and she felt more than protected--she felt loved. In that embraced was the promise of protection and safety for her and her growing fawns. She no longer cared about delving or demons or the thrill of danger. All that mattered to her was her Horned Lord, her dear deer, and her devotion to him. So there she sat, him and her, the only of their kind in the forest.
But not for long.